MY MAGIC LIFE

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My Magic Life

by
DAVID DEVANT

With an Introduction by
J. B. PRIESTLEY
AND 20 ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON:
HUTCHINSON & CO. ( P u b l i s h e r s ) , LTD.
PRINTED IN
GREAT BRITAIN,
AT THE ANCHOR
PRESS, TIPTREE,
:: essex ::

1931
 CONTENTS
CHAPTER

INTRODUCTION BY J. B. PRIESTLEY ix
PICTURES OF MY EARLY LIFE 13
MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC 21

II. THE HOT PUDDING AND THE VANISHING LADY 33

III. MIXING MAGIC WITH MIDGETS 45
IV. MY ATTACK ON LONDON - 53
V. I APPEAR VVITH MASKELYNE -
VI. THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES 7o
VII. MAGICAL SKETCHES — — 80
VIII. A FEAST OF MAGIC — — 86
IX. MAGIC AND THE PUBLIC -'

SECRETS OF MAGIC - — I05

XI. MORE SECRETS REVEALED - I16
XII. THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK — 128
XIII. “THE MAN WHO MAKES MONEY” I35
XIV. “MAGIC AND SPIRITUALISM” — 143
XV. MAGIC IN THE PAST — — 149
XVI. CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT 157
XVII. PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT

XVIII. MAGIC IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY I83

XIX. MAGICIANS ABROAD - — 193
V
V1 CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE

XX. THE MAGIC OF THE EAST — 204

XXI. MAGIC TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 2I I

XXII. A MAc1cIAN’s CURTAIN - 216

APPENDICES
PROGRAMME OF ILLUSIONS AT THE EGYPTIAN
HALL FROM 1886 1904 -
TO 221

II. SCRIPT OF “THE ART1sT’s DREAM” 230

III. SCRIPT OF “sT. VALENT1NE’s EVE” 234
IV. SCRIPT OF “THE ENCHANTED HIVE” 245
V. SCRIPT OF “THE PILLAR OF BRASS” 260
VI. SCRIPT OF “THE MASCOT MOTH” 271
INDEX — -— — 281
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PA‘;lv

David Devant —— — — — F rontispiace

Nevil Maskelyne — — — — — 16
The Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly — — — 24
The Stage at the Egyptian Hall — — — 24
Augustus Pereno with Chang, the Chinese Giant - 4o
General and Mrs. Mite, the American Midgets — 40
The First Moving Picture Projector at the Egyptian
Hall — — — — — —
Mrs. David Devant, I894. — — — —
The Author presenting “Chanticleer” at St. George’s
Hall — — — — — —
Devant presenting “The Sylph” Illusion with l\/liss
Adela Crispin — — — — —
The Illusion of “The Magic Mirror” — —
David Devant in 1913, with his Daughter, Vida, and
Jasper l\laskelyne —
>—
— —
The Indian Rope Trick: I.—The Author shows the
Limbs of the Indian —- — — —
Devant’s “Mascot Moth” Illusion—with his Sister
Dora — — — —
The Author Per.‘orming the Indian Rope Trick: II
The Indian Rope Trick: 11I.—The Indian joined
together again — — — — -
A Master of Make-up: David Devant as he
appeared at the Royal Command Performance in
1913, and as a Chinese Magician — —
The Author presenting “The Problem of Diogenes”-
The “Ghost” that was Vanished by the Author before
the Magic Circle —— —— — —
vii
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 INTRODUCTION

B y J. B. Priestley

This is going to be a somewhat one-sided business. The

trouble is that, while I am about to praise Mr. David Devant,
you will find that he in his turn will only denounce me. I
admit that he will not denounce me by name ; but never­
theless you will find that he refers very contemptuously to
those wretched amateur dabblers in conjuring who buy a
few tricks, spend no time and patience on learning how to
present those tricks properly, and then imagine that they
are—in any sense of the word—conjurers. Now, I am one
of those wretched dabblers. I have a number of conjuring
tricks that repose in the box-room until my children,
entertaining a friend or two, suddenly remember their
existence and demand that I conjure for them. And let me
say, here and now, that Mr. Devant does not really know
what a grim business conjuring can be. You cannot
realize that until you have to perform your tricks before four
children of your own (who know how they are done) and two
or three inquisitive brats who insist upon getting as close to
you as possible. I admit that I am probably the worst
conjurer in the world, but I cannot help feeling that the best
conjurer in the world would be defeated by such conditions.
If you ask me who is the best conjurer in the world, I
shall not be able to give you an answer. But I know who is
the best conjurer that I have ever seen, and that is the

.
author of this book. Mr. Devant remains in my memory as
a true magician, a wizard. Twenty years ago, when I was
still in my teens, I conceived the audacious plan of taking my

-
father, who did not care mucha for .& variety
Lac. shows,
89.1.» to«H 53
the old
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Bradford Empire, and I went ..r.nIdr

so far as to book one of the
smaller boxes. That was, I imagine, the first evening (and
A1,.»
almost the last) when I. really I
_ at the
take one’s father into a box
.n mww .n......tA
felt a man of the world. To
4.55. .‘.éé.o..Af..
N“ music-hall,
0:”;local to ..‘M

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ix
 X INTRODUCTION
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my. Q, I
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sit there smoking with him—that seemed to me Life. Well,

3
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was3, lucky, for it.‘. dfltom;
happened that splendidly be-topping the

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Vofl \;

. . no
t u :/
r bill
W were .r..h..v..was _ ;
less.\..x a person than Mr. Devant. My father and I
...a.uw.....w
L

.fi..,..- enchanted by him. w He produced eggs—not a few eggs, o

.x ,9
.

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but hundreds V..<,....._I.

and 9 hundreds of eggs, until it looked as if the
4.

—
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146.
x

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p.

fit

1. stage were
4:0 as about .0 to turn ..into one vast omelette. He
showed
V x
.
Q. us 4some _»R....n. of r...w..“.,H
those astonishing . illusions—such as
111%.... ._,w«u heIv. mentions in the following

.
.1 “The Artist’s . Dream”—that
, .

.a .9» Cl

-
pages. (I say he mentions them, \
U and that is all he does do.
.
- "
‘'9? he does not

.
Clo do is to tell us how they were done.)
1,
What '

%n There seemed r to be nothing x that he could not do, and if he

had s.. told us I;
-. that he .v»...., would turn A the whole orchestra into a
row of nodding pot-palms, I do not think we should have
been 4. greatly surprised. If we had been living in the Middle
I
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3.3»
Ages hp we 90!! would probably have stormed the stage, seized

..
. OJ

.mo
cw/.. Mr. Devant, I‘ CV10 Ii9v' and promptly burned him. His figure, I
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« 9

na 1.1?
repeat, has remained
31..
.?..ar in*I..my memory as that of a wizard.
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Ltt Now that I have read
biography, I know O. 1
001
that Mr. ‘
these chapters of frank auto­
5‘. Devant is no wizard, but
C . n

.
something better—a brave, intelligent, and hard-working
Y

.7
1 .m.
public entertainer,
..n..
.,
ten.3years .2 ago,
I

r
o I

when he ..
.tt.u the pride of his profession. Just over
o. was still at the very height of success,

. he became
.
the victim of a paralytic disorder that compelled
.
o
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.
A x

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him o
to
No retire from the stage, '0 and I have no doubt whatever
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that
3. Kthat catastrophe was partly brought about by years

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.

kw andm ...x
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years1...‘ of overwork, not
p.nv.u..' 300 from '» greed, but from sheer zeal
0

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4
in his professional work and from a desire to give a large and
I

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I, ?

enthusiastic 0 I. to public the best' that was in him to give them.

O

.
c

C a.
And
-5” no reader of this 9.0 book will need to be told that its
author has boldly faced
t . 9‘. whatever private disaster has come
.
o
.9

;
his9' way. In Jo» one respect, he has 0. been unfortunate, far more
an
unfortunate than most 5
entertainers of the public. In
a

.
A

another ......v¢, respect, 4. hee. must- count himself a lucky man, for

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his dexterous art 60 remainsa for thousands and thousands of us

...
-
9» a most ‘RI. 9happy D. memory, and
Q? a at. in addition his name never
,w 0
failst , to command 2‘:
‘ the respect and admiration of all his I

‘
‘.4
fellow professionals. «val t.‘ The3 art ' I practise is very different
-
fi
Kl O 1.

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from that of Mr. Devant, but nevertheless we are alike in the
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fact that we OV are 07
V18 both compelled
t. 0'9? to appear from time to time
T before a waiting 1.-0.0 public
0
.
.‘ with
...
rm new illusions; and I for one will
 INTRODUCTION xi
not grumble if there comes a day when my fellow novelists
think of me as conjurers and illusionists all over the world
think of Mr. Devant. The English public has its faults,
no doubt, but it has the great disarming virtues of affection
and gratitude, and with the publication of this book it has
the opportunity of showing its affection and gratitude, for
here is a man who toiled day and night to give that public a
few enchanted hours of magic.
 My Magic Life
PICTURES OF MY EARLY LIFE

PICTURE No. 1

H e r e begins an attempt to sketch in simple words some

memories of a varied life.
I am a Londoner, and proud of it. I was born opposite
the “Boston Arms”, Junction Road, Holloway, on February
22nd, 1868.
The earliest picture I can remember was simply a blur
of beautiful colours : the gold of the sun, the green of the
fields which were Tufnell Park, and the blue of the skies, and
the still brighter blue of my mother’s eyes. These were my
heaven my earth, and my paradise.
• • • • •

PICTURE No. 2

The first home I can remember was a house in Hanley

Road, Hornsey. This house was the middle one of three gaunt
grey houses which stood by themselves, faced by fields, and
adjacent at the back to the grounds of a large workhouse.
There were four floors in this house, and my family occupied
the middle two floors. My mother called it “the heart of
the house”. The basement rooms were occupied by a
sculptor, a genial, Bohemian sort of chap, who used the
scullery as a studio and pretended he liked it. He declared
that he found it most convenient, as there was always plenty
of water close at hand with which to wet his clay.
My father was an artist, a painter of pictures. He used
13
14
MY MAGIC LIFE
the ground floor back-room as a studio. Sometimes he
would paint in the garden, using the family for models.
The third menage in this house was occupied by a
couple whom I have quite forgotten.
I remember thinking how wonderful the moon was,
watching it night after night from my bed, until one night,
in a dream, I got up and tried to climb through the window
to get this wonderful shining orb ; fortunately my father
heard me and caught me just in time and pulled me back
to earth.
At this time I had two sisters and a baby brother. I
was the eldest of the family. We were taken for long walks
by a nursemaid who had beautiful hair and for this reason
sometimes acted as a model to my father. When she was so
engaged I had to take the youngsters for a walk, strictly
limited to the pavement and within sight of the house.
Thus early I was taught a sense of responsibility.
I remember the popular tunes of that day were from the
opera of Madame Angot.
One last vivid vignette lingers in my mind. One cold
winter’s morning I was sent to the front door to take in the
can of milk, when I saw a group of people at the corner
surrounding a policeman. Curiosity prompted me to edge
my small person amongst them, and there on the snow-
covered ground I saw, to my horror, the frozen body of a
murdered infant. This was my first sight of death, and I
realized that there was sin and cruelty in the world.

•••••

PICTURE No. 3

St. John’s Ville Road, Highgate, is the next place I

remember; a green-shaded lamp shining down upon a
wooden block which my father was painting in black and
white for the engraver. He did these pictures for the
Illustrated London News, Chatterbox, etc., and used the
family as models. I appeared in a picture in which I
represented several Indian fishermen during King Edward’s
visit to India. My father was constantly working, without
 PICTURES OF MY EARLY LIFE 15
much repayment in this world’s goods. He seemed to do it
for art’s sake.
He had some Spartan ideas. I remember him taking me
into a kind of outhouse where he had found a rat ; he gave
me a poker and told me to go ahead and kill the rat, which I
had to do under his direction. This was to teach me to face
danger. I still remember the wild rushes I made at that
rat, and how enormous and ferocious it seemed.

PICTURE No. 4

It was a long time before I went to school. Father was

waiting to afford a good school, and my education was put
off week after week. At last Mother took me and the
matter in hand and marched me off to York Road Board
School, where I was put among the infants. I was about
ten years of age and hardly knew my A B C .
One of the first sights I saw in this school was a kicking,
scrambling boy being brutally thrashed by one of the
under-masters. I am thankful I did not stay at that school
long. Through a friend, I was able to attend a decent
school. We were then living in Sandall Road. My new
school was in Great College Street. I was admitted here
free on condition that I swept the school after school hours,
scrubbed the floors, and washed the windows in my half­
holidays.

PICTURE No. 5

At school my nickname was “Monkey-face”.

PICTURE No. 6

The next picture I remember was a large hospital ward,

where a nurse used to come round at six o’clock in the
morning with a zinc bath of cold water and a piece of tow
 16 MY MAGIC LIFE
to serve as a face-flannel. I was there for three months, and
our dinner was weighed out to us. As the meat was carved,
it was placed on a zinc scale-pan, and it usually reached our
beds quite cold. Three times I was prepared for an opera­
tion, and three times I was sent back from the operating-
theatre as being too weak to undergo it. The fourth time
it was successfully performed. I had a hard abscess at the
side of my knee caused by a kick at football.

PICTURE No. 7

The next picture: jolly games at a convalescent home at

Walton-on-Thames. There I met a convalescent butler,
and in my youthful eyes he appeared a very grand and
portly person, and gave me graphic stories of “high life”
below stairs. He persuaded me that as a pageboy I should
be able to lead a sheltered and delightful life, and fired me
with my first ambition. I wanted to be a pageboy, with
shiny buttons and two helpings of pudding every day !
After a further spell of convalescence at Bognor I
returned to Sandall Road, with one desire in life: to find a
situation as a pageboy.

PICTURE No. 8

I next remember poring over newspaper advertisements

and answering likely ones in person, with invariable ill
success, no doubt because I was in knickerbockers and
hardly twelve years of age. At last I saw an advertisement
for a boy to do housework at a house in Bartholomew
Road, which was near our home. For that reason, I
suppose, I was the first applicant. I was favourably received
by the lady of the house, who explained to me the duties.
I was not to sleep in, and was to commence work at
seven o’clock in the morning. My first job was to clean all
the boots of the family of eight. Then I was to clean the
 PICTURES OF MY EARLY LIFE 17
brass bells and door-knocker, take the coals upstairs, feed
the chickens, and help the housemaid wait at table, clean all
the knives and silver, run any errands required, and clean all
the windows of the three-storied house, inside and out, and
polish all the looking-glasses. All this I blithely undertook
to do in return for my board, uniform, and five shillings
per week.
However, the mistress wished to interview my mother
first, and I had to go home and explain. I first told the
news to my six brothers and sisters, who applauded my
efforts and envied the post. But Mother was rather
dubious about it, and Father was furious. Mother was in
such desperate need of food and money that she finally
consented that I should take the situation for a week or two.
Mother and I went off to see the lady, and the matter was
settled in half an hour.
The following Monday morning I commenced work.
I had an unlucky accident the first morning. There was a
mirror fixed in a certain part of the hall of the house to give
an illusion of space. It deceived me, and so successfully that
I ran straight into it with a heavy scuttle of coals and
cracked the mirror from top to bottom. I expected to be
instantly dismissed, and I was given a week’s notice. How­
ever, I found the mistress was mortally afraid of blackbeetles,
and got into her good graces again by catching them with
my bare hands, thus clearing her store-cupboard of these
annoying insects.
The next accident I had was on the following Sunday. I
slipped on the stairs when carrying up a hot leg of mutton;
the mutton slid back to the basement, making a noiseless
descent. I kept my head, but lost the gravy. I went
down and picked up the leg of mutton, took it back
to the cook, and explained matters. “Oh, that’s all
right,” she said. “What the eye doesn’t see, the heart
doesn’t grieve over.” She wiped the leg of mutton
with the dish-cloth, poured some more hot gravy over
it, and I went upstairs with it again as if nothing had
happened.
 18 MY MAGIC LIFE

PICTURE No. 9

A change of situation brought about by getting tired

after eighteen months of sheltered family life at Kentish
Town.
Again scanning the newspapers, I obtained another post.
Behold me in a scarlet cap, blue claw-hammer coat, and
silver buttons. The scarlet cap was marked “Refreshments”.
I was to be seen daily walking up and down the trains
at Euston Station, vending fruit and chocolates, which I
carried jauntily balanced on a silver tray. From seven
o’clock in the morning until nine o’clock at night I led this
public life.
In between the departure of the various trains I had to
clean the windows and polish the tables of the bars, wait
at table, cut sandwiches, keep the bar stocked with Bath
buns, and run errands.
I had eighteen months of this. Then my engagement
was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the manager
discovering me practising conjuring tricks in one of the
wine-cellars when I ought to have been selling straw­
berries to passengers on the Scotch Express.

•••••

PICTURE No. 10

Again the scene was changed. I had served lunches to

an old gentleman who was a director of the newly formed
telephone company, and who used to talk to me of the
wonders of this new instrument. On hearing of my
dismissal, he offered me a post in an exchange as telephone
operator. The money to start with was not very tempting
—ten shillings a week and no food.
I had now had three years of pageboy’s life, and was
feeling an urge for something different. The exchange
seemed to be one opening to a new world, so I took the
opportunity and accepted the situation.
In the meantime my family had moved their domicile
from Sandall Road to Brecknock Road, thence to Junction
 PICTURES OF MY EARLY LIFE 19
Road, and later to Fortess Road, and now were settled in
Countess Road. All these houses were in the neighbourhood
of Tufnell Park, which was then mostly fields.
My new employment took me to Mincing Lane to one of
the City exchanges. My hours were nine till six. I
walked there every morning from Tufnell Park, via Brecknock
Road, York Road, and Farringdon Street, and also walked
back on most nights. The work was very monotonous,
connecting up numbers all day long, and placating irate
subscribers who couldn’t get their numbers quickly
enough.
I learned a good deal of diplomacy in this work, and was
finally selected as an expert operator to operate the new line
which had just been opened from London to Brighton,
which, at that time, was considered an enormous distance to
talk over. I had a pleasant time at Brighton, with an
allowance for boarding. Being looked upon by the other
operators there as an expert, I began to show off a little, and
got into the habit of tapping my transmitter, which was
formed like a box, with the end of the receiver.
One day the gentleman who installed me in the
situation (he was a Scotsman, by the way) caught me at the
tapping business, and in a few words told me what an
unscientific ass I was. I was sent back to town in disgrace, in
a humiliating position. I had been in one job for eighteen
months, and had had enough of telephones. I sent in a
polite resignation.
•••••

P I C T U R E N o . 11

By this time I was practising conjuring hard, and set

about looking for a situation which would give me more
time for it. I obtained an introduction to a gentleman who
was agent for the new “Albo Carbon Light” and “Stotts
Gas Governors” and other gas-lighting devices. The
headquarters were a small office in Fenchurch Street.
Salary, nominal; commission on sales, liberal; hours, as one
pleased—provided one reported at the office once a day and
had sales to report.
20 MY MAGIC LIFE
I made a speciality of calling upon artists, persuading
them to let me install an Albo Carbon Light in their studios
on a sale-or-return basis. I fitted these up myself. I had to
acquire a knowledge of gasfitters’ work, and I dare say my
fitting was as bad as the worst plumbing ever seen.
I was so keen on conjuring that I spent the little money I
had in buying books and apparatus, and many a day a
penny scone served for my midday meal. After eighteen
months of this work I gave it up, because I thought I could
now launch out as an entertainer, and after a few words with
my employer over a light which I had fixed above a billiard
table in Bromley—the wretched thing had boiled over and
ruined the cloth—I said good-bye to gas-lights.

PICTURE No. 12

This last picture is dim and misty. I seem to remember

countless scores of agents, hours spent in reading and castle-
building, and hours spent in giving free entertainments and
trial shows and five-shilling entertainments and penny
entertainments, all of which seemed fruitless in feeding my
ambition. A veritable hand-to-mouth existence for about
a year, until at last a tour was booked which led on to
fortune.
 CHAPTER I

MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC

T he first conjurer I ever set eyes upon was that Royal wizard
Dr. Holden, who, previous to my seeing his performance,
had had the honour of appearing before Queen Victoria.
Boylike, I was more impressed, I am afraid, by his shiny
silk hat and fur-lined overcoat. I took his magic as being
perfectly natural to such a resplendent human being.
He gave us an hour’s performance after afternoon school
one day. Admission was one penny, and I vividly remember
two tricks that he did. One was blood writing on the arm,
introduced, I believe, by Dr. Lynn, and the other was the
production of a growth of flowers. Such flowers I had never
seen before growing out of one pot: emerald-green leaves
and a posy of the most highly coloured blossoms it is
possible to imagine. They were grown in a vase of sawdust,
covered by a highly decorated cone, into which was dropped
pieces of blazing paper by way of forcing the culture.
I suppose I was too young then to be inoculated with the
craze for magic ; in any case, it didn’t affect me at the time
any more than the potter and his wheel that I saw at the
same school ; yet a few years later I did the same thing with
flowers myself. I remember a bit of my patter at the time
was a quotation running thus : “If in this weary world of
ours, we could reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
what a heaven on earth we’d make it !”
Two or three years later I had begun to take up magic in
the true sense of the word. My interest had first been
aroused by a shilling trick seen in a shop window. I had
had an afternoon off from my work, which work I heartily
disliked, and as I strolled along the squares of Bloomsbury
that hot summer day I was wondering what on earth I could
22 MY MAGIC LIFE
do to change my life, building castles in the air with little
foundation of hope.
I came into Oxford Street, and there in a shop window
opposite Mudies’ Library, with the name of “Joseph Bland”
on the door, I saw a glittering array of strange objects.
One of them was ticketed, “This egg will disappear, is.”
It looked quite a commonplace, unintelligent egg sitting in a
cup, and it started me wondering how such a thing could be.
I went in the shop and bought it, and was shown the way it
worked.
I took that egg and cup home and began showing it to my
brothers and sisters. It caused such a sensation in the home
circle that on my next afternoon “off” I made straight for
that magic shop and spent all my pocket money in acquiring
small tricks.
The shop is now a bird shop. On the death of Joseph
Bland it was taken over by Hamley’s for a few years. But
to this day there still lingers some of the old decorations
round the window-frame through which I used to gaze. A
few doors from Bland’s there was another conjurer’s shop
belonging to Herr Proskaeur. (You will note they were
nearly all Doctors, Professors, or Herrs; some were also
Colonels and Lieutenants.) This shop was not nearly so
gorgeous, but much cheaper, and I therefore soon began to
patronize it.
One day when I was there buying the “penny” that went
through the neck of a bottle, I noticed a little man in the
corner of the shop furtively watching the proceedings, and
when I left he followed me. Accosting me, he asked if I
wanted any more tricks, as he had some good ones to sell.
He promptly proceeded to produce from his pocket a small
tumbler, and, with water from an adjacent fountain, he
showed me the dissolving penny. This was the best small
trick I had seen up till then, and it really puzzled me.
However, I reluctantly explained to the little man that
I had no money left save fourpence. This he offered to
accept for the secret, and, as I closed with the bargain
promptly, he taught me the trick there and then on the
refuge in the middle of Oxford Street.
Shortly after this I was walking along Euston Road one
 MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC 23
evening, when, to my delight, I came across a conjurer
performing outside a shop. He was doing the “Ariel Mint”
and “Chinese Rings”. For the former he was using the
lately neglected coin-wand. A crowd was watching him,
and we were all invited inside afterwards to see greater
marvels at the fee of one penny each. The inside of the
shop was draped with scarlet turkey twill. After showing us
a few more tricks he introduced a lady, and together they
gave an excellent “second sight” performance.
I soon introduced myself to this gentleman, whose
stage name was Kasper, alias the “Great Court Conjurer”.
He was very interested in me, especially when I told him I
was out to buy tricks. He asked me to come and see him the
next Sunday, when I acquired, amongst other things, the
“Rising Cards” for 4s. 6d. This procedure went on for
several weeks, I attending as many of his performances as I
possibly could. Then one Sunday, having told me he was
going away to Nottingham, he offered to teach me many
more if I could persuade an artist friend of mine to paint a
certain picture for him.
“Look ’ere,” I remember him saying, “if you’ll get your
friend to do me a picture according to my orders, I’ll give
the ’ole game away to yer.”
The offer seemed so generous that I at once closed with
it. I had occasionally taken a young artist with me to see
the show, and the “Great Court Conjurer” had been very
interested in watching him while he sketched. I wished
that there might be no misunderstanding between the
“Great Court Conjurer” and myself, so I went back to him
and asked him what he meant by “giving the whole game
away”.
“Why, I’ll teach yer all the bloomin’ tricks there ever
was, is, or could be,” he said.
“All those I’ve seen you perform ?” I asked eagerly.
“Yes,” he replied, “all of ’em, and a lot more.”
I was so delighted at the prospect of learning the
complete art of conjuring (I have since discovered that one
has never learnt all there is to learn about conjuring) that I
rushed off at once to my artist friend and begged him to
begin a picture there and then. I forget what I promised
24 MY MAGIC LIFE
him for his work, but I know that he considered the sum
insufficient. He pointed out that by simply putting his
brush on a small canvas a few times he was going to make my
fortune. Therefore I ought to pay handsomely.
“You may be quite sure,” he said, “that a man like your
friend the conjurer is no fool. If he had ever thought of
being a fool he would never have been a conjurer. Well,
then, since he is no fool, his opinion is worth having ; and if
he has seen, from the few sketches I have made at his place,
that my work is good, you may be quite sure that it is very
good ; otherwise he would not offer to give away all the
secrets of his work for one small picture from me. Why,
man, your fortune’s made ! In exchange for one small
picture from me you learn all there is to learn about
conjuring from a master of the art.”
Inexperienced as I was, I had my doubts about the
“Great Court Conjurer” being a master of the art ; but I
did not discuss the point, and eventually we came to
terms.
“What sort of a picture do you think he wants ?” asked
the artist.
“I don’t know. He said a picture ‘to my orders’.”
“Oh,” said the artist, “I expect he wants a little landscape
or something of that sort to hang outside his place as an
attraction to the public. You know,” he added confidently,
“I always thought that conjurer was a cut above the
ordinary conjurers ; he has refined tastes, you may depend
upon it.”
Seeing that I was striving every day to become a conjurer
myself, I thought this was rather unkind, but I was so
anxious not to deter my friend from painting the picture
that I refrained from starting a discussion about conjurers
and their refinement—or lack of it.
“I’ve come to paint that picture for you,” said my friend,
the artist, as we entered the shop in which the “Great
Court Conjurer” performed.
“And when it’s done you won’t forget your part of the
bargain ?” I put in.
“No, I won’t forget—when it’s done,” he added mean­
ingly.
 MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC 25
“Oh, I can do it for you,” said my artist, somewhat
haughtily.
“Very well, then,” said the “Great Court Conjurer”;
“now what I want is this.”
He proceeded to explain at great length the kind of
picture he required, and I can see now the long series of
different expressions that flitted across my artist’s face as
the old showman spoke. At the beginning my friend just
stuttered out “Oh !” at the end of each sentence, but
towards the close he seemed to have recovered his presence
of mind, and he began to argue with the conjurer.
“But I would much rather paint you a picture of my own
making,” he said.
“No,” said the conjurer, “I don’t want none of your
landscapes” (he put two adjectives before landscapes), “or
sea-scenes, or portraits, or anythink—except just the
picture I told you of. Is it a deal ?”
The artist said he would think it over for half an hour. I
could not blame him ; for certainly the picture that the
“Great Court Conjurer” required was no ordinary picture.
The scene was to be the largest state-room in Windsor
Castle. The two principal figures in the picture were to
be the “Great Court Conjurer” and his wife. The lady
was to be sitting on the throne, her eyes were to be bandaged,
and the “Great Court Conjurer” was to be holding up a
pocket-handkerchief. The picture, according to the man’s
own directions, was to be called : “What ’ave we ’ere ?
The State Performance.”
The Queen and all the members of the Royal Family
were to be sitting or standing near the two performers.
The “Great Court Conjurer” stipulated that the likenesses
should be good, that the men should have on military or
naval uniforms, and that the ladies were to be wearing
evening-dress and large quantities of diamonds. Orders
and decorations were to be in great profusion, and the
place was to be brilliantly lit by tall candles. On one side was
to be a small table on which various flags, ribbons, and other
articles used in the performance were to be prominently
displayed. Some of the members of the Royal Family were
to be applauding—some were to be open-mouthed with
26 MY MAGIC LIFE
astonishment, and some were to be laughing behind gold
fans studded with rubies and sapphires. In the distance
there was to be a supper-table, sumptuously laid, with at
least two dozen powdered footmen standing on either side.
One footman, more gorgeous than the others, was to be
standing near the conjurer’s table. From the attitude of
this special footman it was to be plain to everyone that he
had been told off to act as the conjurer’s assistant.
The “Great Court Conjurer” bargained for several
other details, but they were comparatively unimportant.
He was to have three large diamonds in his shirt, and a
massive ring on the third finger of his right hand—the one
that held the handkerchief. The conjurer’s wife was to
have an orange-coloured silk dress ; on her left arm were to
be three heavy gold bracelets, and on her right arm there was
to be a mass of lighter bracelets set with various precious
stones. Her fingers were, of course, to be covered with
rings.
When the artist said that he would like to consider the
offer for half an hour, he really meant that he wanted to
find out how much money I would give him for the work.
It was pleasant to see the wonderful and rapid change
that had come over the artist. He had often talked to me
of loving art for art’s sake, an occupation that he had
hitherto followed quite easily, for his pictures had certainly
never brought him in a halfpenny. Now that he had
practically received his first commission, he soon forgot that
there was to be no art in the composition of his picture, but
he haggled with me over the price in a most inartistic—but
very businesslike—fashion. I forget how much I offered
him, but I know that he eventually agreed to accept it. I
need scarcely add that we anticipated the “Drage” system of
payments. I promised to wipe out the debt by monthly
instalments.
I shall never forget that picture. The “Great Court
Conjurer” insisted on seeing it every evening and giving
the artist suggestions for its improvement. I remember well
the look of dismay that came into the conjurer’s face when
he first saw the picture of himself holding up the handker­
chief. The handkerchief painted by the artist was quite
 MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC 27
white. The conjurer suggested that it was too white.
Could it not be toned down a little, so as to be more in
keeping with the dove colour on the walls ? When the
artist refused to make the handkerchief grey, the conjurer
suggested that a red pattern on the handkerchief would be
better than a plain white one. So the “Great Court
Conjurer” had the red pattern on his handkerchief, and he
had a crimson silk handkerchief tucked into his waistcoat.
When the picture was finished the conjurer said that he
wished that it had been twice the size.
“You should have said so before,” replied the artist
gruffly.
“Well,” said the conjurer, “if you’ll make my hair a
little bit longer, and make my moustache curl a little bit
more upwards, I won’t say anything more about it.”
At last, then, the picture being finished, I was able to
realize one of my ambitions. I was to find out how all the
“Great Court Conjurer’s” tricks were done. I went to him
with a large notebook and said that if he would speak slowly
I would write down all he had to say.
“You needn’t trouble to write nothin’,” he said with a
grin. “You’ll find out how to do all those tricks I’ve taught
yer and sold yer, and all those tricks I do myself, and lots
more of ’em—you’ll find ’em all out if you’ll get two books
called Modern Magic by Professor Hoffman, and Houdin’s
Masterpieces. They’re all explained there. Get the books
and read them.”
I have since had reason to be grateful for this advice,
for one reading of these books opened up to me a new
fairyland. I saw before me the road to success.
Soon after this I discovered England’s home of mystery
at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, where Maskelyne and
Cooke’s gave shows twice daily. I shall never forget the joy
the first performance gave me and the rapture with which I
saw their feast of magic. From then onwards Maskelyne
and Cooke’s was my Mecca, and I determined some day to
appear behind the footlights of this hall of mystery. This
was in 1883, and in 1893, after ten years of hard work, I had
attained the object of my ambition.
After I had read and re-read Modern Magic many times
28 MY MAGIC LIFE
I began to present programmes suitable for parties, etc. Of
course I had to discard much of the apparatus I had acquired,
and I discovered what an important factor in magic are
the rules of dramatic art. From that time onward I
never bought a trick until I had made the most careful
consideration of its suitability.
Then came the great day when my name was announced
for an actual public performance. It was set forth on the
programme as follows :

Mr. David Devant, the drawing-room delight, will give per­

formances of magic at intervals.
“When wizards wield wands without wicked witchery, Man’s
merrily ’mazed, mid much magical mystery.”

The occasion was a bazaar, and the locale was a school­

room in the Kentish Town Road. At the last performance
on this, to me, memorable evening I noticed two conjurers
of my acquaintance amongst the audience. They were
Professor Era and Senor Elfredi—their ordinary names were
Thomas Edmonds and Alfred Potter. Seated between
them was a benign-looking gentleman who seemed to be
taking a keen interest in the performance. At the close,
all three stayed behind, and to my astonishment Mr.
Edmonds introduced the stranger as Professor Hoffman. I
forgot all about the pose of cool demeanour and calm
which I had carefully practised on the stage ; in the words
of the song, “I gave him a slap on the back”, and shouted out
in my exuberance of spirit, “It was all through your book,
Mr. Hoffman”—which was an awful accusation under the
circumstances.
This vigorous assault knocked his glasses off, but he
accepted my apologies and heartened me considerably by
telling me that, in his opinion, if I went on as I had begun, I
would one day become a great conjurer.
Soon I got to know other conjurers, including the
redoubtable Dr. Holden, whom I met at Frank Hiam’s shop
in Nile Street, City Road, where many conjurers met on
Sunday evenings. This shop was, in fact, a sort of informal
club, and it was there that I first met Servais Le Roy, who
 MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC 29
was about my own age. We were great pals, and remain so
to this day, having studied and struggled together. There
was also a Dr. Harley, Lieut. Albini, Dr. Nix, Col. Meurice
De Cone, and many others. My dear friend Henry Donn
was often there ; he will remember how Frank Hiam used
to send us out in turn to fetch the light refreshments while
he was in his glory showing us how the tricks he made ought
to be presented.
I had the luck about this time to see a two-hours’
performance by Professor Hellis, one of the most satisfying
two-hours’ performances I ever saw. Each trick or group
of tricks was kept distinct, and the programme was perfectly
balanced. One trick he made a great feature of was “The
Egyptian Pocket”. Carl Hertz, whose first performance in
London I had the pleasure of seeing, also made a feature of
this fine old trick. At that time no one did big illusions on
the music-halls, but the advent of Bautier de Kolta’s
vanishing lady altered all this. It was imitated and was seen
at all the halls. But as Maskelyne said in his advertisement
at the time, “Imitations were like farthing dips compared
to electric light.”
Bautier once impressed upon me that a trick was no use
without a surprise. The “Vanishing Lady” was one of the
finest illusions I ever saw, for here was a surprise indeed.
Bautier walked forward with a newspaper in his hand ; this
he unfolded and spread out in the centre of the stage. He
then picked up a light, ordinary-looking chair, of which, by
the way, he showed all sides, and placed it in the centre of
the newspaper. He then handed a lady in and she seated
herself on this chair. Bautier proceeded to cover her up
with a piece of purple silk, pinning it round her head and
shoulders, dropping the rest and draping it to the floor.
No part of this silk was allowed to lie outside the news­
paper.
There was a pause. Bautier came down the stage,
looked at the draped figure, took hold of the silk with two
hands—one about the waist and the other at the head—and
threw the silk up into the air ; it seemed to leave his hands in
a flash. Both woman and silk had utterly disappeared.
Again the chair was lifted off the newspaper, and in doing so
30 MY MAGIC LIFE
Bautier showed it back and front. He then picked up the
newspaper and folded it together.
Bautier’s new experiments created a furore, and, together
with the performances of Charles Bertram and Verbeck
which preceded these, made a big boom in conjuring.
Verbeck’s first performances were given in the Prince’s
Hall, and those that followed by Charles Bertram were at
St. James’s Hall. Verbeck, however, did not stay long at
the Prince’s Hail, but moved into a smaller place which was
called the Piccadilly Hall and was nearly opposite. Verbeck’s
seance was very striking because of the entire absence of
apparatus. An added importance was given to the patter
by an interpreter who translated every French phrase spoken
by Verbeck into English.
I cannot remember to any great extent the details of the
show, but one of the best things Verbeck did was his
“Thought Transference”, in which he was assisted by
Mademoiselle Marguerite. Another very striking experi­
ment was with a wedding ring, which was borrowed,
flattened by a hammer, crumpled up in a programme into a
ball, and, on being touched with sealing-wax, became
transformed into a securely sealed envelope, which, when
broken open, was found to contain a second sealed packet.
Another envelope was found inside this, and the ring was
finally discovered in this third envelope. With the per­
mission of the owner of the ring, the whole process was gone
through again.
Verbeck also made popular the feat of causing twelve
cards to depart from one’s hand, one at a time, and travel
invisibly by way of the sleeve into the opening of the
waistcoat. He always concluded this experiment by causing
the cards to diminish.
Charles Bertram was quite different in style. His
manner was Bohemian and genial, whereas Verbeck was
inclined to be Mephistophelian and serious. Bertram
showed a series of drawing-room tricks devoid of apparatus,
and his whole performance was merry and bright, full of life
and colour.
The hall was arranged like a Society drawing-room. At
the back of a small open platform stood a handsome folding-
 MY INTRODUCTION TO MAGIC 31
screen ; in front of this were a couple of gilt chairs and two
gilt gipsy tables. These did not suggest conjuring-tables
in any way, except that they were beautifully decorated, the
tops being covered with plush, and round the edges were
small festoons, hung in scollops. The colour, I remember,
was peacock blue and cherry red alternately, and the effects
were charming. The only other adjuncts were two banks
of real flowers and a grand piano at which a lady presided.
Large shaded lamps completed the picture.
Colour makes a wonderful difference to an entertainment,
and I would impress upon any conjurer producing a show
the importance of good colour schemes and the wisdom of
avoiding ugly contrasts. In Victorian days colouring
effects were very crude compared with what they are to-day,
when one can see many beautiful examples of effective
colour-combinations. My friend Gordon Powell once
suggested to me as a colouring scheme for three hand­
kerchiefs I wanted to use for an experiment, emerald
green, scarlet and gold, with a border to each of the same
coloured silk. Thus the gold was bordered with green,
the red with the gold, and the green with the red, and it
was surprising what a strikingly beautiful effect this made.
Still more charming effects could be obtained by using the
delicate pastel shades now in vogue.
The wrong colour scheme can ruin a show. This, in my
opinion, is what happened to Verbeck’s second seance in
London, in which he produced a new programme. For
this event he had his stage entirely draped in Cambridge blue.
Had he been a large canary it would have been a suitable
background, but as he was dressed in ordinary evening
clothes it made him appear as a moving silhouette. The
colour was much too effeminate and cold, and gave a totally
wrong atmosphere to the performance.
The producer needs all the help he can get, whether he
is producing a conjuring performance or any other form of
stage spectacle. I myself found a valuable assistant in my
wife, who had a much better colour-sense than I had, and
she it was who designed all the colour schemes I used in
later years. But my first fit-up was suggested by Bertram’s
tables, and was crimson and peacock blue. Another very
32 MY MAGIC LIFE
successful one was peacock blue with an applique of autumn
leaves, with a black carpet. Another one was red velvet with
a deep gold fringe and gilt pillars. Yet another was black
and orange draping and carpet, with side screens painted to
represent Chinese lacquer ; tableau curtains and borders
decorated in gold, also in a Chinese style. The latter I
found the most satisfactory “fit-up” I have ever had, and it
answered most purposes.
It was about this time that I saw Bautier perform the
second edition of his famous “Flying Birdcage”, which
he brought out to eclipse the imitators of his first cage.
The new version consisted of a round cage; the first
one was oblong shaped, about the size of a large cigar-box,
and this at that time was being imitated all over the place.
The new cage looked perfectly natural; Bautier came forward
holding it in one hand, and, standing almost on the run­
down, he suddenly threw it in the air, where it disappeared
like a flash. He then took off his coat and threw it to the
audience for examination. When he took the coat back
to the stage he reproduced the cage from the folds of the
garment.
I have never seen this imitated. There is always a risk
of hurting the bird used for this trick, but Bertram rectified
this by allowing the bird to escape from the cage just before
he was about to vanish it ; the bird flew into the back of
the hall, and Bertram remarked : “You have flown away,
have you ? Well, take the cage with you.” Then he
vanished the cage in the conventional way.
 CHAPTER II

THE HOT PUDDING AND THE VANISHING LADY

I did not always have hot pudding when I was young. At

times the menu was bread and cheese, and mostly bread. Yet
even in those days I had an idea that if only I learnt enough
about conjuring the hot pudding would come to me even­
tually, and, more or less, my hopes have been realized. I
suppose it must have been because as a boy I was so fond
of hot pudding that I deliberately worked hot pudding
into the first professional conjuring performance I ever gave.
I was very young. That was why I engaged a small hall
at five shillings for the afternoon, and expected that I should
be able to make some pocket money by doing tricks for
two hours.
There were two prices of admission. If you were a
parent you paid twopence ; if you had the misfortune (you
will soon see why it was a misfortune) to be a child, you
paid a penny. For this modest sum you were not only
entertained by me, but you were entitled to share in the
“Grand Fairy Distribution” which came at the end of the
performance.
I have never promised so much at an entertainment
since. In order to get the hall for five shillings an after­
noon I had to engage it for a series of performances, and
so I announced that each Saturday there would be a complete
change of programme. The first entertainment went
capitally. I had practised hard, and had caused my name
to be put in large letters outside the hall. I had an idea
that this in itself would be sufficient to draw a large crowd.
I was not disappointed with the size of my first audience,
but I noticed, after the first few tricks, that the first two
34 MY MAGIC LIFE
rows appeared to be unduly anxious about the “Fairy
Distribution”. At length some of my audience entreated
me to come to that part of the performance. Now to
have done that would have upset my scheme. To tell you
the truth, I could not have given the “Fairy Distribution”
in the middle of the entertainment, but had I confessed
my inability I should have lowered myself in the eyes of
my audience. Therefore I had to pretend that the fairy
had made an appointment to distribute at half-past four,
and would not appear until then. As a matter of fact
the good fairy had taken the money at the door, and while
the performance was in progress the good fairy was regulating
the size of his distribution to the size of the audience.
Have you guessed what my “Fairy Distribution” was ?
It was a real large hot pudding, beautifully cooked, with
plums inside. In shape it was a “roly-poly”. I remember
that at the first performance the plums in the pudding were
very numerous ; we wished to attract the audience again.
The pudding was introduced adroitly. I flattered my­
self that I had hit upon a new and original trick, and in
that respect I was right. No conjurer of my acquaintance
has ever dared to conjure with a hot pudding ; I don’t
think that many of them have thought that their audiences
wanted hot pudding.
My great trick was really a variation of the omelette
trick, in which the conjurer brings on a silver-plated dish
(mine was not silver-plated) and shows it to be empty. He
breaks an egg into it, puts on the lid, waves his wand, takes
off the lid, and the omelette is made ! I began my trick
by chopping up a few pieces of suet and mixing them with
plums. Then I put on the lid, waved my wand, and brought
out the nice, savoury-smelling hot pudding. I know that
at the first performance I had great difficulty in restraining
myself from tasting the pudding. I almost hoped that some
of my audience would be so amazed at its sudden appear­
ance that they would refrain from eating it ; then I should
have had to encourage them by helping myself to a piece.
However, the pudding was so popular that afternoon
that it all disappeared as quickly as it had been produced ;
and I was left with the pleasing reflection that though I
 THE HOT PUDDING 35
was exceedingly hungry, my success as a conjurer was
assured. I may mention that I received nothing for the
performance. The money-taker, who had been responsible
for the making of the pudding, assured me that there was
“no change”.
My hot-pudding trick being so successful, I repeated it
on the following Saturday. To save expense, I magically
“converted ” the same chopped suet and plums that I had
used at the first performance. Once more the trick was
successful, and once more I received no money for my
afternoon’s work. This was not exactly what I had ex­
pected, and so I stipulated that on the following Saturday
afternoon the pudding should be of a cheaper kind. I
did not discover until the consequences could not be
avoided that I had made a mistake in thus changing the
pudding. I know now that I ought to have changed the
money-taker. No sooner had I reached the “Fairy Dis­
tribution” in my third performance than I saw my audience
were becoming restless ; and just as I was about to touch
the dish with my magic wand and disclose the hot pudding,
a small lean boy—the sort of boy that eats all day without
getting fat—exclaimed in a high, squeaky voice :
“Please, we’re tired of pudden’. We should like some-
think else—sweets, or nuts, or oranges.”
The suggestion horrified me. Here was my great
popular success failing at the third performance ! The
worst of it was that directly one boy had spoken the others
began to chime in. They said unkind things about my
pudding. They referred to its stodginess, and to the fact
that it was not half so good as the puddings that mother
made on Sundays. I reasoned with the grumblers. I
pointed out to them, first of all, that they had spoken too
late ; they ought to have sent in their requests before the
commencement of the performance. Then the spokesman
—I can see him now, the ugly, awkward little brute—
replied to me. He said that according to the bill stuck
upon the door I had promised to give a complete change
of programme every Saturday. This was the third Satur­
day, and they had had hot pudding twice before. I made
the obvious reply that I used a fresh pudding at every
36 MY MAGIC LIFE
performance, and therefore the programme was changed. To
tell you the truth, I was a little annoyed at this ingratitude
and interruption, and I pointed out to them that if they
did not appreciate the performance there were plenty of
other little boys in the neighbourhood who would only
be too pleased to get an afternoon’s amusement and some
pudding for a penny.
By this time I knew that the pudding was getting horribly
cold and clammy, so I said the magic words, and a few others
that I hope were not audible, and I brought my magic
wand down with a smash on the tin cover. The grumblers
ate the pudding in silence.
The audience at the next performance was smaller ;
the “Fairy Distribution” was accordingly reduced in size,
and the supply of plums was very meagre. The absence of
plums seemed to have an exhilarating effect on the front
row. They asked for plums ; they suggested that I was
keeping back the plums for myself, and one boy even went
so far as to say that he could make a better pudding with a
lump of dough and a beer-can. I treated the remarks with
silent disdain.
Every week after that my Saturday afternoon audience
became smaller, consequently the “Fairy Distributions”
were almost plumless. At last—it was one wretched, wet
Saturday afternoon—everything seemed to go wrong all
at once. One boy, who had been helped by me most
liberally to hot pudding, complained that he did not
want so much at once ; he preferred to take it in small
doses. He then passed his pudding on to another boy.
Unfortunately, he passed it on rather quickly; in fact the
other boy said that the pudding had been thrown at him.
He retaliated by returning the pudding most promptly.
In a moment there was a free fight in which my hot pud­
ding was the principal weapon. And a most powerful
weapon it made. The fight had not been raging half a
minute before five of the boys were suffering from temporary
loss of eyesight. The pudding seemed to be unusually
adhesive that afternoon.
On the following Saturday the audience made no pre­
tence of eating the “Fairy Distribution”. They just took
 THE HOT PUDDING 37
sections of it and threw them at each other. This went on
for several Saturdays, and at last the hallkeeper complained
to me. He said he did not mind my amusing the boys as
long as they threw the pudding at each other (I had never
wanted to amuse them in this way), but he objected to the
pudding being thrown on to the walls of the hall. It was
true that it was not his hall, but he had to clean it; and he
assured me that pieces of pudding that had become “set”
on the walls could not be removed without damaging the
paint. I had to admit that he was justified in objecting
to the “Fairy Distribution”. The pudding seemed to have
peculiar properties. When it was first produced it looked
like a nice, useful pudding, but when it was divided up into
small pieces and allowed to get cold it seemed to be a kind
of imitation putty. Since then I have often heard of tricks
falling flat, and jokes falling flat, but I never remember
having seen or heard of anything that fell quite so flat as that
pudding.
Needless to say, I soon recovered from this interlude and
began to aspire to greater heights. In due course I yearned
to do the Vanishing Lady Trick.
Being an amateur and a beginner, I scorned to use appar­
atus similar to that usually employed by conjurers when
performing this trick. I invented apparatus of my own,
and then thought out a new way of presenting the trick.
To do the trick I required two ladies closely resembling
each other, and I spent many weary weeks in trying to
discover such ladies. Sometimes I would come across two
sisters nearly alike ; but one would be fair and the other
dark. Then I would go so far as to suggest to the dark one
that there was an indescribable charm about golden hair
that appealed to ninety-nine men out of every hundred.
The dark one would take neither hints nor hair-dyes. Then
I would go to the fair one and murmur something nice
about the grandeur of fine, dark women, and how curious
it was that the great majority of married women were
dark. I don’t mean to say that I put it quite so brutally
as this ; but that was what my conversation amounted to.
But I did it once too often. I had urged a dark lady to
make herself fair, and on her refusing to do so I had urged
38 MY MAGIC LIFE
her fair sister to make herself dark—for reasons already
stated—and she had refused. Then they told each other
what I had said. I did the vanishing trick very quickly
then—with an impudent youth, by name David Devant.
I began to think that my efforts to do the Vanishing
Lady Trick would never be successful, when one day I
came across the two ladies I wanted. They were dressed
alike, their faces were very much alike, and they were of the
same height. I was so struck with their appearance that I
followed them—discreetly—and eventually saw them go
into a dressmaker’s shop. The next thing was to get an
introduction to the ladies. But how ? I could find no
one who knew them. In order not to lose sight of them I
met them regularly every morning as they were going to
business, and I hoped—oh, how I hoped !—that one of them
would be attacked by a dog, or nearly run over by a ’bus, so
that I might then rescue her and earn her lasting gratitude,
and engage her for my Vanishing Lady Trick, all at the same
time. A friend to whom I had confided my hopes offered
to bring his dog one morning, and to make him bark savagely
as the two young ladies turned the corner.
I had almost decided to close with this offer ; but
another friend, who, I afterwards found, had been bitten
by the aforesaid dog, told me that if I attempted any rescue
work when the dog was on the scene one of two things
would inevitably happen : either I should be bitten badly
myself, or one of the two ladies would be bitten in such a way
that her likeness to her friend would be effectually and per­
manently destroyed. Either way I should still be unable
to do my Vanishing Lady Trick, so I had to think of a
simpler plan of obtaining the introduction I needed.
At last there came a time when I could wait no longer.
All the apparatus was ready, and I was determined that I
would do the Vanishing Lady Trick that week. My plan
was quite simple. Not being able to get an introduction
in the usual way, I resolved to introduce myself. I there­
fore walked up to the two ladies, raised my hat, and said
very politely :
“Pardon me—er—good morning. Would you mind
being vanishing ladies ?”
 THE HOT PUDDING 39
(I don’t suppose anyone will believe it, but this is
absolutely true.)
I cannot describe properly what happened next. The
two ladies jumped on one side, and were evidently going to
run away. I therefore assured them hurriedly that it was
for a trick, and they would be paid. I had selected them
because of their charming presence, and I regretted not
having been introduced.
Slowly it dawned on the two ladies that I was not insane ;
and when they had realized that my proposal was strictly
of a business nature, they became quite communicative.
Eventually they agreed to perform with me on the condition
that they might both take a part in the trick. As this was
exactly what I wanted, we soon made a happy little party.
But my troubles were by no means at an end. I dis­
covered that the two ladies thought that two—or at the
most three—rehearsals would be quite sufficient ; and I did
not rid them of this idea without many arguments and
entreaties and threats, and much persuasion.
The trick was successful, in fact it was too good. No
other amateur conjurer in our neighbourhood did the
Vanishing Lady Trick, and so I was in great request.
Unfortunately, people would come round to the stage
doors of the halls at which I performed on purpose to see
the Vanishing Lady and myself enter and depart. I had
not bargained for this attention. In order to preserve the
secret of the trick it was absolutely necessary that only one
Vanishing Lady should be seen in public with me.
The puzzle, then, was how to smuggle one lady in behind
the scenes some time before the commencement of the
performance, so that the Vanishing Lady and I might enter
the stage door together. The lady who had to get into the
hall by secret ways objected to that part of her work. She
had discovered her importance, and she wanted it to be
known that she was the Real Vanishing Lady.
My difficulties were considerably increased, at times, by
my own friends. They would come to the performance,
and then send messages to me, asking for an introduction
to the Vanishing Lady ; and did I think I could induce
her to come with me to their house to supper ? I dreaded
40 MY MAGIC LIFE
having those messages. The outcome of them always was
that I had to decide which of the two Vanishing Ladies
I should take with me. As to my being able to “induce"
the Vanishing Lady to come to supper, the trouble always
was to induce her to stay away and go home quietly.
Sometimes we would be asked to dances together ; then
my troubles would be greater than usual, for a dance was
naturally more attractive than a supper. Finally I had to
make an agreement that if one Vanishing Lady went to a
dance the other Vanishing Lady should go to two suppers—
on two different evenings of course.
My method of presenting this trick was extremely
simple. The Vanishing Lady would walk from the stage
down into the hall in order that the audience might see
that she was not an automaton. Then she would return to
the stage and sit down in a small cane chair placed on an
ordinary kitchen-table. I would cover her for a moment
with a cloth, pull it off quickly, and she would be gone.
After that, I usually said :
“Where are you ? Where are you ?”
The Vanishing Lady then appeared in the gallery and
exclaimed : “I am here—in the gallery.”
One night something went wrong. I pulled the cloth
off and the Vanishing Lady had not vanished ! At the same
time the other Vanishing Lady in the gallery went on with
her part of the performance and sang out in a small squeaky
voice which I shall never forget :
“I am here—in the gallery.”
Then the curtain dropped, and the band kindly began
to play.
I discovered afterwards that the mishap was not due to
any fault in the mechanism of my apparatus. The lady
who ought to have vanished was cross because the other
Vanishing Lady had eaten the greater part of a box of their
chocolates that had been sent round to the dressing-room by
an unknown admirer. Neither of them ever knew which one
was “the” Vanishing Lady, and so they used to squabble
about the presents that were constantly being sent to that
mysterious individual.
One gentleman wrote to me to say that the Vanishing
 THE HOT PUDDING 41
Lady’s beauty and charming manners exercised a wonderful
and indescribable spell over him. Would I introduce him ?
Both Vanishing Ladies managed to get hold of that note,
and they then argued the question as to which of the two
was beautiful and had charming manners. I settled the
matter by telling them that they were both too charming,
and I should be much obliged if they would go and
exercise their “wonderful and indescribable spell” else­
where.
I have often done the Vanishing Lady Trick since, but
I use only one lady in the performance. The trick is quite
as effective as it was in the old days, and my peace of mind is
assured. I am only afraid that at times the trick is too
realistic, for I have frequently been asked privately by a
male member of the audience if I cannot vanish some elderly
and angular lady of his acquaintance as effectually as I have
vanished the lady on the platform.
On another occasion, in the days when I was “very,
very young”, I wanted to do a trick with an egg. I rather
prided myself on that trick, and in order to make it appear
as wonderful as possible I had a small basin full of eggs on a
side-table. I explained to my audience that it would be
perfectly easy for anyone to perform the trick that I was
about to present to them if they used an egg that had
been specially prepared beforehand. To prove that I had
not resorted to any such subterfuge, I had a dish of eggs, and
I was willing to take any one of the eggs chosen by the audi­
ence and break it, to show that it was simply an ordinary
egg. I would then take another egg chosen by the audience
and perform my trick with it. I hoped that in this way I
should convince everyone that my tricks were done indepen­
dently of any mechanical aid.
I took the dish of eggs down to the audience, and two
eggs were chosen. One was brown, the other was white.
I was commanded to break the brown one ; but when I
returned to the stage I made a pretence of beginning to
break the white one. I was stopped—as I had expected I
should be—with a shout of, “No, no ! Break the brown
one !” I made a pretence of taxing the audience with
having changed their mind, and the longer I hesitated
42 MY MAGIC LIFE
about breaking the brown egg the more they insisted that
they wished to see the interior of that particular egg.
“Very well,” I said at last—and by this time the audience
had quite convinced themselves that the brown egg was a
trick egg—“I will break the brown egg ; but I may tell
you that you have added considerably to the difficulty of
the trick.” With that I tapped the brown egg on a plate.
The audience at the back of the hall stood up ; those in
the front chuckled to themselves at the idea of having
puzzled the conjurer.
“Go on! ” shouted a small boy at the back of the hall
after I had tapped the egg twice on the plate and nothing
had happened. “Go on ! Break it ! It ain’t an egg at
all. You see, it’s going up his sleeve directly !”
(This is the popular explanation of every trick that is
performed. Once, after I had been doing some tricks with
my sleeves rolled up, I heard a lady say : “Yes, that’s all
very well; but anyone could see that those were not his
real arms. Those were merely cases over his arms, and in
those cases were little trap-doors.”)
Being exhorted by the ruder portion of the audience to
do the trick if I could, I tapped the brown egg on the plate
for the third time. I knew that I had cracked the shell;
but the inward parts of the egg remained intact. I sug­
gested to the audience that the egg was bad, and that there­
fore it would be better left whole. The reply was that the
egg was not an egg at all.
“Then,” I said, “perhaps you would not mind breaking
it. I have no wish to release a bad egg in the room.”
Then they jeered at me, and hands were stretched out
for the brown egg.
“See he doesn’t change it !” cried one man.
“I’ll watch him !” shouted another. The brown egg
fell into the hands of a middle-aged spinster, who banged
it on the handle of her umbrella, and then declared it to
be perfectly good—but hard-boiled !
I assured the audience that there had been a mistake,
and that I had not known of the state of the egg. It was no
use. I had lost the confidence of my audience. I went to
the dish for another egg, but that too was hard-boiled ;
 THE HOT PUDDING 43
and we subsequently discovered that all the eggs had been
treated in that way. It appears that a certain lady, who was
very much interested in my appearance as a conjurer,
thought she would assist me in some little way. She had
boiled the eggs hard because she had argued to herself that,
if by any chance I dropped a raw egg in full view of the
audience, I should be laughed at ! Not only was that lady
the innocent cause of the afternoon’s performance failing
hopelessly, but she was also the means of my losing what
little reputation I had gained for myself in our town. It
was in vain that I told the audience that I had not known
that the eggs were hard-boiled, and that I could have done
the trick with eggs in any state—in fact, with no eggs at
a l l ! They would not believe me ; and to this day some
of the people who were present have an idea that if you
want to learn how to make a bunch of ribbons and a flag
out of an egg, you have to begin by boiling the egg hard.
They do not know how you go on after that but they
know that that is the first part of the secret.
A final memory of those early days was an occasion when
I had decided to play a little practical joke upon a friend
of mine who was very keen on collecting engravings. His
walls were covered with pictures, and so I had no difficulty
in selecting one well-known one and getting an artist
friend to imitate just one corner of the picture. I took
this corner and fastened it on my friend’s picture. When
I went round in the evening to show them a few tricks,
I could hardly keep myself from laughing for thinking
what a frightful state of mind my friend would be in
when he saw me go up to one of his pet engravings and
apparently tear off the corner.
Of course, I was going to continue the trick by restoring
the picture in the way that the “torn playing-card” is
usually restored. I was so eager to do that trick, and to
see my friend’s face absolutely glowing with anger as he
saw one of his pet pictures apparently destroyed, that I
ate scarcely any supper. When the time came for me to
do my tricks I began on the torn engraving. I was not
disappointed in seeing my friend get very angry ; indeed, his
face was absolutely livid. I felt a little embarrassed myself,
44 MY MAGIC LIFE
more especially when I discovered that I had torn off a
corner of the wrong picture ! He had two copies !
Another very embarrassing moment occurred once when
I was giving an entertainment at a Sunday School. When I
found that I had run out of gunpowder, with which I
wanted to load an old breech-loading pistol that I used in
the show, I sent a boy out to buy some gunpowder.
It was a very small platform, and when I fired the pistol
at the superintendent of the school, who was asked to hold
a paper bag for me, he dropped the bag and exclaimed,
“I am shot !”—and sure enough his face was speckled with
grains of powder, and bleeding.
The boy had bought blasting-powder !
The vicar stopped the entertainment there and then.
The superintendent was laid up for three weeks, and I
have never since used a pistol at close quarters.
 CHAPTER III

MIXING MAGIC WITH MIDGETS

Returning now to more serious subjects, I was at this

time struggling hard to get a place in the sun. My other
public performances were given at the Old Albert Palace,
under the managership of Bill Holland, where I experienced
the heartbreaking work of a side-show. I learned the chief
difficulty was not in giving the show, but in attracting
the people to come and see it. However, Bill Holland saw
me perform, and one day promoted me to the big central
stage, where I made quite a success. This was my first
experience on a real, large stage.
It did not last long, as I was only deputizing for a friend
of mine—H. G. Clarence, a Society entertainer, to whom
the side-show belonged, and he returned soon after I com­
menced performing on the big stage.
My next performance was in Watson’s Freak Museum,
which stood in Oxford Street on the site now occupied
by Frascati’s Restaurant. There were all sorts of freaks
arranged around the hall, with a stage at one end for variety
performances. Admission to all parts was 6d.
I soon got tired of this and made frantic efforts to get
on the halls. I remember giving a trial show at the Paragon,
Mile End Road, a huge theatre, and, as far as I could judge
from the demonstration of the audience, it was absolutely
successful. The manager, however, turned me down
because I looked too young.
Soon after this a show came to London and opened at
; the Langham Hall, which was on the site of the present
Queen’s Hall, next to St. George’s. This show was known
as “The Royal American Midgets”, and consisted of two
45
46 MY MAGIC LIFE
miniature persons called General and Mrs. Mite. I hap­
pened to know the gentleman who was engaged as their
lecturer, a musical entertainer named Ernest Walcot,
and it was his duty to give a short lecture on the habits and
lives of these little people, thus introducing them to the
audience, who were seated round the platform, which
extended down the centre of the hall.
The Midgets were brought in in a miniature carriage
and pair, and paraded up and down this platform, the
lecturer following them and answering questions and
protecting them from over-attention on the part
of the audience. They chatted and gave recitations and
waltzed and rode cycles and did a lot of everyday things ;
thus about two hours were filled up.
But the Midgets had gone out of fashion since their
previous successful visit, and the performance did not draw
in London. A provincial tour was therefore arranged, and,
as my friend the lecturer did not wish to leave London,
he kindly introduced me to the manager as a possible
substitute.
At first the manager laughed at the idea of such a youth
as myself lecturing on these little people. My friend
eventually persuaded him at least to let me come one night
and try my conjuring on the audience. I went down to
Langham Hall and gave a twenty-minutes’ performance,
after which I was promptly engaged at the munificent
salary of £2 per week. In return for this I was to lecture
and conjure for two hours, twice daily. This engagement
lasted two years, and at the end of it the management owed
me -£13—an unlucky number for me, as I saw it no more.
The experience gained during this tour made a real
performer of me ; it was similar to an actor going into a
stock company. During the time I was with the Midgets
I learned, for instance, the great difference between audi­
ences in different towns, and how an item that would elicit
roars of laughter in London would be received in cold
silence in Burnley. I learnt to judge an audience and create,
as far as possible, the right atmosphere to suit each.
The music for the show was provided by a brilliant young
pianist named Brakespeare-Smith, and it was he who first
 MIXING MAGIC WITH MIDGETS 47
suggested arranging suitable music to accompany my con­
juring. I soon realized the vast improvement this made and
what an important factor it is in arranging magical perform­
ances. When Mr. Smith left the show three months
later I had the music for all the tricks I was doing neatly
arranged in a book with the numbers corresponding with
the items, and proper cues set forth to enable any pianist
to play my accompaniment. Ever after this I always
took a pianist with me when I was engaged to attend
private parties where there was no professional pianist
present. In producing a new act, too, I always paid great
attention to the music. “Let magic charm the eye whilst
music charms the ear” was my slogan.
The Midget tour was like winter sport, all ups and downs.
It opened at the Prince of Wales Theatre at Blackpool,
our first performances beginning at eleven in the morning,
and the next at three in the afternoon. The seats on the
floor of the auditorium had to be removed so that we could
set up a long platform. These stalls were replaced each
evening for the presentation of a play. A conjurer named
Dexter, who was running shows at Lytham, came over and
engaged the Midgets to appear there. He came late to
see our performance, and so missed my conjuring, and
my manager did not tell him I was a magician. When
later we played at Lytham he was quite surprised to find I
was so young.
Our next stop, if I remember rightly, was at Worcester.
This big jump from Blackpool to the Midlands was caused
by hasty and bad booking ; I took the hint and remembered
it in after years. It is a great mistake to imagine one can
get a show together and book it right away ; a tour should be
arranged at least six months ahead. I soon discovered, too,
that it is useless trying to run a show without adequate
capital; a show, after all, is a business, and out to make a
profit. I began to see that the adjuncts, such as book­
keeping, advertising, and general business management, were
of the utmost importance to a successful conjurer’s career.
There were no programmes with our show. I was not
announced as a conjurer at all—in fact I was put in the
invidious position of having to apologize for my conjuring
48 MY MAGIC LIFE
at each performance. I was forced to announce that the
little people required a short rest, and I would try and fill
up the interval with some magic. This surprise item was
not always received too well, some people seeming to resent
conjuring being forced upon them in this way. Thus
at each performance I had to fight for the goodwill of the
audience.
At Reynolds’s Waxworks in Liverpool (now a picture-
palace), I met an amusing conjurer named Professor Devono,
who did several good tricks on the little stage there. One
of them was producing a large cat from the utensil that con­
jurers know as the “dove pan”. He told me that he used
to produce the customary two doves, but one night the
lodging-house cat devoured the doves, so he commandeered
the cat and produced the cat with the doves inside it, and
he had used the cat ever since.
For a time Devono and I gave shows alternately on the
programme, with a mutual understanding that in the
arranging of our programmes we never clashed. It was at
Reynolds’s Waxworks that Julian Wylie first saw me. I was
then, besides my other duties, giving a humorous lecture
on a small mechanical panorama called the “Il Mondo
Minatura”. At this theatre the show was almost continuous,
and the work was very hard. However, I was making friends
all along the line, many of whom I have retained to this day,
and I have a great deal to thank them for.
It was at Liverpool, too, that I met Fred Scott Mitchell,
now a member of the Magic Circle, and still one of my
dearest friends. I was producing flags in an experiment,
originated by Bautier. These flags were tiny ones, made of
tissue paper with bass staves, which I showered amongst
the audience. Fred Mitchell noticed this and remarked
upon the fact that the flags were invariably taken away by
the onlookers, and he introduced himself to me by present­
ing me with a rubber stamp which printed the words
“David Devant’s Delightful Delusions” on these flags.
This also gave me my first ideas of using publicity—another
important factor in magic.
Kellar, the great American magician, once said to me,
“You must bill magic like a big circus and give them a good
 MIXING MAGIC WITH MIDGETS 49
show.” Advertising must be done very carefully. I
remember years afterwards, for a performance in Vienna,
having a litho designed with my name in the centre of it,
with a border depicting hundreds of little demons, similar
to those on the front page of Punch. These little imps
were depicted performing all sorts of impossible feats.
This large bill was twenty-four sheets, and was posted all over
the city. To my surprise, after the first night my business
manager reported several complaints having been received
from persons who expected to see the little red demons
swarming over the stage !
At Huddersfield, during one tour, I met H. B. Lodge,
the famous amateur conjurer who exposed Home, the
fraudulent spirit medium. He always used to be ready to
show pretty little pocket tricks with two dice, which he
held with forefinger and thumb. The faces of the dice,
instead of being spotted, were each differently coloured ;
they seemed to twinkle between his fingers and change
places at his will. Maskelyne told me years afterwards
that this friend wrote a glowing report to him of my show.
This was the first time Maskelyne had heard of me.
Another dear friend of mine whom I first met on this
tour was Sidney Oldridge, now also a member of the Magic
Circle, my lifelong friend, and I met him in this wise.
The Midgets had booked a hall on the Pantiles at Tunbridge
Wells, but it appeared that the proprietor had overlooked
a single night’s booking for a private party at which Mr.
Oldridge had been engaged to give a conjuring entertain­
ment. The gentleman who had engaged him asked him to
attend, as he proposed to sue the proprietor for damages for
breach of agreement. Sidney Oldridge therefore had
nothing to do but to sit and watch my show, at the end of
which he introduced himself to me as a fellow conjurer,
and thus began a delightful friendship.
In the same town I met Edwin Potter, familiarly known
as “Little” Potter, and famous for his sleight-of-hand ; and
Mr. Broadbridge, an amateur who afterwards became well
known as Dr. Byrd Page—a very fine conjurer, with a rather
brusque manner, which he meant to be funny, but which was
often misunderstood.
D
50 MY MAGIC LIFE
At Accrington we encountered our first serious trouble
when a cheque rendered by the proprietor was dishonoured.
We had been giving shows in the smaller towns round
Accrington, and one fine night the pianist and myself
arrived back at our lodgings about midnight, to be met by a
request to pay our bill immediately. As it was Friday, we
only had a few coppers between us, and upon explaining
this to the landlady the door was shut in our faces and we
knew for the first time what it was to be left stranded.
Fortunately for us, our baggage man had a more consider­
ate landlady, who sheltered us for the night. There was no
bed, and we had to sleep in chairs. The next day the
manager obtained some money from somewhere, released
our baggage, and took the Shetland ponies out of pawn, for
they had been shut up in a stable for most of the week as
hostages for rent due.
We had similar trouble at Bath, but this time no money
turned up to save the situation. The manager thereupon
departed to London, Midgets, ponies and all, leaving three of
the company, including myself, without money to move. I
suggested that we give an entertainment, and successfully
interviewed the manager of the Assembly Rooms, Mr.
Oliver, and obtained permission for us to have the use of
the hall for one afternoon. We then got a printer to give
us credit for 5,000 handbills, which promised schoolchildren,
to whom they were distributed, a grand magical entertain­
ment for one penny, adults 3d., including Gifts from Fairy­
land.
The Gifts from Fairyland consisted of the flags I have
already described. We had a packed house, and as we had
no expenses, having done the distribution of the bills
ourselves, we made a nice profit, enough, in fact, to pay
our bills and get us to town, where we found good news
awaiting us.
The news was that our late manager had succeeded in
booking a season at Margate at “Sanger’s Hall by the Sea”.
He had wired to us to join him there the following Monday,
promising that all would be well thereafter. The pianist
and I decided to join them once more; the baggage and
advance men declined, and got more lucrative jobs. So the
 MIXING MAGIC WITH MIDGETS 51
following Monday found us at Victoria Station. I
had just paid the cabman, and he had driven off, when I
discovered that I had given him a two-shilling piece for a
penny, which made us exactly is. 6d. short of the fares. The
train was going in fifteen minutes. What was a magician
to do? Fortunately I had a small silver watch on me, for
which I obtained 5s. at a pawnshop round the corner, and
returned to the station just in time to catch the train.
If I had not gone to Margate the whole course of my
life would have been altered, because there I met my future
wife. The Hall was panelled with large mirrors, and it
was in one of the mirrors that I, like Alice, discovered a new
world. I saw a girl standing behind me, and our eyes met
in the mirror. She was my affinity, the dearest pal a man
ever had, and in three months from that day we were married.
We spent our honeymoon at Eastbourne, where the
Midgets had joined up with the Bohee Minstrel troupe.
This enterprise belonged to the Bohee brothers, a pair of
singers and banjo players who remained in England after a
visit to Drury Lane Theatre of Haverly’s Mastodon Min­
strels. They were all genuine coloured folk, and the troupe
at Eastbourne was similar—real negroes. While with this
company I was asked to introduce a new role into my
repertoire. I became interlocutor, and played verbal
battledore and shuttlecock with the jokes of the end men.
I was glad the season didn’t last long, as I didn’t care for
it. I felt too much like a pigeon among crows.
Soon after my marriage, the manager decided to try
his luck in London once more, this time at the Royal
Aquarium and other music-halls, where the Midgets
were engaged at a salary to form one of the turns. This,
of course, cut out my conjuring, but gave me valuable
experience of music-halls. The Aquarium was no easy
place to give a lecture on midgets, or anything else that was
needed to be heard.
Incidentally, one of the most difficult performances I
ever gave was at the Canterbury, where a sliding roof had
just been instituted. The weather was hot, but our manager
insisted on having the roof closed because one of the Midgets
had a cold. The audience, however, who had not colds,
52 MY MAGIC LIFE
insisted on having it open, and when I attempted to speak I
was met with raucous shouts of “Roof off !” “Roof off !”
Another place where the audience were very noisy was the
“Old Mo”, or Middlesex, in Drury Lane, now the Winter
Garden Theatre.
Talking of theatres reminds me of a friend, an illusionist,
who was performing at a music-hall in a provincial town,
I quite forget which—however, it doesn’t matter; what
did matter was that the Melo-drama Theatre was next
door, divided only by a narrow passage at the end of which
were both stage doors.
My friend was performing a trick in which his assistant
disappeared from a cabinet on the stage and reappeared in
the midst of the audience firing a pistol and shouting,
“Here I am !”
One never-to-be forgotten night he disappeared from
the cabinet in good order, got beneath the stage through a
trapdoor ; finally, after a perilous journey past joists and
scenery, he emerged from the stage door of the music-hall,
turned left when he should have turned right, and dashed
into the audience of the adjoining theatre just in time
for “Little Willie’s death-scene”, which he most indecor­
ously disturbed by firing a pistol and shouting out, “Here
I am !”
Talking of trapdoors reminds me of another little story.
When the “Vanishing Lady” was first produced there
were many inexperienced performers who attempted to do
the feat by means of a trapdoor. One of this class had just
announced that he was going to introduce the Vanishing
Lady. He walked towards the wings to fetch her, when
he suddenly dropped through the flooring of the stage and
“vanished” himself. The trapdoor had been left unbolted.
 CHAPTER IV

MY ATTACK ON LONDON

So we returned to London Town with hopes of youth afire.

We took a modest house in Ashmore Road, Kilburn, close
to one occupied by Le Roy.
At this time conjuring was still booming on the halls.
Bautier was doing his new cocoon, in which he took a small
frame covered with tissue paper and hung it upon a tape
stretched across the stage. This tape was hung on posts
with counterweights, so that the slightest weight showed.
Having hung the frame up, he proceeded to draw a rough
representation of a silkworm, then drew a line round it in
oval shape. He clapped his hands and the tissue paper
burst, and a large orange-coloured cocoon appeared ; he
took the frame away and the cocoon remained suspended
on the tape. He then wheeled a cup-shaped stand under­
neath it and lowered the cocoon into this stand, and from
the cocoon there gradually emerged a beautiful human
butterfly. It was one of the most charming illusions he ever
presented.
Later on I saw him perform at the Egyptian Hall a
pretty illusion called “The Captive’s Flight”. He gave out
a carpet-covered board for examination, about 18 inches
square. This he laid down on the floor of the stage and put
on top of it a large wire cage, rather the shape of a parrot
cage, and big enough to hold a person in a crouching position.
He introduced a “leetle dove”, his wife, dressed in wings
to represent a bird. She slipped into the cage and he hid
the whole contrivance with a silk cover shaped to fit the
cage. Almost immediately he whisked it away, and nothing
but an empty space was left.
53
54 MY MAGIC LIFE
Trewey also appeared on the Halls about this time
with his new Shadow Show Silhouettes, formed by the
hands. Previous to this he had only done juggling and
“Twenty Faces Under One Hat”, twisting a ring of felt into
different shapes to suit various faces. Trewey was indeed a
lesson to any aspiring student. He was the most graceful
juggler I ever saw, and his stage deportment and showman­
ship were beyond reproach.
I first saw him at the Oxford, where he had a backcloth
painted with a peculiar perspective view of tables, so that a
painted row of tables on the scene merged into a row of real
tables on the stage, giving the illusion of a stage crowded
with hundreds of tables loaded with handsome apparatus.
Later on he went to the other extreme and had one hand­
some table, more like a box on four legs, very ornate,
concealing all his paraphernalia inside the box. Trewey used
to do some wonderful work with coins and glass bottles.
At the Aquarium I met the famous Professor Field, who
had a stall there, a sort of magic shop, where he sold tricks
after exhibiting them himself. He did them very beauti­
fully ; they seemed so easy in his hands that they sold
readily to aspiring students. Sometimes he gave more
elaborate performances on the big stage, generally conclud­
ing with a weird-looking skull which was resting on a sheet
of glass and covered by a glass dome. In this state of isola­
tion and insulation it expressed answers to questions;
“Yes”, was a nod, “No”, was a shake.
At this juncture my wife strongly advised me to give
up the Midgets, as I was having no chance of showing my
conjuring. So when their London dates were finished I
said good-bye to the Midgets and began my own siege of
London Town.
I decided to take a step that had been formulating in
my mind for a long time. This was to provide myself
with a business manager, for I found it impossible to walk
into an agents’ office and tell them how wonderful I was.
I sadly wanted a trumpeter. I had previously been intro­
duced to Mr. Augustus Pereno, who had been interpreter
to the Midgets on the Continent, and who was a charming
personality. He spoke seven languages, including Chinese.
 MY ATTACK ON LONDON 55
We made a mutually beneficial contract, by which he
was to act as agent and business manager and was to receive
for his services one-third of my takings. This may appear
rather a large share to give an agent, but it proved a wise
business step. I could now make an attack on different
quarters which I could not have approached alone. Mr.
Pereno was an excellent manager, and if he had one fault,
it was that he was far too optimistic, looking at everything
through rose-coloured spectacles.
His first step was to interview Maskelyne, who received
him favourably and listened to his eulogies of my perform­
ance, but told him that Mr. Charles Morritt had a per­
manent engagement with him, and that therefore there was
no possible hope of engaging my services. The music-
halls all seemed booked up and we had to turn for the
time being to private engagements to keep the pot
boiling.
One morning Pereno burst in upon me with a new idea.
“I want you to go to a lunatic asylum,” he said. I asked him
what grounds he had for such a step, and it then appeared, to
my relief, that it was only to give an entertainment there.
This was such a success that the medical superintendent
recommended me to other asylums. At that time I gave
entertainments at most of the mental hospitals in Britain,
followed by visits to hydropathic establishments and hotels
in fashionable districts.
It was during a visit to the Royal Hotel at Bournemouth
that I first met that great little sportsman, Harry Preston.
He greatly encouraged me, and foretold the success that
came later. Giving entertainments at hotels was a new
stunt at that time. Payment was made by collections from
the visitors, and in some cases amounted to handsome sums.
As my manager was successful in booking fairly consecutive
dates, I made a really good thing of it for a time, until the
business became overcrowded and proprietors were sadly
disappointed by the self-styled entertainers that began to
clamour for dates.
While at one hotel in Beaumaris, Wales, Sir Richard
Bulkeley saw me, and as the Queen of Rumania, Carmen
Sylva, was visiting his house in a few days’ time, he sent me
56 MY MAGIC LIFE
a telegram, which reached me at Llandudno, asking if I
would appear before the Queen on a certain date. This I
did with complete success. Benson, the Jubilee Plunger,
who lost a large fortune in a record time on the sport of
kings, suggested that I should have the telegram framed and
labelled “The Royal Command”. This, I fear, was a mild
deception on the public, who, as no name was mentioned on
the telegram, naturally took it as a reference to Queen
Victoria.
After this—perhaps in retribution—misfortune overtook
me, and I had a serious bout of rheumatic fever in 1889.
It attacked me and laid me low on Christmas Day, just the
busiest season of the year, when every day was booked for
some weeks ahead with children’s parties and other engage­
ments. It was a great blow to our finances, and soon after­
wards, for economy’s sake, my manager and I took a house
together at Dawes Road, Fulham, where we had separate
flats, our respective wives doing the catering on alternate
weeks with a friendly rivalry to see who could do it the
cheapest.
Pereno now seriously began to attack the music-halls,
and each day he would come back with a tale of a fortune
round the corner, but there was nothing tangible for some
time. At last he came back with the joyful news that he
had booked me for an extra turn on a Saturday night at
Gatti’s Music-Hall, under the arches of Villiers Street,
Strand. There was no fee attached to this, as it was in
the nature of a trial performance. The management had
promised that if I was received favourably by the audience
it would mean a booking for the Charing Cross House,
also Gatti’s, in Westminster Bridge Road. Here was the
opening at last that I had been so long awaiting.
I invited my mother and father and all available brothers
and sisters to come and support me on the great night,
with strict instructions to applaud me at every opportunity.
I gave the show a ten-minutes turn, and it was so well
received that a fortnight’s booking was secured six months
ahead. I was so overjoyed with this opening of the gate
to fortune, as it seemed to me, that I invited the whole
family to supper at Monico’s, where I received the
 MY ATTACK ON LONDON 57
congratulations of my manager, who painted the future in
vivid colours.
During the next six months I am afraid we rather
rested on our oars. We did, however, remember to invite all
and sundry to see the performance at Gatti’s during the
week I was to be there. At last the long-looked-for date
approached, and a week before I was to open I went down
to look at the hall in Westminster Bridge Road, introduced
myself to the manager, and informed him I was opening the
following week there. “Not here, my boy,” he said.
I told him I had a contract to that effect. He replied :
“Then you haven’t read it. As a matter of fact, you have
broken it by not sending in your bill matter a fortnight
ahead of the opening date.” Of course I had left this matter
to my manager, and he, alas, had overlooked it. Unfor­
tunately, as the contract included both halls, I lost both
engagements by this oversight. There was nothing for it
but to go back to the lunatic asylums and hydros. Public
fame seemed as far off as ever.
Meanwhile I had got to know Mr. Douglas Beaufort, a
Society entertainer, who later took lessons from me, although
at that time he was an ardent follower of Bertram’s. One
day I went to the Waterloo Panorama, a very fine representa­
tion of the field of Waterloo after the battle. This place
of amusement was situated near where Westminster
Cathedral now stands. Attached to this Panorama was a
large tea-room, and at one end there was a stage on which
a drawing-room entertainment took place.
I had gone there especially to see Beaufort, who was
performing in this room. He saw me in the audience, came
up to me and asked me to see him afterwards. When we
had shaken hands, he said : “Are you engaged next Satur­
day ?” I told him I was not, without looking at my book,
for I could all too easily remember the few dates I had
booked. “Well,” said he, “will you do me a great favour ?
Will you come here and deputize for me on that day ?”
He went on to tell me he had a more lucrative engage­
ment offered him, and that the Waterloo Panorama wasn’t
paying and was on its last legs. I gladly agreed, and took
down particulars. When I arrived there on the following
58 MY MAGIC LIFE
Saturday with my manager I gave the first performance,
and then went to the front to watch the rest of the show,
which was given by Ben Nathan and Gintaro, a Japanese
boy juggler, by whose performance I was much impressed.
When I went round for my second turn, Ben Nathan,
who had just gone into partnership with Didcot, the famous
agent, told me that Didcot was in the house with Newson
Smith, who was acting as liquidator to the Panorama
Company. But, what was more important to me, he was
also managing director of the London Pavilion, Tivoli, and
Oxford. Here at last was a bit of luck for us. I explained
the situation to my manager, and the upshot of it was that
Newson Smith arranged to give me a show at the London
Pavilion the following Saturday. It was not to be an audi­
tion, but a trial show on the usual programme, and Didcot
was to act as agent.
Thus, quite by accident, I obtained the opening I had
been striving for for years. In due course I appeared at
the London Pavilion. This time I invited no friends to
see my triumph. I had an excellent time allotted to me on
the bill, sandwiched between Dan Leno, who was the great
“star"’ of the time, and Albert Chevalier, the coster comed­
ian, who was also giving his trial turn in music-hall work.
He had previously been an actor, and only did the coster
songs at smoking concerts and private parties. Didcot
booked me that night for three years’ work at the London
Pavilion and Oxford, that is, eight weeks at each place in
each year, and each week I was to receive £8. Not much
money, but good, what there was of it. Above all, it was a
start.
Years afterwards I was able to keep a promise I made to
Gintaro, that if ever I had an opportunity of engaging a
juggler he should have an offer from me. I was able
to offer him engagements in Maskelyne and Cooke’s
Company which lasted some months, greatly to our mutual
benefit.
The next magician I have memories of was Imro Fox, a
comic conjurer. He was a merry fellow indeed, who dis­
played feats of magic in such quick succession that he almost
took one’s breath away. In a few seconds he did a trick
 MY ATTACK ON LONDON 59
that another conjurer would take ten minutes over, and he
was the first conjurer I saw do this quick-fire stuff with small
tricks, as Goldin did afterwards with larger illusions. Fox’s
biggest offering was the trick with the cannon-ball and
vase, which is described by Robert Houdin. Fox first
appeared at the Empire, Leicester Square, and was very
popular while in this country.
As to my own affairs, after the London Pavilion engage­
ment I did not set the Thames on fire as I had hoped to
do. I was still looked upon as a nice “fill up” turn, and, as
I had nothing really original to offer, engagements were
intermittent. However, I was appearing at the best
halls, such as the Royal, Holborn, now called the Empire,
and also some of the best ones in the provinces, including
the Alhambra, Brighton, then the only music-hall in the
town.
Here we came across some very bad lodgings. My
manager used to do the marketing, and one day he sent in
a joint of mutton to be roasted. When it was served we
found it flavourless, and in fact it had such a peculiar non­
taste about it that he asked the little girl who brought the
dish up how the mutton had been cooked. “Oh,” replied
the girl, “it was well cooked, sir. Mother boiled it first,
and the soup we had for our dinner was lovely.”
Then I made my first trip abroad. I was engaged for
the Ronacher Theatre, Vienna, for a month, at the increased
salary of £25 a week, to give my usual turn of conjuring and
hand-shadows. This was a great adventure to me.
I may here remark that I revisited Vienna twenty-five years
later with a two-hours’ show, and, strangely enough, this was
the only place in the world in which I ever performed out of
Great Britain. We broke the journey at Paris, where we
spent two or three days, and the first place I visited was the
Theatre Robert Houdin, where I saw an excellent perform­
ance by M. Du Perrey, including several of Robert
Houdin's original conceptions performed with the same
apparatus as the master himself used. I cannot pretend
to remember all the tricks I saw him do, but his performance
lasted a couple of hours and was intensely interesting.
I saw another two-hours’ performance in Vienna by a
6o MY MAGIC LIFE
clever amateur, but, alas, I have forgotten his name. I
remember only that he did the production of fish-bowls
from a cloth, though this production could not compare
with what I saw Hartz do at the Japanese Village in Knights-
bridge some few months later.
Strangely enough, in Vienna I made a big success,
chiefly, I think, because of my utter ignorance of the
language and my floundering attempts to make myself
understood. I remember losing my way one day in the
town and seeing a man standing on some steps at a very
German-looking house, smoking a big German pipe. I
attempted to ask him in German the way back to the
theatre, and after two or three fruitless attempts I spoke
to him in English. He slowly took the pipe out of his mouth,
looked benignly down upon me from his superior height,
and slowly said in perfect English : “Why the h---- didn’t
you say that before ?”
While in Vienna I was made an honorary member of
the Nachtfalter Club, which was a great honour at the
time. I also gave many private performances and lessons,
and altogether had a wonderful time, but towards the end
of my stay I had another bout of rheumatism, and arrived
back in London looking and feeling a wreck.
Here I have an awful confession to make—I did not
invent the Thimble Trick, although it is credited to me by
Professor Hoffman. He made this mistake because I told
him that I first introduced the trick to England, which
was true. It was shown to me in Vienna by Baron Canitz,
who took lessons from me there.
My next engagement was at the Oxford. I duly
opened there, and rehearsed my usual act of conjuring and
shadowgraphy. I was a stranger to this house, although
the contract was made when I opened at the London
Pavilion. I was received by a new manager, Mr. Brighten,
who remarked : “Your act is shadowgraphy, isn’t it ?”
When I told him I wanted to do conjuring as well, he
referred me to the contract, which stated merely “Shadow-
graphist”. This I heartily contested, and persisted in
presenting my act as usual.
Two or three nights afterwards a rabbit that I was about
 MY ATTACK ON LONDON 61
to vanish slipped from my fingers and dropped on to the
floor of the stage. This caused a murmur of disapproval
from the audience, and when I got to my dressing-room I
found a note from the manager to the effect that I had
broken my contract and my services would no longer be
required.
This was a great blow to me; it meant the cancelling
of the entire twenty-four-weeks’ engagement. My agent
appealed in every possible way to get him to rescind his decision,
but it was useless, I had to pack up and go. The night after I
left, Imro Fox appeared. I found out afterwards that the
manager had made a contract with him from the beginning,
but he could not put two conjurers on the bill. My
insistence on doing conjuring instead of what the contract
stated had proved my undoing.
At this hall I saw George Robey’s first appearance. He
brought the house down with a song called “Simple
Pimple”.
The above contretemps taught me always to have the
contract made in the exact terms, especially mentioning
the time the act takes and of what it consists, and any other
requirements.
Soon after I found a fresh engagement at the Royal,
now called the Holborn Empire, then under the management
of the genial Sam Adams. It was here I introduced a really
new trick, which my friend G. W. Hunter had defied me
to do in a specified time : namely, make a cardboard tube,
push a handkerchief through it, and in the process change
the colour of the handkerchief. I did this the first time
with three handkerchiefs, passing each one through the
tube singly and unrolling the paper and showing it empty
after each transformation.
Now the music-hall engagements seemed to slacken
off, and once more I had to go into the country, favouring
such places as Matlock, Bath, and Buxton, in search of
health as well as money. About this time my manager had
a more lucrative business offered him, so we decided to part
company, and made amicable arrangements to that effect.
I tried everywhere to get a cure for my rheumatism, and
it was indirectly through conjuring I found it. Sidney
62 MY MAGIC LIFE
Fielder, a conjurer I had got to know during previous visits
to Portsmouth, invited me to spend a week-end with him,
and, seeing how ill I was, asked me to consult his doctor, an
old military medico practising at Southsea, who gave me some
physic that seemed to act like magic. Within three months
I was better than I had ever been before.
 CHAPTER V

I APPEAR WITH MASKELYNE

Again I came to London, released my furniture from store,

took a house at Balham, and started the fight with a good
heart. I soon obtained an engagement at the Opera
Theatre, Crystal Palace, where I presented my first illusion
based on a new principle. It was called “Vice Versa”, and
consisted of changing a man into a woman in a skeleton
cabinet which was so frail and thin in all its parts that to all
appearances it could not possibly contain either secretly.
Nevertheless, one was concealed there for the change.
This caused a mild sensation, and I had some wonderful
Press notices over it.
To prove that “the show’s the thing”, I will explain
how I obtained this engagement at the Crystal Palace. I
got a friend to finance a venture for giving three nights’
entertainment at the Baths at Balham, where I featured the
above illusion. The manager of the Crystal Palace,
Mr. Gillman, was persuaded to come along and see this
show, and he gave me a contract to give an hour’s
performance, once daily for a fortnight, at the Opera
Theatre.
The name of the trusting financier was G. Gordon-
Powell, to whom I duly presented a balance-sheet, which
only just balanced—if that, I am afraid. Suddenly the
unexpected happened. Charles Morritt had left Maskelyne
and was setting up a show of his own at the Prince’s Hall,
Piccadilly. He was an exceedingly smart conjurer, especially
in thought-transference, and appeared with his wife. He
had been doing this at the Egyptian Hall for years, together
with many ingenious tricks with handkerchiefs. One
63
64 MY MAGIC LIFE
illusion he invented while there is still being performed by
Maskelyne’s, for Mr. Maskelyne bought it from him before
he left. It was called “Oh”, and consisted of vanishing a
man whilst held by members of the audience—a most
effective illusion, introduced as a skit on Mahatma’s “Being
Precipitated”.
Morritt was especially clever in seizing hold of the
topic of the day and presenting an illusion to suit it. For
instance, at the Prince’s Hall he engaged the Tichborne
claimant for an illusion in which a man vanished from a
chair swinging in mid-air from a framework.
I now thought the time was ripe for approaching
Maskelyne again, so I invited him to come to the Crystal
Palace to see my show, especially the new illusion. He
replied that it was impossible for him to go to the Crystal
Palace, but if I could arrange for a show in the West End, he
would be pleased to come and see it. This was good enough,
so as soon as my Crystal Palace engagement was finished I
set to work to obtain a show in the West End.
The Trocadero had just been opened as a music-hall,
before the present restaurant was thought of, and Sam
Adams, who knew me, was the manager. It was at this
hall that R. G. Knowles made his first appearance. Here I
arranged for a trial show with the new illusion. It was to
be in the morning, and I went and saw Maskelyne, who
promised to attend.
Everything went according to programme, and Mas­
kelyne, who seemed very pleased with the show, invited me
to call at his office next morning and have a chat with him.
At this interview he told me he liked the illusion, but that
my apparatus was too big for the tiny stage at the Egyptian
Hall. He showed me the stage and asked me to try and
think out an illusion on the same principle which would be
adaptable for the small stage. Five days after that I took
him a model of “The Artist’s Dream”.
The model was proportioned to his stage and made to a
scale of half an inch to the foot, if I remember rightly. It
was roughly made by a frame-maker, but it answered the
purpose, and showed Mr. Maskelyne at a glance exactly
what the effects of the illusion would be. It was his idea
 I APPEAR WITH MASKELYNE 65
to make it into a sketch and so make the most of it. He
immediately suggested that we should consult Mr. Mel. B.
Spurr, who, on being shown the model, was at once struck
with the idea of writing a sketch in the form of a poem in
blank verse. The words of the sketch appear in the
Appendix, and were undoubtedly a great help to the success
of the illusion, and the critics were unanimous in their
praise of them.
In later years, when I went on the music-halls again,
this time as top of the bill, I thought the words would be
too long-drawn-out for a music-hall audience to listen to,
and I performed the illusion as a sketch in pantomime.
To go back to my first contract with Maskelyne : it was
for three months, at a moderate salary ; but I had gained
my ambition, and settled down to prove worthy of the
Maskelyne traditions.
I should like here to recommend my plan of making a
model of illusions before they are built. It is a great help
in producing them, and by making a model one avoids
many pitfalls which are apt to occur in attempting to build
apparatus right away, or simply from blue prints or drawings.
An article of furniture always found in my study during
the years I was in active practice was a miniature stage,
complete with lighting effects, on which I was able to try out
an illusion in miniature. It was also very useful in trying
out colours and stage groupings, using dolls to represent the
figures of actors or attendants.
Another great help in building illusions was to make a
very rough model of the actual-size apparatus with a view to
adjusting it and using the minimum space to get the effect.
It is surprising what a small space you can press a human
being into. The amount can only be found by actual
experiment in the box, or whatever it is to be used. It is
always a great point to have the apparatus as small as
possible—anyone can perform an illusion with a four-poster
bedstead on the stage, but it is more difficult with a baby’s
crib.
A close-fitting apparatus has one disadvantage, however :
it is very warm quarters for the assistant, who must keep his
wits about him and not look upon wine when it is red.
66 MY MAGIC LIFE
I remember in an illusion called “Squelch” (which
afterwards I sold to Julian Wylie for a pantomime at the
Hippodrome) a man was apparently put through a mangle
and from thence projected through a glass tube, and,
having been seen by the audience to be in an elongated
state, entered a box at the other end of the tube and
sprang up from that none the worse.
In this illusion I used a double of the man who was in the
box the whole time, though this box was shown apparently
empty to the audience. One night, at the critical moment,
the man dropped from the back of the box ; he had had a
glass or two before the performance, and this had caused
him to lose his balance, so spoiling my effect.
On another occasion an assistant, slightly intoxicated,
went fast asleep in a box he had been tied up in, and, of
course, did not escape when he should have done. When
we eventually opened the box in the ordinary manner, he
was so tightly wedged into it that we were unable to pull
him out, and he was too befuddled to help us. I passed the
incident off on this occasion by pretending the man was ill
and appealing to any doctor in the audience to come up on
the stage. He never had the chance of getting into that
box again.
The work at the Egyptian Hall was very much to my
liking, and my wife, who played the part of the girl in the
picture and in other sketches, also liked it much better than
travelling, though it was hard work with two performances
every day, and private performances to boot. I gave about
a third of the performance at the Egyptian Hall, and some of
the private performances lasted an hour.
At times I have given as many as eight performances in
one day : two at the Egyptian Hall; one at the Albert
Hall (this was for Dr. Barnardo’s Homes, where I did giant
hand-shadows); two parties, an hour each; one after­
banquet performance of a quarter of an hour ; and two
“smokers” of similar duration.
It was very difficult sometimes to be punctual at all
these performances, especially as on one occasion at a
children’s party, after I had made a magical distribution, the
children got so excited that they seized upon my hand­
 I APPEAR WITH MASKELYNE 67
kerchiefs, flags, and other things I had been using in the
tricks, and also carried a couple of rabbits away. I had to
chase them about the house to retrieve them, as I was using
them at the Egyptian Hall the same night. After that
experience I always had a duplicate set at the Hall.
I believe Mr. Maskelyne was the first to introduce the
magical sketch or playlet. His plan was to take two or
three illusions, or even one, and weave them into a sketch
with three or four characters. This is a very entertaining
way of showing illusions, but somehow it is difficult to make
them convincing. It is so hard to find a plausible cause
for the effect ; either the drama kills the illusion or the
illusion kills the drama. Probably the best magical play
ever written was “The Brass Bottle”, by F. A. Anstey,
while “Aladdin’s Lamp” was probably the first of all
magical plays.
At the Egyptian Hall two of these magical sketches
were preceded by conjuring, and generally there was an
interlude of musical sketches at the piano. Mel. B. Spurr
was a genius at the piano sketch, and one of his most suc­
cessful songs was “The Tin Gee-gee”. Many people
thought he ranked with George Grossmith and Corney
Grain as an artist. Certainly he was extraordinarily
prolific in his writing of songs and recitations, and he had a
large and entertaining repertoire, which also included
several zither solos.
Our little company at the Hall included J. B. Hansard, a
very funny Irish comedian, Mr. and Mrs. Elton, Mr. Nevil
Maskelyne, Mr. G. A. Cooke, and Mr. John Nevil Maskelyne
himself. Mr. Cramner presided at the piano and organ.
This organ was a weird instrument, and not only played
bells, gongs, and cornets all over the Hall, but gave an imita­
tion of thunder and lightning in a selection called “The
Storm”. So realistic was this thunder that some people
were frightened, and Nevil Maskelyne’s son, when brought
to the Hall by his mother, once asked if that was “Grandpa’s
thunder, or Dod’s thunder”.
The business at the Egyptian Hall was very regular,
its very position being an advertisement in itself. Situated
as it was opposite the south end of Bond Street, it came under
68 MY MAGIC LIFE
the direct notice of visitors to London. Therefore Mr.
Maskelyne found it unnecessary to change his programme
often. I found he had a rooted idea that nothing but
illusions could ever prove to be an added attraction. Spurr
left soon after my advent for a tour in Australia, and I
introduced to Maskelyne a clever musical-sketch artist whom
I had met at Harrogate.
After hearing his performance, he was engaged in place
of Spurr. He had been there some time, when I noticed
he had a great gift for facial expression. I therefore
suggested that he should give an entertainment of “Twenty
Faces Under One Hat”, which had been popularized by
Trewey, and I gave him the first ring of felt he used. He
produced this novelty with great success at the Hall, adding
to it one or two original conceptions, notably the head of a
nun and a representation of a vivandiere. This artist’s
name was R. A. Roberts.
Later on, when Biondi came to London with his mar­
vellous “quick change” act, I suggested to R. A. Roberts
that he should join in a revival of the fascinating protean
art. He agreed, and wrote a sketch called “Lucinda’s
Elopement”, in which he played all the characters.
This was splendidly received by our audience, but
Roberts was so discouraged by our Chief’s conviction that
nothing apart from the conjuring business could ever be an
attraction to the programme that he got the manager of
the Palace Music-Hall, which was just then established and
awaiting high-class novelties, to see his sketch. The manage­
ment at once engaged him at a large salary.
Mr. Roberts stayed at the Palace many months, and
proved a great attraction ; in fact, he has been a star
artist ever since, and is now retired. I, also, had many
tempting offers at this time, but I refused all and sundry, so
happy was I at the Egyptian Hall.
“The Artist’s Dream” had a long run—August 1893 to
Christmas 1895, after which I produced a new illusion called
“The Birth of Flora”.
In this I fastened a silk banner on to a small trapeze-
looking arrangement that hung from the borders. A
slender table was then wheeled beneath the suspended
 I APPEAR WITH MASKELYNE 69
banner, and from a silk handkerchief I produced a bowl of
fire. Next I plucked a rose from a lady’s garment, generally
a feather boa, which was handed to me from a lady member
of the audience, and I pulled the flower to pieces, scattering
the petals in the fire. I then lowered the crossbar on which
the silken banner was hung so that it touched the table-top
and momentarily concealed the bowl with its still blazing
contents.
The trapeze was then drawn up, disclosing on the table
a huge object shrouded with white silk. Coloured lights
were played upon this, and a figure gradually arose, and a
voice was heard singing, “I am the Queen of the Roses”,
when suddenly the cloth dropped, disclosing a large gilt
basket filled with roses with Flora standing in their midst.
This was a new role for Mrs. Devant, who thought it the
prettiest illusion I had ever done. Again the Press were
very complimentary.
A list of programmes given at the Egyptian Hall from
1886 to 1904, showing most of the changes, appears in
the Appendix as a matter of interest to conjurers.
 CHAPTER VI

THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES

When Lumiere brought the first exhibition of animated

pictures to London in 1896, I witnessed one of the original
representations at the Polytechnic. At once I saw the
great possibilities of such a wonderful novelty for the
Egyptian Hall.
I persuaded Mr. Maskelyne and his son to accompany me
to the next performance, and felt confident that after
seeing the exhibition they would wish to secure it, if
possible, for the Hall. To my surprise, Mr. Maskelyne gave
it as his opinion that it would be only a nine days’ wonder,
and was not worth troubling about. Although I had no
interest in the matter, except the good of the firm, nothing
that I could say would persuade them even to ask terms or
trouble further with the matter.
Personally I was convinced that here was a rare novelty,
and I asked terms, intending, if a machine could be
secured, to speculate on one for myself. I found that
M. Trewey, who was managing the show for himself, would
not sell a machine at all, and that the hire price was £100 a
week. At this price the Empire had secured the London
rights, and the exhibition was to open there in a few days.
The performances at the Polytechnic were, it appeared,
dress rehearsals, to show the pictures to managers.
One hundred pounds a week was more than I cared to
risk, and I had given up the idea of being able to exploit the
machine myself or of inducing Mr. Maskelyne to do so,
when I made a discovery that set me on the track of another
cinematograph. In reading a copy of the English Mechanic
I came across a paragraph which stated that a Mr. R. W.
 THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES 71
Paul had invented a machine for projecting kinetescopic
pictures on the screen, and that this was the first machine
to achieve good results.
My wife and I were about to commence dinner, but on
her advice I left the meal and made my way in a hansom
cab as quickly as possible to the office of the paper, and there
obtained the information that Mr. Paul was a scientific
instrument maker with a place of business in Hatton Garden.
Going to Hatton Garden, I found a gentleman just getting
into a cab loaded with boxes. Here was the inventor I was
in search of.
I quickly made my business known and asked for par­
ticulars of the machine. Mr. Paul told me that he was just
going to show the instrument at the Olympia at a side-show,
and invited me to accompany him there and see it. My
time was limited, as I had to be back at the Egyptian Hall for
the evening show, but afterwards would have been too late.
I decided to go.
During the journey I gathered from Mr. Paul that he
had made the machine and had shown it to some friends
some time previously, but looked upon it as a kind of play­
thing, and had put it away again until recently. He
quoted me a price for the machine, and promised me the
first one if I wished, also a commission on any further
machines I might be the means of selling. The price for
each was to be £100, less commission.
After seeing the performance I asked for an option on
buying the machine until the following day, intending to
offer it to Mr. Maskelyne. Surely, I thought, he would
be glad to take such a chance, but I found that he would not
risk even £100, so convinced was he that there was nothing
in it.
I then proposed that if he would give me a salary for the
novelty and try it, I would buy the machine myself and risk
the result. He agreed to give me £5 a week for a month,
but impressed upon me that I must not be disappointed if,
after that time, the contract ended. I do not remember
how long the original machine was shown, but it was for
years, not months, and we had the satisfaction of showing
animated pictures, as Mr. Maskelyne called them, two days
72 MY MAGIC LIFE
after the Lumiere Cinematograph was first presented
at the Empire, so that we were the second house in London
to show the novelty, and the hall was packed to capacity in
consequence.
I soon bought a second machine and fitted it up for
private performances with limelight. I was, I believe, the
first to do this. I received £25 for each performance for
some time. It would be a long, long story to recount all
that was done with these pictures, as difficulties in obtaining
good results were at the time very great. For instance, for
one winter I journeyed every week-end to Paris in search of
films. I left by the night-boat after the show and returned
by the Sunday night-boat.
M. Melies, of the Theatre Robert Houdin, bought
several machines from me and eventually started a business of
manufacturing films and machines, which he carried on for
some years. For a time I was his sole agent in Great
Britain for the sale of films and cameras, and soon I had to
decide between giving up conjuring or selling these goods.
I gave up the commission agent’s business after a most
successful and remunerative run and stuck to showmanship
only. During this period I sold machines to Carl Hertz, who
was the first to show pictures in Africa. Victor Andre
was also one of my customers, as well as many other showmen
all over the country.
By this time Mr. Maskelyne had considerably altered his
views, and Mr. Nevil, after many costly experiments, nearly
succeeded in making a machine in which the films would
run continuously without the stoppages which wore them
away so quickly. Unfortunately, it did not quite succeed.
Meanwhile my machine still went merrily on, and, in fact,
Mr. Paul’s make of instrument was still in use at St. George’s
Hall when I left in 1915.
There were also three tours running in the provinces at
this time, each giving a long programme of animated pictures
with effects. By the success of these tours I was able to
prove to Mr. Maskelyne that I had a certain amount of
organizing ability.
During the Diamond Jubilee Mr. Maskelyne conceived
the idea of pulling down a large drapery establishment in
 THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES 73
St. Paul’s Churchyard and building a grandstand in its
place for two days, and then rebuilding the drapery estab­
lishment. As a result of this idea there ensued a business
transaction which proved my confidence in Mr. Maskelyne.
He came to me one day and asked me to buy some of the
seats on the prospective stand on condition that he re­
bought them at the same price on a certain day unless in the
interim I had sold the seats at a profit. I got together
£2,283 15s. This transaction cemented our friendship, and
was, I think, the real beginning of the partnership of
Maskelyne and Devant.
I had never studied photography, so it is not surprising
that I had some rather curious adventures with the pictures.
The first time I uncapped a lens to take a photograph was
at a garden fete at Chelsea Hospital, at which were present
nearly the whole Royal Family, with the exception of Queen
Victoria. It was more by luck than judgment that the
negatives turned out to be excellent and were shown all
over the world. Miss Knollys wrote to me on behalf of
the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Alexandra, asking
for a copy of the picture. I sent Her Royal Highness
the roll of film, and often wonder what she did with
it. What made this incident more extraordinary was that
the camera had only arrived from France on the very
morning of the day on which I took this lucky picture.
When Queen Victoria came to London for her Diamond
Jubilee in 1897 I made arrangements to take a film of her
passing through London Street, near Paddington Station,
after her arrival at that terminus. On this occasion fortune
was not with me. I got there bright and early with my
camera and fixed up a temporary platform outside a shop
which I had hired.
When I tried to focus up I found I had not got my lens
with me: it was a special lens which I carried in my pocket.
The time was so near, and the crowd was so closely packed, that
it was impossible to retrieve it, although the lens was in an
overcoat pocket in a vehicle I had left a short distance away.
So there I was, perched on the platform with the camera
beside me, and when the Queen passed, not wishing to look
too foolish before the crowd, I turned the handle with great
74 MY MAGIC LIFE
energy. It made a whirring sound, and, not being in the
best of tempers, perhaps I looked somewhat savagely at the
Queen’s carriage.
At all events, the combination made her start visibly, and
I hope Her Majesty did not think I was an anarchist with
some new sort of machine-gun. Princess Beatrice, who was
sitting next to her, however, appeared to explain the
matter to her satisfaction. The carriage passed on,
leaving me pictureless. However, I got a good one of Her
Majesty the next day from Maskelyne’s stand in St. Paul’s
Churchyard.
The first animated picture ever taken of a performer was
shot by R. W. Paul on the roof of the Alhambra Theatre.
It was one of myself doing a short trick with rabbits. I
produced one from an opera hat, then made it into twins, all
alive and kicking. This picture was reproduced in a little
device called a Filiscope. The hundreds of pictures which
go to make up a film of a cinematograph were printed on
paper in the form of a little book, the leaves of which were
turned one at a time by a simple mechanical device, the
rapidly moving leaves giving the effect of movement. This
pocket cinematograph sold by the million.
Another notable picture I had taken of myself was
procured by Monsieur Melies in Paris, and was, I believe,
the first picture in which things were made to disappear and
reappear and change by trick photography, such as stopping
the camera, double exposures, etc. I mean, of course, a
cinematograph picture of this class, for I had previously had
an ordinary still picture done in which my wife was
apparently floating in the air in front of me. This had been
a great success, and was advertised in the Press under the
title of “My Spirit Wife”.
It will be remembered that about this time Mr. Mas­
kelyne had a lawsuit over his famous box, in which he was
sued by a young man for £1,000, which he had publicly
offered to anyone who could reproduce his box trick. The
case was taken right up to the House of Lords, and Mr.
Maskelyne eventually lost the case. He was able to revive
the box trick, however, and the whole affair turned out to
be an excellent advertisement. I was called as witness in
 THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES 75
this case, to prove, on Mr. Maskelyne’s behalf, that a trick
which had a certain effect could be accomplished by different
means, so that a person performing this certain effect did not
necessarily know the secret of the means used by another
person for a similar effect.
I illustrated this by doing a trick with a coin in the
witness-box, in which I first disappeared a coin, then showed
I had retained it in my hand ; then repeated the same
movements : this time it disappeared completely.
“I suppose,” remarked the judge, “you could pass that
coin anywhere.” “Yes,” I replied innocently. “I will pass
it into your lordship’s wig if you wish.” At this there was
a roar of laughter, in which the judge joined.
It appeared I had made a faux pas by alluding to the
judge’s wig ; in fact, the placard of the evening papers that
night exhibited these words : “Contempt of Court—
Tampering with a Judge’s Wig.”
During this case I produced a box in court which was
apparently a complete replica of Mr. Maskelyne’s original
box; certainly the same trick had been performed with it.
Mr. Maskelyne’s contention had been that, although many
imitations had been made, no other imitators knew the
exact secret of his box. This is what he meant by his
challenge, but in constant repetition he had become careless
in the wording of it, and the claimants gained the day.
By this time I had three companies running in the
provinces with animated pictures and a few variety turns.
This was done with the Chief’s permission, and the billing
announced: “Mr. David Devant’s Animated Pictures.
Direct from Maskelyne and Cooke’s, Egyptian Hall,
Piccadilly.”
I now asked, and obtained, permission to include the
above-mentioned box trick in one of the programmes, where
naturally it proved a great attraction. For another
programme I designed a magical spectacle on the black art
principle called the “Zauberwunder”, which included
several novel effects. I had some most amusing experi­
ences with this. I rehearsed it in my garden behind my
house at Swiss Cottage, to the great amusement of the
neighbours and the disgust of my wife, who objected to
76 MY MAGIC LIFE
having her garden spoilt with frequent sprinklings of
calcium carbide, used for my acetylene-gas lighting and
fit-up.
The house, too, was like a hive, actors tramping in and
out with muddy boots to change their costumes in their
bedrooms, typists hammering away in the dining-room,
and perhaps trying out a film in the drawing-room. How­
ever, this came to an end in good time, and the companies
were soon running merrily and profitably in the provincial
towns. I had three excellent lieutenants acting as managers
and operators of the machines. They each had to do a
double role. These three were my brother (Mr. Ernest
Wighton), Mr. George Facer, and Mr. Smith. To look
after the illusions I had Mr. Walter Booth and his brother
Bert, Dr. Seaton, and others—all good men and true.
A great feature with the films was the effects we worked
with them. The difficulty was to get enough new subjects ;
the long story film had not then been thought of. The
films we had at the time were simply short incidents, and
even these were very scarce.
Of course, this was very hard work for me, as I had the
three companies to manage, book tours, etc., as well as my
performances. One day a brilliant idea struck me, and I
approached the beloved Chief with a new proposition. I
had the temerity to suggest that we should combine our
forces and supplant my three companies with a proper
Maskelyne and Cooke Provincial Company, for which I
should act as managing partner, and that we should each
supply contributions of working plant and half the working
capital.
To this Mr. Maskelyne at first replied with a decided
negative. He assured me that from his experience of a
provincial company it would not pay. He had frequently
tried excursions in the country under the management of
his son Nevil, and had never made a profit. To which I
replied by telling him the tale of the donkey who was
crossing a stream on a hot day and was laden with bags of
salt. Feeling the heat, and needing a rest, it laid itself down
in mid-stream. When it rose again after an interval, it
found that its load was lightened considerably by reason of
 THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES 77
most of the salt having dissolved. Some time afterwards it
was crossing the same stream with another load, and,
judging by its past experience, thought it would repeat the
restful tactics; but lo, on rising, the load was much heavier,
the bags being filled with sponges.
This tale amused him, but I think he was more con­
vinced by my accounts of the three companies I was running.
After I had outlined some new methods I proposed to use,
he became convinced, and consented to my proposition on
certain conditions.
The most important of these was that the working
capital was to be limited to a certain smallish sum, and that
if this was lost the company should at once be given up, and,
furthermore, in such a case I was not to attempt to run any
further companies if I wished to remain at the Hall. He
also made a condition that his son, Nevil Maskelyne, should
be admitted to the partnership, and to these conditions I
gladly consented, Nevil Maskelyne becoming a partner with
a fourth share.
The next thing discussed was a programme. Mr.
Maskelyne had already adapted the illusions from my
“Zauberwunder” in a sketch called the “Gnome’s Grot”,
written by Nevil Maskelyne, which afterwards, for the
purposes of the revival at St. George’s Hall, was given the new
title of “The Hermit of Killarney”. This was to be the
opening item of our programme, and “Mrs. Daffodil
Downey’s Seance” was to be the other feature. This was
one of the best and simplest sketches we ever had.
The plot is a very amusing one of a designing widow who
invites a rich baronet to her house. The baronet is a
widower, and the widow has asked a couple of mediums to
give a light and dark seance, during which spirits appear and
produce the usual manifestations, such as table-rapping and
dancing with the table. Then a cabinet is built up in full
light, when manifestations occur with a walking-stick, which
really walks, or rather hops, about the stage, and a fiddle
which hangs inside the empty cabinet is played upon by the
spirits.
The tune happens to be the favourite one of the baronet’s
late wife, and a face appears at the window, which the
78 MY MAGIC LIFE
baronet recognizes as the face of the late departed. The
whole thing ends in a dark seance, in which a skeleton appears
and during an uncanny dance dismembers itself, the bits
and pieces separately keeping time to the music. It then
loses its head, which floats over the audience, champing its
jaws in a most weird fashion. A happy finale is reached
when the spirit of the wife is materialized and consents to
the baronet marrying the widow.
For the next item I had to find an understudy for myself.
From many applicants I selected Herr Valadon, whose wife
assisted him in the seance of thought-transmission, similar
to that presented by Morritt for so many years at the Egyptian
Hall. He also had the advantage of already being practised
in some of my own tricks, so that, in a way, he was already
an understudy. He was of German origin, and spoke with a
pronounced foreign accent. The Germans were well
received in England at that time, so this was no disadvantage.
Our provincial programme was completed with a series
of animated pictures, and we duly opened at the Town Hall,
Eastbourne, on July 31st, 1899.
For the first week’s performance we took the Egyptian
Hall Company with us to show the new company how things
were done. The members consisted of Mr. J. N. Mas­
kelyne, Mr. Nevil Maskelyne, Mr. J. B. Hansard, Mr.
Bernard MacKenzie, and Miss Cassie Bruce. Mr. H. Verne
acted as business manager, and also gave a musical and
ventriloquial sketch. My brother, Mr. E. Wighton, was
advance manager. The Egyptian Hall members of this
company were supplanted the following week by Mr. and
Mrs. Howard Crispin, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Bert, and Mr.
Walter Booth. We had a small orchestra under the
direction of Mr. H. G. Hime. If I remember aright, there
was a quintet of performers, and I am sure no quintet
ever worked so hard in any show. In fitting up and packing
the properties all hands had to help for the good of the
show.
One of the things I had insisted on at the commencement
was a small orchestra. This I always considered a bright
feature of the show, for it must be remembered that we
hardly ever went to a theatre or music-hall where there was
 THE FIRST ANIMATED PICTURES 79
a resident orchestra. We visited town halls, lecture halls,
corn exchanges, where nothing was provided but a bare
platform, so that we had to carry with us the whole “fit-up”
to transform the place into a theatre with proscenium,
orchestra rails, scenery, and suitable lighting.
Mr. Maskelyne never agreed with me about the
orchestra ; he considered a piano all that was necessary. The
first week was quite successful, and we of the original
company returned to London and commenced the usual
routine of twice-daily work.
Mr. George Facer was installed as secretary of the
provincial company and to carry on my entertainment
bureau for sending out animated photographs and providing
all classes of private entertainments. This business is still
running, and ever increasing.
After about the first year of the tour I suggested to
Mr. Maskelyne that I should go with it myself and that he
might consent to have Herr Valadon at the Hall in my place.
To this he agreed for two months only. Therefore I
started the 1900 tour myself, going to the same towns that
we had visited in 1899, and giving practically the same
programme, with the exception that this year “The Artist’s
Dream” was added. Much to our surprise, the receipts
were double that of the first tour ; whereupon Mr. Maskelyne
suggested I should stay with the tour. I was nothing loth,
as it gave me the opportunity of developing and looking
after the business on the spot, and was also, as it turned out,
very profitable to all concerned.
I am glad to say Mr. Maskelyne and I had very few
disagreements about anything during the whole of our
partnership. It must be remembered that it was only with
him I had to deal, for our other partner never took any part
in the affairs of the business at this time.
 CHAPTER VII

MAGICAL SKETCHES

I n 1902 I visited Manchester to produce my magical

sketch “The Honeysuckle and the Bee”, which I had named
after a song that was very popular at the time. I invented
the illusions and plot, and Mr. Squires, then our acting
manager, wrote the words. I afterwards rewrote the
sketch and named it “The Enchanted Hive”.* Never
before had I attempted anything so ambitious, and I paid
for the production myself, intending, if I failed, to bear the
loss myself. If I succeeded, I was to charge the firm with
the item and add the sketch to our repertoire.
I wanted to surprise my partners with the work. For­
tunately the production was successful beyond expectations.
The first intimation Mr. Maskelyne had was an excellent
notice in the Manchester Guardian, which I forwarded to
him the day after presentation. A letter from Mr. Maske­
lyne followed, which very strongly reprimanded me for
producing a sketch without his knowledge. I protested
that I had the right as managing partner to make what I
considered a perfectly legitimate hit off my own bat for the
good of the firm.
During this same tour we also introduced an illusion
which I named “Sylph”, in which a young girl was sus­
pended in space, and while thus levitated a hoop was passed
over her from head to foot. This was a simple version of
the illusion which Mr. Maskelyne introduced into a sketch
called “Trapped by Magic”, in which he and I appeared as
Japanese jugglers.
* The script of this sketch appears in the Appendix.
80
 MAGICAL SKETCHES 81
In this sketch I used, for the first time on any stage, a
black art well, which Professor Hoffman had presented me
with. He told me it was the joint invention of himself and
Professor Hellis.
My table was covered with embroidery representing
arum lilies, and the well was in between them. I used this
for a combination with crystal balls and a decanter of wine.
I multiplied the balls, pinched pieces off, thus making
smaller ones, and finally passed one of the larger balls into
the decanter of wine, which immediately became clear
water, while the glass ball became ruby red and finally
dropped through the bottom of the decanter.
Another very successful sketch was “St. Valentine’s
Eve”, in which a suspended newspaper became a living
Valentine. I include the script of this also in the Appendix.
Another illusion which I did for a short time was what I
called “Two’s Company, Three’s None”. I bought this from
Servais Le Roy, who had previously used it on the halls under
the title of “The Three Graces”. It was a cabinet without a
door ; the back and side panels had smallish doors in them,
and by pulling a string all these doors opened at once, thus
showing right through the cabinet.
The procedure was first to revolve the cabinet, thus
showing all sides of it (it stood up from the floor on a turn­
table) ; then to pull the string in the front, which opened six
doors in sides and back ; then I jumped into the cabinet,
taking with me a black silk cloth which I unfolded and held
up in front of myself, thus incidentally covering the aperture
which formed the front entrance; I then dropped the
cloth gently, and a human form appeared underneath, which,
with my assistance, hopped out of the cabinet, still covered
with the black cloth, and hopped to the side of the stage.
This performance was repeated twice more, so at the
finish we had produced three of these mysterious figures
draped in black ; there was a crash from the orchestra, and all
threw off their veils, disclosing Faust and Mephistopheles.
Later on we were lucky enough to obtain the Chief’s
permission to play his oldest and most beloved sketches;
these were, “Elixir Vitae”, and “Will, the Witch, and the
Watchman”.
82 MY MAGIC LIFE
“Elixir Vitae" is, of course, well known as the most
artistic form of the decapitation illusion ever presented.
Mr. Maskelyne’s part as the quack doctor was ex­
cellently taken in our company by Mr. F. A. Bowron ;
whilst the pageboy was acted by Mr. Alf Bert ; and Mr.
Cook, the countryman with the buzzing in his head, was
understudied by Mr. Albert Booth.
In this sketch, it will be remembered, a countryman
consults a quack doctor, who, after giving him a sedative
which sends him to sleep in a chair, coolly cuts his head off
and places it on a side table. With the help of the horrified
pageboy he packs the decapitated body into a trunk, after
emptying the pockets. During the doctor’s temporary
absence this headless body gets out of the box and walks
about groping for its lost cranium, which talks to it from the
side table and directs its movements. Finally, finding its
head and tucking it under its arm, the body sits down on a
stool and bemoans its semi-detached condition. On this
tableau the curtain very considerately descends.
Then there was that rattling bit of fun and illusion “Will,
the Witch, and the Watchman”, in which a cabinet, re­
presenting a village lock-up or cage, is examined by a
committee from the audience, who find nothing out of the
ordinary about it. They are also asked to examine a
polished mahogany box with a close-fitting canvas cover
which can be placed upon it, and a simple length of rope.
The committee are asked to remain on the stage and to take
up any position they wish.
Then enters Daddy Gnarl and the Watchman, having
custody of Will the sailor, followed by Dolly, his sweetheart.
Will is thrust into the cage and locked up. Dolly is advised
by Daddy to run home, which she pretends to do, shortly
to return, after the departure of Daddy Gnarl. Then an
old witch happens along, and, after having persuaded Dolly
to cross her hand with a golden guinea, promises to bring
her magic powers to bear on the situation, and, much to
the consternation of the Watchman, Will disappears from
the cabinet.
The Witch then conjures up a big black monkey, which
capers about and so drives the poor Watchman to distraction
 MAGICAL SKETCHES 83
that he locks up the Witch and shuts up the monkey, both of
whom appear and disappear in a bewildering sequence. His
shouts for help attract a friend of his, a Butcher, who derides
his statements and says he will settle the matter by killing
the monkey with his knife.
The monkey is too quick for him, however, and he only
succeeds in cutting a piece of his tail off, which piece is so
full of vitality that it dances all over the stage. Finally the
Butcher ventures into the lock-up with the monkey. The
Watchman springs his rattle and brings back Daddy Gnarl
to adjudicate on matters, and, on gingerly opening the doors
of the cabinet, the monkey and Butcher have disappeared and
the Witch is there. She chuckles with glee and takes
herself off, after offering some fiery snuff to Daddy. The
monkey then returns in the custody of the Butcher, who
has caught it at last. He calls for the box and forces the
monkey to get inside it. Under the close surveillance of
the committee it is locked up and covered with the canvas
cover, which is laced tightly on it ; furthermore, it is tied
up with rope, and the committee are asked to make the knots
and remember them. The monkey’s body completely fills
the interior, which prevents any part of the box col­
lapsing, the bonds and cover preventing any part expanding.
Thus imprisoned, the monkey is put inside the lock-up
again.
The Watchman sends off to Daddy Gnarl and asks him
to come and witness his triumph, but, alas, while he is
congratulating himself on the safe capture of the monkey, a
black arm is seen to emerge from a hole in the door, dis­
proving his boastful words. The Butcher returns; they
take the box out and find it quite light. However, the
cover and rope are intact and apparently untouched.
Nevertheless, when they are removed the box is found to be
empty.
Now the Witch returns and sets Dolly in a ring which
she draws upon the ground. Once more the doors of the
lock-up are opened and Will the sailor is back again. The
old Witch and Daddy Gnarl join in giving the young
people their blessing, and the Watchman is glad to be
finished with the whole business. While the curtain
84 MY MAGIC LIFE
descends, the old Witch chortles with glee the following
lines :
“God save the King, the bells shall ring
For Dolly and Will the sailor.”

Reverting for a moment to “The Sylph”, with the

idea of making this more impressive I apparently sent the
subject to sleep by administering a hypodermic injection.
Of course, although I used an imposing-looking syringe,
there was nothing in it. The whole thing was pretence.
However, it seemed difficult for some people to realize
this, and one night a man got up in the audience and made
an impassioned speech, protesting against the use of drugs
for stage performances. I hadn’t suspected for a moment
the effect it would have upon certain persons, especially
upon those who knew of the horrors of drug addiction.
When I saw how seriously people took it, I altered the
effect immediately, and ever afterwards pretended to send
the lady to sleep by hypnotic passes.
“Orienta” was another successful item of these tours.
Into this I introduced Chinese conjuring, made very
popular in America by Ching Ling Foo, and in this country
by Chung Ling Soo, who, incidentally, was not really a
Chinaman at all, although an exceedingly clever magician.
He could mimic Chinese manners to such perfection that
when the original Ching Ling Foo came to England
Chung Ling Soo actually challenged him as to who was the
original Chinaman, and won the day in the public eye
because it was beneath Ching Ling Foo’s dignity to con­
trovert his absurd statements. For “Orienta” I engaged
Gintaro, the Japanese juggler, and so was able to keep the
promise I made him years before.
One of the best pupils I ever had was an actor trained
with Sir Barry Jackson’s repertoire company. He proved
an apt learner simply because he was used to working to
cues and doing exactly what he was told, at the same time
giving his action an artistic expression.
One of the cleverest pupils I had was a doctor that I met
in my early days in Yorkshire. He was staying at the
Hydro, and I was giving him daily lessons at a fee of one
 MAGICAL SKETCHES 85
guinea per hour, which he paid cash down in gold and silver,
a sovereign and a shilling. One dap I was teaching him to
conjure with coins, notably how to change a sovereign into
a shilling, and when he handed me the fee as usual I pocketed
it unsuspectingly.
When I reached home, I found I had two shillings—he
had rung the changes himself ! He was just the sort of man
to make conjuring pap, but there is still honour among
thieves, and I safely received the sovereign the next dap.
I was not always as lucky, however, in receiving money due
to me. The first time I met George Grossmith was on the
top of a bus in Piccadilly, and I heard him explaining to the
conductor that he had changed his clothes and left his
money behind. I recognized the popular actor and asked
to be allowed to come to the rescue, and paid the twopence
required. This was my introduction to George Grossmith,
and I have met him many times since, and whenever I do so
I hold up two fingers, whereupon George grins—but he has
never yet produced his tuppence !
 CHAPTER VIII

A FEAST OF MAGIC

Amongst the names of those who helped me along the rough

road to success, and which are, as an early Victorian novelist
once put it, “for ever paramount in my thoughts”, was,
firstly, my late dear wife, who was always ready to encourage
me, always actively helping me. Then there was Sir
William Quiller-Orchardson, who introduced me to a
number of influential people, such as Sir Walter Gilbey,
Sir Samuel Montague, Sir John Aird, Seymour
Trower, and others, who gave me engagements in their
private houses. There was also Henry Bate, my brother
Ernest Wighton, George Facer, Augustus Pereno, Charles
Glenrose, W. R. Pitman, and Wellesley Pain.
George Facer was my private secretary for many years,
an assiduous worker and helper. Of Augustus Pereno I
have already spoken. Ernest Wighton, after leaving me,
became manager of certain halls for the Moss Empire tour,
and, finally, booking manager for that concern. He designed
several advertising features for me, one of which was a huge
balloon fashioned like an elephant, which, attached to a
convenient place by a cord, floated over the house-tops and
attracted much attention by its gyrations in the air. On
its sides, in large letters, was painted the word “Oh !”
which was the name we gave one of the illusions. At the
same time thousands of handbills were distributed broadcast,
displaying nothing but the word “Oh !”
This announcement was made previous to any others,
and soon we had the whole town saying “Oh !” Yet no one
knew what it meant until our regular bills were posted, in
which this title was given a prominent position.
86
 A FEAST OF MAGIC 87
Another idea of his was a huge portrait of myself, big
enough to cover the largest space we could obtain. The
gigantic size was managed by painting it by hand, section
by section. It caused a sensation at the time by its huge
size alone.
Yet another idea was to dress men up in dominoes and
cloaks, and supply them with bags of silvered coins made of
cardboard, which they distributed to all and sundry. The
effect of this was rather spoilt sometimes by the projection
of not-too-dainty feet below the cloaks and the addiction
of the men available for this class of work to dirty clay
pipes.
Wellesley Pain I have to thank for a great deal of help in
writing articles for the Press. I know he has written hun­
dreds about me, and, what is more, got them accepted !
For many years he was my Press manager, a very important
office in a showman’s organization.
Charles Glenrose was a clever actor who played many
parts indeed in my shows, and finally became my general
manager, and a very excellent one too !
I was fortunate in meeting Mr. Bate, whom I first en­
countered in this way. He came up on the stage one day to
examine a box, and I remarked to him that I thought he bore
a resemblance to Mr. Maskelyne. Thus we got into con­
versation. I asked him to come round to see me afterwards,
and I found he was an experienced maker of tricks, and had
been working for years through the toy-shops. He was the
very man I wanted—a clever mechanic who understood the
work.
Hitherto I had been quite dependent on Mr. Maskelyne’s
workshops, but as they were usually busy with the Egyptian
Hall productions I had no means of carrying out my
ideas. Unfortunately, I am no mechanic myself— I could
not even make a decent mouse-trap. This lucky meeting
occurred at Brighton in 1902. The first thing of importance
that Bate made for me was the “Magic Kettle”, which
became one of my most celebrated illusions. With this
innocent-looking receptacle I could supply my audience with
any drink they wished, from water to creme de menthe.
On one occasion at an early-morning performance in
88 MY MAGIC LIFE
Glasgow the water got frozen and stopped the miraculous
outflow. Another contretemps occurred at a temperance
hall which we had hired for the show. “The Magic
Kettle” was announced as usual, but we were told on
arrival that no intoxicants could on any account be allowed
in the hall. I got over the difficulty by filling the kettle
with coffee, tea, cocoa, lemonade, and other teetotal bever­
ages, but I forgot for the moment the proximity of the
said drinks, and the lemonade and ginger-beer came out
boiling hot.
However, on my second visit to Vienna I turned this
accident to account, because hot lemonade was a popular
drink there, and was in great demand for children’s
matinees.
In the early part of 1904 I heard that Kellar, the
American magician, had made a contract with Valadon to
join him and leave Mr. Maskelyne. My information came
from America, and was not definite enough to act upon to
the extent of warning Mr. Maskelyne, but it was convincing
enough to cause me to look out for someone who could take
his place. I knew that Mr. Maskelyne was very busy with
the arrangements for rebuilding St. George’s Hall, a lease of
which he had just secured, and that if Mr. Valadon left
suddenly Mr. Maskelyne would find it difficult to procure a
substitute. At this time Mr. Valadon was doing roughly
half the Egyptian Hall programme.
I settled upon a young man, Mr. Martin Chapender, whom
I had met in Liverpool, and with whom I was favourably
impressed. I asked him to give me a trial show, and made
tentative arrangements with him and discussed terms.
Events proved that my precautions had been necessary.
Mr. Maskelyne suddenly had a short notice from Mr.
Valadon, and I was able to fill the vacancy with rthe right
man, greatly to Mr. Maskelyne’s satisfaction.
Martin was quite a genius in sleight-of-hand, and made a
great success.
Mr. Maskelyne had expressed a wish that I should
return to London, at least for a season, on his opening
St. George’s Hall, which he hoped to do well before Christ­
mas 1904. On this account a projected Australian tour of
 A FEAST OF MAGIC 89
the provincial company had been postponed, although
deposits had been paid. This tour was eventually can­
celled altogether, owing to the St. George’s Hall business,
and the deposits were forfeited.
For St. George’s Hall Mr. Maskelyne’s intention was to
open with a play founded on Lord Lytton’s novel “The
Coming Race”, and to run the play twice daily, as long as
possible. Afterwards we were to give the play in the even­
ings only, and the usual kind of magical programme in the
afternoons. It was thought that the play would run twice
daily until Easter, and my tour was therefore timed to
finish just before then, about March 23rd, 1905.
I felt, too, that it was time that I reappeared in London
after five years’ absence, and I wished to make a reappearance
with an entirely new repertoire. I had therefore been
working to this end for some time previously, and had
succeeded in producing several new tricks and illusions,
some of which I had already staged on tour, while others
were still in the experimental stage. Most of them were of
my own invention, and all were new to London.
On January 2nd, 1905, St. George’s Hall was opened by
Mr. Maskelyne with the play he hoped would supersede his
former style of entertainment and eclipse all his previous
efforts.
It was lavishly staged and beautifully produced, costing
some thousands of pounds. It was written jointly by
Mr. David Christie Murray and Mr. Nevil Maskelyne.
Well-known professional actors, such as Herman Vezin and
Miss Vera Beringer, were engaged. Unfortunately, how­
ever, it failed to draw the public, and was withdrawn, after
eight weeks’ run, on February 25th, 1905.
Opinions differed as to the reason for the failure of the
play, and as I never saw it, I cannot express one. Many
persons thought the play was “over the heads” of the
public ; others thought the alteration in the form of the
entertainment was of too drastic a nature ; whilst some
thought it was a mistake to allow the Egyptian Hall to run
on under the management of Mr. Chapender, who con­
tinued the drawing-room style of entertainment to excellent
business for the best weeks of the season (This had been
90 MY MAGIC LIFE
arranged by Mr. Maskelyne to finish up the last weeks of his
Egyptian Hall lease.) Another opinion which was expressed
by the newspaper critics was to the effect that there were not
enough illusions in the play, and that the public expected
more magic from Mr. Maskelyne than he gave them.
Others considered that the advertising and management of
the new Hall were at fault.
It must, however, be remembered that the St. George’s
Hall had at this time a reputation for failures. Several
ventures had been tried since the death of Mr. Corney
Grain and the consequent break-up of the German Reed
entertainment, but all had met with failure. Although
Mr. Maskelyne had practically rebuilt the Hall, it was
uncomfortably furnished and poorly decorated, the best-
furnished portion being the stage. The vestibule floor
was covered with linoleum, the floor of the auditorium
with cheap coconut matting, and the stone stairs and
passages were uncarpeted. There was no refreshment
bar in the balcony, and only a very temporary one in the
basement.
Wooden forms, covered with American cloth, formed
the seats for the balcony, or shilling part. There were no
boxes, no glass awning, no furniture in the cloak-rooms, no
properly appointed office, no door-springs, no double
draught doors, no comfort, and no style about the place.
Personally, I think that this was one of the chief factors of
ill success.
At this juncture I was performing in Edinburgh, where
Mr. Maskelyne kept me posted with the progress, or rather
the decline, of “The Coming Race”, and finally wrote
proposing to come and see me and inspect what new things I
had to offer. From this letter he appeared very downhearted,
and said he had spent a very large sum on St. George’s Hall,
and his last hundreds were disappearing. When he saw
me, he explained that he could not go on any further, so
I strongly advised him to withdraw “The Coming Race”
immediately. I was also able to help by offering to lend
him the reserve fund of the provincial company.
It was arranged that “The Coming Race” should be
withdrawn, and that I should return to London as soon as
 A FEAST OF MAGIC 91
possible to offer my new repertoire. The whole arrange­
ment of the new programme was to be left to myself.
Mr. Maskelyne was very anxious to include parts of
“The Coming Race” in this, but I declined to return under
these conditions. Finally I consented to include two effects
in “The Gnomes’ Grot”, which, for this revival, was re­
named “The Hermit of Killarney”. The programme as
finally presented was as follows :

1. Gintaro—Japanese Juggling. 2. Animated Pictures.

3. David Devant, with the Golliwog Ball, Flags, Crystal Clock, Phoenix,
Paper Pictures, Mental Magnetism, and the Sylph. 4. Mr. J. N.
Maskelyne with “Oh !” 5. D. Devant with Mystic Kettle and
Burmese Gong. 6. Interval. 7. “The Hermit of Killarney”, cast
including J. N. and Nevil Maskelyne and J. B. Hansard.

The whole was called “A Feast of Magic”, and ran, with

one addition which I made later, called “Shades of Shifters”,
until June 23rd, 1905.
The receipts immediately jumped up, but Mr. Maskelyne’s
creditors were so pressing him that he could not continue, and
so the great event of my life happened. The Chief offered me
a partnership in the whole business and the property on
very flattering terms—that is to say, the purchase price
was to be paid only out of profits, after providing a working
salary for each of the three partners. There was one
condition which was not easy to fulfil. Mr. Maskelyne
owed a certain amount, and another large sum was wanted
for working capital.
Mr. Maskelyne explained that he had tried all his re­
sources, and his friends seemed to have no confidence in
the new venture. So it was up to me to find the amount
required. I then reminded Mr. Maskelyne of the terms of
an old scheme we had discussed for opening a Paris branch,
in which a third of the profits was to rank as interest on
the working capital. He at once agreed to this, and after
consulting my lawyer, Mr. Seal, the matter was settled.
It was clearly understood by all concerned that I
was to be managing partner, as I had been in the
previous contract, and Mr. Maskelyne promised to leave the
92 MY MAGIC LIFE
whole concern in my hands, and said he would practically
retire after the tour in the provinces.
I felt a keen sense of responsibility to save the sinking
ship. At the same time I had the confidence born of
overcoming so many similar difficulties in the provinces,
and I knew the power of advertising. Furthermore, I
had nearly finished preparing a really good and new illusion.
The effect of this illusion was to walk up to a woman
on the fully lighted stage and attempt to embrace her,
when she vanished as quickly as an electric light goes out
when the switch is turned. This was done without any
of the usual covers or cabinets. At one moment the
woman was walking about the stage, and the next she had
disappeared—shrivelled up in full view—and in a second
of time : such an effect had never before been obtained or
attempted.
Mr. Bate was making the apparatus for this, and I
determined to make it the opening attraction. The idea
that had suggested itself to me was to have the lady dressed
to represent a moth, and I was to approach her with a
lighted candle, when she was instantaneously to vanish.
I invented this illusion in a most curious way. As a
matter of fact, I dreamt it. My wife saw me get up and
light a candle and go through all the actions, which were
afterwards performed on the stage, with my eyes wide
open, although I was obviously asleep. The next morning
I awoke with a clear conception of the illusion, complete
with new principle, with the exception of a few mechanical
details which were supplied by my friend Bate.
Mr. Maskelyne described this as “the trickiest trick”
he had ever seen. Certainly it proved the most sensational
I ever accomplished. I had found how much an illusion
could be enhanced by a sketch, or play, being written around
it, and in fact how much easier it was to produce an illusion
with the art of the play to help it, that I determined to
repeat the experiment, and this time to engage a profes­
sional writer to do the work.
I gave the commission to Mr. H. L. Adam, who had
had an interview with me. He wrote a sketch, and, at
my suggestion, laid the scene in an Indian bungalow, with
 A FEAST OF MAGIC 93
British Army officers in mess uniform. He gave it the
striking title of “The Mascot Moth”, and with this as the
principal attraction the Hall was reopened on August
7th, 1905, under the management and title of Maskelyne
and Devant’s. To alter the title of the show had been one
of the items in the contract, and henceforth it was to be
known as Maskelyne and Devant’s Mysteries.
Now commenced the most strenuous period of my life.
It was work, work, all the way. I had to give two long
performances each day, as well as constant rehearsals for
the oncoming new items. My day was something like
this :
7 a.m. A ride over Hampstead Heath on a hack.
8 a.m. Breakfast, and attend to my private corre­
spondence.
9 a.m. A walk from my house at Swiss Cottage to
St. George’s Hall, by way of Primrose Hill
and Regent’s Park.
10 a.m. Attend to business letters and other details.
11 a.m. Commence rehearsals.
1.30 p.m. Lunch at Pagani’s.
2.30 p.m. Return to front of house and see that the
audience were being properly attended to.
3 p.m. My dressing-room, and dress for the per­
formance.
3.15 p.m. to 5.30 p.m. Performing, changing, etc.
5.30 p.m. to 6 p.m. Attend to callers, settle outstand­
ing matters.
6 p.m. to 6.30 p.m. Ride home by ’bus and train.
6.30 p.m. Dinner.
7.30 p.m. Return to Hall for evening performance
until 10.30 p.m. Home about 11.15 p.m.

A smoke or two, and so to bed, about midnight.

Thus day after day, all the year round, except Holy Week,
five days, and three weeks in July which were set aside for
holidays.
In my efforts to extend the business I organized three
companies to tour the music-halls—one in America, one
on the Continent, and one in Britain. I thought it was
94 MY MAGIC LIFE
possible to train understudies to duplicate exactly some of
my performances, such as “The Burmese Gong”, which
was a series of illusions especially suitable for the halls,
being of the quick-fire variety that Goldin had made
so popular. Every time the gong was struck by the magician
a person appeared, or disappeared, or changed places,
my three or four assistants doing this all over the stage.
They were dressed in gorgeous Burmese costumes, and the
scenery was well painted.
The whole show was a great artistic success, but I found
it impossible to find performers to take my place. One of
my understudies was a clergyman, who nearly got unfrocked
by his Bishop for performing my tricks in a Parisian music-
hall. At the same hall, Olympia, we lost a month’s
engagement by leaving behind a piece of scenery in London ;
it was only a small piece, but was vitally necessary to the
continuity of the performance, and as we were not able
to open on the first night, the month’s engagement was
cancelled, or rather postponed, until the following month.
In America the performer who was doing the “Mystic
Kettle” left the unpacking of the glasses, used to take
the liquors, until the very last moment on the first night,
when the case was found to be missing. The whole of
the staff was running about New York, when all the stores
were shut, trying to beg, borrow, or steal wineglasses.
Such incidents as these decided us to give up touring unless
one of the partners could attend personally as chief perfor­
mer. As I have mentioned, we had a tour booked to
Australia, but decided to give this up, for the same
reason.
Mr. Maskelyne, senior, undertook to do the tour we
had booked in England, and for this we revived “Will, the
Witch, and the Watchman”. He also did me the honour
of presenting my tricks “The Mystic Kettle” and “The
Phoenix”. When he returned from the tour I had a new
trick to offer him, a really new effect which we advertised
by calling it “A Trick without a Title”, offering a £5o
prize for the best title. The trick was perhaps the most
startling effect I had ever invented.
A cabinet, built for the purpose by Mr. Nevil Maskelyne,
 A FEAST OF MAGIC 95
was put together in separate parts in front of the audience,
and when together was found to be coffin-shaped and just
large enough to hold a pageboy. The boy was strapped
to an iron bar so that he could not twist or turn in any direc­
tion, and in this state he was fixed in the cabinet in an up­
right position. The door was shut and the whole thing
suspended a few feet from the stage. The performer then
told the audience how the witches of old used to stick
pins in an effigy to do mortal harm to living prototypes,
in the belief that whatever was done to the doll straightway
happened to the living person. In this instance he simply
turned the doll upside down, when, lo, the pageboy was
found to be in the same position. The winning title
was “The New Page”.
Many artists became famous under our banner. One of
the first we engaged was Barclay Gammon, who made an
immediate success. He was one of the jolliest humorists
we ever had, and a worthy successor to Corney Grain. I
wanted to engage Pellesier’s Follies, but they were a little too
expensive at that time. I once met Pellesier in a motor­
car in the King’s Road, Brighton. I was sitting in another
car with Bob Reynolds, the music publisher, and when we
drew alongside each other Pellesier shouted : “Hallo, Devant.
Produce a rabbit !”
Among the applicants for the post of understudy were
two young men, Oswald Williams, and Julian Wylie, both
amateurs at that time. I little imagined when I turned
them down that Williams would become my successor at
the Hall, and Julian Wylie a world-famous producer of enter­
tainments. But so it turned out.
I had the honour of being elected a member of the
Savage Club in 1897, and subsequently they asked me to
give an entertainment at a banquet at which King George V,
then Prince of Wales, was to be the guest of honour. My
sister Dora and I gave an exhibition of thought-trans­
ference, which I called Mental Magnetism. I apparently
hypnotized my sister, blindfolded her, then asked members
of the audience to suggest to me in a whisper any action
that my sister could perform, and, without speaking a word
or making a sound, my sister would slowly make her way to
96 MY MAGIC LIFE
the person who had made the request and carry out the
action, whatever it was.
As I pointed out at the time, actions can be much more
complicated than descriptions of articles. For instance,
silver cigarette-box, twelve, gives a clear idea of a silver
cigarette-case containing twelve cigarettes, and would make
a short telegram. To take a typical action, to find a cigar­
ette-case, in a certain pocket, from a certain man, to open it,
take out a particular cigarette, stick it behind his right ear,
shut up the cigarette-case, and put it back in another
particular pocket—what a long telegram this would make !
I remember that the Prince of Wales asked my sister
to kiss Lord Beresford, who was sitting next to him. This
my sister suggested, amid much hilarity, by kissing her fingers
and touching his lordship’s lips lightly. “Mental Mag­
netism” was quite a drawing card in my repertoire. It
seemed to puzzle all the conjurers, and even my partners
were unable to fathom the means we used, although they
watched it for show after show. This was a very great
compliment.
In connection with this thought-reading exposition
with my sister Dora, the following incident once occurred.
I one day received a letter from a young man who said
he felt he must write to me and describe how my magic
had saved his life.
It appears he had serious thoughts of suicide, and was
wandering aimlessly around Regent Street, when the portals
of St. George’s Hall attracted him and he entered and paid
for a seat. When our thought-transmission act com­
menced I invited him, amongst others, to make a sugges­
tion. He asked me to get my sister to remove a ring from
his finger and to place it upon the little finger of a lady’s
left hand who was seated some distance away. On leaving the
Hall he found himself walking near this lady, who addressed
him, asking his name, as she thought she had recognized
the crest on the ring. When she heard the name, it appeared
that her father and the young man’s father had once been
great friends. This naturally led to further conversation,
and, finally, to further meetings. All thoughts of suicide
were now banished. The couple became engaged and
 A FEAST OF MAGIC 97
married; and I hope they have lived happily ever
since.
The young man, in this most extraordinary letter,
gave me names and addresses and particulars which I feel
sure were authentic.
Having now described so many finished illusions, it may
be of interest to turn to the other side of magic, behind
the scenes, and to glimpse the training and tribulations
that must combine to make the accomplished magician.

G
 CHAPTER IX

MAGIC AND THE PUBLIC

W h a t is magic ?
We will pass over until a later chapter the magic of
olden days, when magicians were popularly supposed to
possess supernatural powers. The modern conjurer makes
no such claims, partly perhaps because he knows that,
were he to do so, his supporters would be few, and partly
because he knows that such a reputation, gained perhaps
by one special trick after many years of unceasing labour,
would assuredly be very short-lived. What, then, is the
magic of to-day ?
Perhaps the easiest way of answering that question is
to state what magic is not. At the risk of offending many
very proficient conjurers—both amateurs and professional
—I make bold to state that magic does not consist in a few
so-called secrets which can be mastered by any intelligent
person in a few hours. Magic is very much more than this.
A man may study every work on conjuring or magic
tha t has ever been published; he may take lessons, work
hard, and achieve a certain manual dexterity; but at the
end of it all he may still possibly be ignorant of what magic
is. His knowledge of secrets will not help him to discover
that particular secret.
Magic is an art by means of which a man can exercise,
as it were, a spell over others, and persuade them into
believing that they have seen some natural law disobeyed.
A man may have mastered this art in a small degree, and
yet be ignorant of what have often been erroneously called
the principles of conjuring, but which have not necessarily
anything to do with the art. I have always maintained
98
 MAGIC AND THE PUBLIC 99
that the art of the conjurer is closely allied to that of the
actor, but with this difference : the actor selects a character
and impersonates it; he has all the advantages of a proper
dress, suitable to the character he is playing, or beautiful
scenery, and music, and lighting, and the various other little
things which are comprised in the theatrical word “effects”.
The actor uses all these aids to assist him in persuading
people that the man they see is not the actor but the char­
acter the actor is impersonating. It has always seemed to
me that the art of the conjurer is in many ways more
difficult than that of the actor, and the reason that this
opinion is not generally held is that the art of conjuring
is not understood.
I do not hold the opinion that any man who can get up
and do a few tricks—even though he may do them well
enough to entertain his audience—is necessarily a conjurer,
because it is quite possible that he may be a mere exhibitor
of tricks. To say that a man who can show a few tricks
is a conjurer is about as absurd as to say that a man who can
recite “The Merchant of Venice” by heart is an actor.
In some ways the art of the conjurer is more difficult
than that of the actor, and for this reason : whereas the
actor has the advantage of all the accessories that I have
alluded to, the conjurer has to rely entirely on himself for
producing the impression that he wishes to convey. Also
if the conjurer wishes to be original, he must first invent
his own trick, and then surround it with a suitable plot
or story, also of his own making.
I regard a conjurer as a man who can hold the attention
of his audience by telling them the most impossible fairy
tales, and by persuading them into believing that those
stories are true by illustrating them with his hands, or with
any object that may be suitable for the purpose.
I have always thought that the recognition that is
accorded to other artists is too often withheld from conjurers.
The reason is not far to seek. The general public are always
a little annoyed with a conjurer for taking them in. The
public may be amused and entertained by a conjurer, and
yet, when the performance is all over and the public are
quietly thinking about what they have seen, they are a
100 MY MAGIC LIFE
little troubled at the thought that they have not been
able to discover “how it was done”. This has always seemed
to me to be an imperfect way of regarding a conjuring
performance.
In my opinion a conjuring performance cannot be
properly and thoroughly appreciated by anyone who does
not know something about the art, for the attraction is not—
or should not be—wholly centred in the secret, however
wonderful it may be, which enables the conjurer to get one
of his effects. When a member of an audience knows that
secret he ceases to be curious about it, and so devotes his
whole attention to the way in which the conjurer presents
his little fairy story.
There is another reason why, in my opinion, the conjurer
is not allowed to rank with other artists. The conjurer
leads a life of deception—at any rate for the brief periods
that he is before an audience—and the popular idea is that
his methods of deceiving people are all cut and dried
beforehand for him, and that all his work consists entirely
in using his hands dexterously.
The public are right in believing that the conjurer
must deceive his audience, but the public are wrong in
holding the opinion that the conjurer achieves this end by
mere manual dexterity. A good conjurer will present
his performance in such a way that not even a man who
knows the secret of how it is done will see at what particular
moment the conjurer makes use of that secret. The
conjurer must be an actor. By the expression on his face,
by his gestures, by the tone of his voice, in short, by his
acting, he must produce his effects. He may bewilder his
audience as much as he pleases, but he must also entertain
them.
It has been suggested that a conjurer cannot be regarded
in the same light as a musician or an actor, because the con­
jurer’s work—everything he does—is too trifling, and that
therefore a conjurer at his best can be only an entertainer
as well as an exhibitor of tricks. To this I reply that the
best of comedians is “only an entertainer”, but that I do
not think any the less of him on that account.
The public do not grudge the highest praise to the man
 MAGIC AND THE PUBLIC 101
who can amuse them with a humorous recitation or a song,
but I fear that they too often regard the conjurer—whose
recitation is usually original—from quite a different point
of view. I am endeavouring to show that a good actor,
who possesses the knowledge of a very few of the secrets
of conjuring, can be a very good conjurer, but that a man
who has learnt all that can be learnt from books about con­
juring will never be a good conjurer if he be an indifferent
actor.
One of my objects in writing this chapter is to enable
people to distinguish between good and bad conjuring,
and to impress upon them the fact that the trick is not the
main part of the performance. The presentation of the
trick is everything; the little secret round which the
performance has been woven is comparatively unimportant.
In proof of that statement I could give particulars
of numerous tricks which are always very effective when
presented well, but which depend for their effectiveness
on no complicated mechanism or marvellous exhibition
of manual dexterity. It is the acting of the man who
presents those tricks that makes them acceptable to an
audience.
Conjurers have suffered at times from the misdeeds of
members of their own craft, men who have used conjuring
for the purpose of swindling people or imposing on them
in some way. There are also men who pretend to do mar­
vellous things by the aid of science, but who nevertheless
rely on magic for their effect. I allude to the men who
profess to be mediums in mesmeric and spiritualistic
performances. But I maintain that it is not fair to condemn
all conjurers—as is frequently done—because of the mis­
deeds of a few.
I am well aware that the general public too often regard
conjurers as being little better than swindlers; or, at any
rate, as men who, if necessity compelled, would make very
good swindlers. Therefore the public do not always give
the honest conjurer his due. Sometimes the public hear
of a person who has put a piece of soap in his mouth and has
acted the part of a man in a fit. He has done this so well
that philanthropists have been deceived. But the same
102 MY MAGIC LIFE
public does not think less of the art which has enabled the
swindling soap-fit man to produce that impression—the same
art which the comedian uses when he knocks his stick on
the stage and holds one foot up quickly, to convey the
impression that he has hurt himself badly.
It has often been put forward as an argument against
the proposition that acting is an art, that the actor creates
nothing, and that therefore he is not an artist in the truest
sense of the word. Such a charge cannot be levelled against
conjuring. The good conjurer creates the story that he
wishes to tell his audience, and then invents the means of
illustrating that story. Therefore, if there is anything
in the theory that an artist has no claim to the name if he
does not create, surely the conjurer has a better right to
be called an artist than an actor.
I should not like it to be thought that I regard the
conjurer solely as an actor, or that I have not a proper
appreciation of the many secrets known to conjurers. I
merely wish to point out that the mysterious side of the art
is not the only side. The secrets may be regarded as the
artist’s tools, without which he can do no work, but he
should always remember that they are only tools, and but
means to an end.
The most accomplished musician does not attempt to
make scale-playing interesting to an audience, and the
conjurer who merely asks an audience to notice the dexterity
with which he wields his tools is not giving a conjuring
performance. The man who wishes to become a conjurer
may also bear in mind that the very best secrets will be
those which he discovers for himself. When the conjurer
has discovered an original way of doing and presenting an
old trick, he may consider that he has a better secret than
any that a book can impart, because it is his own. Having
arrived at such a success, the conjurer has found the best
answer to the question, “What is magic?”
Yet it is only after many years of work that a conjurer
realizes the limitations of conjuring. The fresh young
amateur begins his study of the art in the confident assur­
ance that he will learn how to become a source of perpetual
wonder to his friends. That ambition is seldom fulfilled.
 MAGIC AND THE PUBLIC 103
After reading part of the book that is to teach him the art
of conjuring, the amateur will perhaps try to do a few tricks.
He fails at the first few attempts, and because he has no
perseverance, and no real desire to learn conjuring, he throws
the book on one side and vows that conjuring is silly, and
that he has no time to give to it. He is confident that if
he gave up a certain amount of time to practising tricks
he would succeed in becoming a conjurer.
Perhaps the amateur is not always to blame for coming
to this conclusion, for it is the lesson that most of the books
on conjuring set out to teach. Practise hard, these teachers
say, and you will succeed. Then they set the amateur
conjurer a difficult exercise to practise, knowing full well
that he will be discouraged long before he has attained any
proficiency.
Nevertheless, many of the difficulties hitherto considered
to be inseparable from conjuring are in no way necessary
to a man who wishes to know something about the art.
Some years ago children who were taught to speak French
were compelled first of all to wade laboriously through
the French grammar. Since then we have discovered that
the best way to learn to speak French is to speak French.
Similarly, the best way to learn how to do conjuring is
to do some tricks. It is quite possible—and very probable—
that the time spent in learning and practising the various
“palms” and passes and changes, and other things, that have
been described in conjuring books from time immemorial,
may be entirely wasted. A knowledge of such things is
useful, and therefore they will be briefly explained in the
next chapter, in which I also propose to show easier methods
of obtaining the same results.
Before leaving the subject of the public’s attitude
towards magic, there is one essential rule to be borne in
mind—a rule that I learned early in my career and after
bitter experience. This is that the last thing a public
performer may do is to allow his audience to see that he
is not in his very best form. Once let the public in
front of you get the idea that you are performing simply
because they have paid to come in and see you, and that you
do not want to perform, and you make yourself a failure
104 MY MAGIC LIFE
at once. The public like to think that your performance
amuses you as much as it does them. Perhaps it does
sometimes.
Unless you are at your best the public think that
it has been defrauded of part of their money. I have heard
it suggested that the public, in doing this, are very hard­
hearted and exacting. Personally, I do not think that they
are anything of the kind. They have paid their money in
the expectation of being entertained, and if they are not
amused they have a perfect right to be cross at having spent
their money badly. Whether in this case the entertainer
ought conscientiously to return the money at the doors
as the public go out is a matter so serious that I cannot
bear to think of it. I may add that I have never felt myself
called upon to return any money.
 CHAPTER X

SECRETS OF MAGIC

M y own experience of magic has taught me that all magical

effects come under one of the following seven headings:

1. A Production or Creation.
2. A Disappearance.
3. A Transformation.
4. A Transposition.
5. An Apparent Defiance of Natural Laws.
6. An Exhibition of Secret Motive Power.
7. Apparent Mental Phenomena.

I will take the first division—tricks of production or

creation—and endeavour to give a general explanation of
how this type of effect may be obtained.
If the conjurer is using his hands alone, it is obvious
that the coin or other small object which he wishes to pro­
duce must first be concealed there. The majority of people
explain all tricks by this secret. They say, “He had it in
his hand ; he palmed it.” It is, perhaps, for this reason
that amateurs think too highly of palming. Palming, after
all, consists merely in concealing a coin or other small object
in the hand.
There are many ways of doing this. You may have the
coin in the fork of the thumb, under the first joint of the
thumb, between two fingers, under the second and third
fingers closed down to hold it, or, lastly, you can use the
orthodox and best method, in which the coin is concealed
in the palm of the hand and held there by a slight contrac­
tion of the muscles. Palming is not easy, and I dare say
I shall gladden the heart of many an amateur when I add
105
106 MY MAGIC LIFE
that palming is not indispensable. Some of the best tricks
have been produced without palming or sleight-of-hand—
as it is generally understood—in any form. In most books
on conjuring elaborate directions are given as to how coins,
cards, balls, and other small objects should be palmed
I do not believe in such directions, for it is obviously absurd
to direct that a coin should be palmed by being placed in a
certain spot in the hand, because no two hands are quite
alike. When you have concealed a coin in your hand in
such a way that you can hold your hand in a natural position,
neither too stiffly nor too loosely, without dropping the
coin, you have learned to palm.
During recent years conjurers have become discontented
with the ordinary palming of a coin, and have gone on to
learn what is known as “the continuous palm, back and front”.
At first the front of the hand is shown to be empty ; then
the back of the hand is turned to the audience, and that,
too, is empty ; then the coin is produced at the tips of the
fingers. The secret is simple enough. When the coin
is at the back of the hand, it is gripped between the first
and little fingers. When it is necessary to get the coin
to the front of the hand, the middle and third fingers make
the coin revolve while it is still held between the first and
little fingers. To perform this “continuous palm” one
must be prepared to spend many months in practising it ;
and when it is learned, the amateur is very little better off
than the conjurer who discovered that he could produce
all the effect of the “back and front continuous palm”
by the simple means of having a loop of catgut passed through
a small hole in the coin and dropped over the thumb. The
catgut is practically invisible.
If the amateur wishes to palm a coin, he should not forget
that the mere ability to hold a coin concealed in the palm
is of little use to him unless he turns it to practical account—
in other words, unless he is going to learn some trick in which
it is necessary that he should be able to palm a coin.
Cards can also be concealed by having them palmed
already in the hand, and they can be treated almost in the
same way as coins. I do not advise an amateur to waste a
lot of time in learning how to manipulate the cards, because
 SECRETS OF MAGIC 107
some of the best card tricks can be performed without any
sleight-of-hand. The amateur should bear in mind that
all sleight-of-hand is only a means to an end, and that if
that end can be reached in a more direct way, then sleight-
of-hand is of no value to him.
Sleight-of-hand, as applied to cards, has many variations.
There is the “pass”, in which two halves of a pack of cards
are made to change quickly. There is the “change”, in
which one card is adroitly exchanged for another. An
expert conjurer will also learn how to “force” a card. When
the conjurer has acquired the art of inducing a member of
the audience to take a particular card from a pack, the con­
jurer is said to have “forced” that card. Of course, the
man who has drawn the card does not know that he has
not made a free choice from the pack.
Then, again, the false shuffle is very useful. The con­
jurer who is making a false shuffle gives one the impression
that he is mixing the cards up, but in reality he is keeping
them in a certain order by means of sleight-of-hand. If
I want a member of the audience to cut the cards at a
certain place, I can generally be sure that the cards will
be so cut if I “bridge” them beforehand. To “bridge”
the cards I take two parts of the pack and bend the cards in
opposite directions ; then, when the two halves of the pack
are put together again, there is a little gap at the place
at which I wish the person to cut the cards.
The “bridge” can also be used in another way. The
performer takes a new pack of cards and allows a person to
choose one. While the man is looking at it the performer
bends all the rest of the pack sharply, so that every card
in the pack is slightly curved. When the man who has
selected a card replaces it in the pack, the performer can
generally discover the chosen card, even after the pack
has been moderately shuffled. All he has to do is to hold
the cards rather loosely and pick out the one straight card
from those with curved edges.
It is obvious that the amateur conjurer who attempts
to produce a coin, card, or other object from his hands
alone sets himself a difficult task. When he makes use
of some other object in his trick, his work is more simple.
 108 MY MAGIC LIFE
For instance, he may take a small box, show it to be empty,
close the lid, open it, and take out a live bird. That is
a mechanical trick. The box has a false bottom, which
flies up against the side of the box when a spring is
pressed.
The most useful method of performing a production
trick is to employ some article which serves as a “cover”
for the conjurer while he is secretly producing the article
he wants to show. The article may be concealed in some
pocket, or about the conjuror’s body. No particular
arrangement of pockets is necessary ; the conjurer should
have such pockets as he finds from experience are most
useful to him.
In doing a production trick the amateur should bear in
mind that when he uses some object as a “cover ” he must
give some reasonable excuse for using it. He must not
borrow a handkerchief in order that he may produce from
it, say, half a dozen billiard balls. If he borrows a handker­
chief he must perform some trick with it; if he merely
wants a handkerchief as a “cover”, it is better that he should
produce one magically from his hands than that he should
ask a member of the audience to lend him one.
There are many different ways of concealing a handker­
chief in the hands. It may be rolled up into a very small
ball and palmed like a coin. A simple way of concealing
it is to put it into a small flesh-coloured tin box, fastened
either to the back or front of the hand by means of wax
or a loop of thread. Here is an instance of sleight-of-hand
being superseded by a simple contrivance ; for an amateur
will find that he can carry a handkerchief in a small box
attached to his hand much more easily than he can palm
the same handkerchief without such apparatus. The effect
is the same in both cases.
At this point I fancy I can hear the beginner saying:
“Yes, that’s all very well. You tell us that we are to have
something concealed on us, and that we are to produce that
thing under cover of something else ; but how are we to
do that without drawing attention to what we are doing ?”
My reply to that is that if you take care that every movement
seen by the audience is made perfectly naturally, you will
 SECRETS OF MAGIC 109
not draw attention to what you are doing. It is a common
mistake to suppose that “the quickness of the hand deceives
the eye”. You cannot move your hand so quickly that its
passage cannot be followed by anyone who is watching
you. It is not an easy matter to be natural—to pretend that
you are doing a certain thing when you are really doing
something else—but that is what one must learn to do if
one would become a conjurer.
Let us suppose that we want to learn the goldfish
trick—a very old trick, in which the performer produces
a bowl of water with living goldfish from a cloth. The
bowl is in either the breast or tail pocket of the performer’s
coat. The water and fish are kept in the bowl by an india-
rubber top, like a lady’s bathing-cap, which is taken off the
bowl under cover of the cloth. If you would learn to do
this trick thoroughly well, practise it without actually
doing it. Wave the cloth about as though you were doing
the trick, but give some reason for waving it. You may
talk about the beautiful pattern of the cloth, or the effects
of different lights on it ; at any rate, let there be some excuse
for waving the cloth about. Rehearse this part of the trick
several times, and you will then discover for yourself at
what particular moment you can best introduce the bowl
under the cloth. There are many little details in every
trick, and these have to be carefully studied by the perfor­
mer. For instance, in this trick it will be found that
the indiarubber top bulges out, making the task of extracting
the bowl from the pocket very difficult. To get the top
quite flat lift up one little piece of the cover after it has
been placed in position, and then squeeze out all the air.
The indiarubber top will then be quite flat. When the
performer gets the bowl into the cloth he must practise
carefully how to get the cover off without any suspicious
movement of the hands.
As good examples of the production tricks, I may men­
tion the familiar trick of producing an endless number of
articles from a hat, the trick of catching money in the air,
and the trick of the mysterious growth of flowers. One
of the finest examples of a production trick was the beautiful
creation of M. Bautier de Kolta, entitled “The Cocoon”.
110 MY MAGIC LIFE
It was first produced at the Egyptian Hall, and has already
been described in an earlier chapter.
The next class of effects includes all those tricks in which
articles are made to disappear. In some respects these
tricks are simply the reverse of those that have as their
attraction a production of an article or articles. On
the other hand, many of the tricks of disappearances are
entirely different from those involving a production.
There are innumerable ways of effecting the disappearance
of an article, and, as it is impossible to catalogue them all,
I will describe only a few of the simplest methods.
The production of a bowl of water with fish in it has
already been explained. To cause a bowl to disappear
is as simple as to produce it. I will suppose that you have
produced three bowls—one from each of your breast­
pockets, and one from a pocket made underneath the tail
of the coat. You have allowed the audience to see that
two of the bowls are ordinary bowls, and so they will not
suspect that the third bowl is a trick bowl, with a glass top
fixed to it. This bowl has a small hole in the bottom,
through which the water is poured, and through which
dummy fish—made of pieces of carrot or red flannel—are
passed. The hole is corked up, and the hand that produces
the bowl conceals the cork. It will be obvious that this
bowl, not having an indiarubber top, can be produced and
vanished more easily than the others. To cause its dis­
appearance you have two shawls sewn together in such a
way as to look like one shawl. Into the middle is sewn a
disk of cardboard the exact size of the top of the bowl.
When you are about to make the bowl disappear you throw
the shawl over it and get the disk of cardboard over the
top of the bowl. While you are thus occupied, and are
engaging the attention of the audience with your patter,
you can quietly put the bowl back into your pocket. It is
an easy matter then to finish the trick in a very startling
way. The audience will never suspect that the shawl
does not conceal the bowl, because the cardboard disk will
cause them to think that the bowl is still there ; and when
you suddenly wave the shawl away, they will gasp with
astonishment—provided that you have not been nervous
 SECRETS OF MAGIC 111
and have not dropped the bowl when you were slipping
it into your pocket.
Here is a more complete way of vanishing the bowl.
Pretend to put it on a table that has a small shelf at the back,
or a table with a double top open at the back. The audi­
ence think that you are about to put the bowl on the table.
You get near the table, and are about to put the bowl down,
when you suddenly change your mind and come away from
the table. It is perhaps hardly necessary for me to add that
when you were near the table you lowered the bowl under
cover of the shawl on to the shelf at the back of the table,
or, if the table was made with a double top, in between the
two, through an opening at the back. Having got rid of
the bowl, it is an easy matter to make it disappear, and when
you throw away the shawl with the cardboard disk in it
the audience will be duly surprised.
Many objects can be made to disappear by means of
trap tables. Some of these contrivances are very com­
plicated, and the necessary “cover” can be afforded by the
hands. If, for instance, you wish to make an orange
disappear you put both hands round the orange and appar­
ently pick it up. The hands were put there in order that
the movement of the orange disappearing through the trap
might be concealed.
A simple way of making a handkerchief disappear is to
have a tin box as before described. Work the handker­
chief into the box, slip it round to the back of the hand,
and show the fronts of the hands empty. The box is
fastened to the left hand by a small piece of flesh-coloured
thread. The handkerchief is gradually worked into this
box while your audience think that you are merely rolling
it into a ball. The box is then slipped to the back of the
hand, and the fronts of the hands can be shown empty,
with the fingers wide apart.
There are numerous other ways of making a handker­
chief disappear. One “vanisher”—to use the word under­
stood by all conjurers—consists of a small tin cup. A piece
of strong black elastic is attached to the closed end of the cup.
The end of the elastic is passed through a small ring sewn
at the bottom of the left armhole of the waistcoat. The
112 MY MAGIC LIFE
elastic is then brought down to the bottom of the back
of the waistcoat and passed through another small ring
sewn there. It is then passed right round the waist,
passed again through the ring at the back of the waistcoat,
and finally brought to the front of the waistcoat and fastened
on the top front button of the trousers. The cup should
then be lying under the left armpit. When the performer
wants to vanish a handkerchief he gets hold of the cup and
draws it forward. He then pushes the handkerchief into
the cup with one finger, but to the audience he seems to
be simply working the handkerchief into his hands. While
the performer is getting the handkerchief into the cup he
makes an up-and-down movement of his hands, and when
the whole handkerchief has been worked into the cup
the hands are opened slightly at the side nearest to the
performer. The cup, being released, then flies back to
its position under the left arm. The performer should
not show his arms empty at once, but should continue
the movement of his hands in such a way that the audience
gets the impression that the handkerchief has been rubbed
away.
A handkerchief can be made to disappear by the simple
act of rolling it up into a ball and palming it. To do this
properly one must be proficient in sleight-of-hand. It will
now be seen that sleight-of-hand is only one way of getting
the best effect, and not necessarily the best way or the easiest
way.
The amateur who wishes to succeed should thoroughly
understand the headings under which all conjuring tricks
can be classed. Let the amateur understand exactly all
that a conjurer can do, and then let him take some object
and try and discover some new way of performing a trick
with it. As a slight encouragement to the amateur to
do this, I will give particulars of a few methods by which an
egg may be made to disappear.
First of all, the egg may be prepared by blowing it
and then soaking it in strong vinegar. The acid will soften
the shell, so that it may be easily picked away, leaving only
the white skin. When this egg is taken from a dish of other
eggs it looks just like an ordinary egg. The skin, of course,
 SECRETS OF MAGIC 113

can be rolled up into a tiny ball and hidden at the bottom

of the second and third fingers.
A very good disappearance can be effected by means of a
bottomless tumbler. The tumbler is placed on the hand,
and no one will suspect that it is not an ordinary tumbler.
Any glazier will prepare a tumbler for you by cutting the
end from an ordinary tumbler. The egg is placed in the
tumbler slowly, so that it shall not be broken. That is
the reason you give to the audience; as a matter of
fact, the real reason why you put the egg slowly into the
tumbler is that, by so doing, the audience will not be led to
expect to hear any sound of the egg falling on to the glass.
If you merely dropped the egg into the tumbler the audience
might notice that it made no noise at the bottom of the
tumbler—which is really the palm of your hand. When
the egg is in the tumbler a handkerchief is thrown over
it, and it is then handed to a member of the audience
to hold. The trick can then be finished off in any way you
like. You can step back to the stage to pick up your wand,
and at the same time drop the egg, which is in your hand,
behind a box on the table or on a little shelf at the back
of the table, or you can slip the egg into one of your pockets.
Another way. Put the egg on the table, throw a handker­
chief over it, but in the act of doing so flick the egg into your
lap. It will be as well to learn how to do this with a con­
jurer’s egg—an imitation egg.
An egg can also be made to disappear by the aid of an
egg-bag. This is merely an ordinary small bag, with one
side made double, with a small opening at the bottom.
The egg is placed in the bag, slipped into the pocket made
by the double side, and given to someone to hold. The
person holding the egg (with the bag round it) will naturally
feel sure that the egg cannot be retained in the bag when
the bag is shaken. You take the bag at the bottom and
shake it. The egg, being in the pocket, does not fall out.
Then, to show that the egg is not there, you draw the bag
through your hands, but as you do this you keep the corner
of the bag in which the egg is reposing in your hand. Then
by gently shaking the bag—with the top uppermost—
you make the egg run down to the bottom of the bag again,
H
114 MY MAGIC LIFE
and you can show your hand empty and yet take the egg from
the bag, which a moment before you had pressed flat.
An egg may also be vanished by means of a trap in the
table. This method has already been explained. Another
method is to have the egg fastened by a thread to the centre
of a handkerchief. The handkerchief is thrown carelessly
over the egg, and is then suddenly withdrawn and shaken.
The egg simply hangs down behind the handkerchief.
Another plan is to have two handkerchiefs sewn together,
with a small slit in the centre of one of them. The egg
is worked into this slit, and, the double handkerchief forming
a pocket, the egg can be carried away in it. Another method
of making an egg vanish is to have half an egg made of
glass. This is introduced under a handkerchief after the
handkerchief has been thrown over a real egg. The real
egg is taken away, and the member of the audience who
thinks that he is holding the egg with the handkerchief
over it is really holding the glass shaped egg. The trick
performed with it is much the same as that of the half-
crown and glass of water trick.
A simple way of making an egg disappear is to have a
wooden egg with a piece of black elastic attached to it.
The other end of the elastic is fastened to the back of the
waistcoat. The trick can be done in this way with a real
egg if one is provided with a little pocket made of black
linen and attached to a piece of black elastic. The top of
the pocket is stiffened with two pieces of whalebone,
which in their normal position keep the mouth of the
pocket closed. The arrangement of the elastic for this
pocket can be the same as that for the tin cup which is
used to vanish a handkerchief.
One performer I knew had a very ingenious way of making
an egg disappear. He pretended that he had a whole egg,
but in reality had only half an egg, the inside of which
was painted red. He used to place this in his mouth, and
would then pretend to swallow it. To prove that he had
really swallowed it he would open his mouth. The audience
saw no egg there because the inside of the half-egg exactly
matched the colour of his mouth. He then reproduced
it. Another man—a clumsier performer—used to take a
 SECRETS OF MAGIC 115
blown egg and make it vanish by the simple method of
putting it in his mouth, crunching it up into small pieces,
and concealing them in his mouth.
Lastly, you can make an egg apparently disappear by
palming it. By the way, an egg is the most difficult thing
you can palm. Again it will be seen that sleight-of-hand—
as it is generally understood—is not necessary to a conjurer
who wants to know how magic can be made easy.
It should be understood that the various ways of making
an egg disappear, as I have described, are really only scraps
of tricks. The amateur who is going to use any of them
should compose a trick by inventing suitable patter and
arranging a little plot for a complete experiment.
 CHAPTER XI

MORE SECRETS REVEALED

Transformation and transposition tricks, which come

under the third heading of effects, are generally much more
complicated than those tricks which I have already described.
Sometimes in a transformation trick you produce an article
and transform it by making it vanish and by causing another
article to appear in its place. Possibly you may have to
reproduce the first article in the course of the trick, in which
case you partly expose your own trick. A more finished
way is to make the transformation complete by disposing
of the first article altogether.
You may have a chemical transformation. The ink-and-
water trick is done in this way. This is a simple and effec­
tive trick, which can be performed by anyone who will
exercise reasonable care in its preparation. The effect is
as follows: The conjurer takes four empty tumblers and
places them in a row. He then brings forward a large
glass jug filled with clear water. To show that the glasses
are not prepared in any way, he fills one glass with water
and pours it back into the jug. He then pours enough
water into each glass to make it half full, but as he does so
the audience are considerably surprised to notice that,
although the jug from which the performer is pouring
contains clear water, two of the glasses receive a black
fluid and two clear water.
The secret lies in the preparation of the glasses. My own
method is as follows : At the bottom of the first glass I
have a teaspoonful of a saturated solution of tannin. The
object of filling this glass with water and then pouring it
back into the jug is to impregnate the whole of the water
116
 MORE SECRETS REVEALED 117
with tannin. If this were done before the trick was com­
menced, the water might have turned cloudy. The second
and fourth glasses contain a few “steel drops” or a saturated
solution of perchloride of iron. Into the third glass is
placed a small quantity of a saturated solution of oxalic
acid. When the glasses are thus prepared, the trick is
simple.
When the water with the tannin is poured into the
second glass, the combined liquids turn black. The same
thing happens with the fourth glass. The third glass—
containing the oxalic acid—appears to be only water.
So far we have described only half the trick. After the
four glasses have been half filled, the first and second glasses
are mixed together, and the liquid is seen to be black. Then
the contents of the third and fourth glasses are combined,
and the result is a clear fluid. Then the mixture of the
first and second glasses is poured back into the jug, colouring
its contents black ; but when the contents of the third and
fourth glasses are poured into the jug, the oxalic acid trans­
forms the black liquid into what is apparently clear water.
Directly the contents of the last glass are poured into the
jug the hand should be passed over it for a second,
because the change is not quite instantaneous.
Directly the trick is finished, the tray with the glasses
and jug should be taken away, as the water will rapidly
become cloudy. Oxalic acid is poisonous, and therefore
the jug and glasses should be thoroughly cleansed before
they are used for ordinary purposes. The chemicals for
this trick are very inexpensive, and if the directions are care­
fully followed the trick cannot fail.
This trick should always be rehearsed before the con­
jurer gives it in a town in which he has never before per­
formed it, because the quantities of chemicals that will
work the trick properly with the water of one locality will
not produce the right results with the water of another.
For instance, if the amateur did the trick in Buxton or
Harrogate with the same quantities of chemicals that he
used in London, he would probably get some effects that
would surprise even himself!
Tricks of transformation are often performed with the
118 MY MAGIC LIFE
aid of mechanical devices. One well-known trick is that
in which a candle is changed into a bouquet of flowers.
The candle is really a hollow tin tube, painted white to
resemble a candle. At one end is a piece of real candle,
which can be lighted. The bouquet is made of artificial
feather flowers, constructed in such a way that they can
be folded up and put inside the candle. When the candle
is pulled off, under cover of something, the bouquet
appears.
Sometimes the transformation is effected by means of a
brass cover, which is put over the article with which the
trick is to be performed. One can have a small brass cover
fitted with a little mechanical arrangement by which an
article is concealed in the cover although it is apparently
empty. The cover can then be placed over another article,
and the mechanical contrivance will pick that article up
and hide it in the cover, and at the same time will release
the article that has been concealed in the cover. One of
the best-known tricks performed by means of mechanical
covers is the coffee-and-beans trick. Three vases, which
are first shown to be empty, are filled with coffee berries
and white beans. Covers are put on the vases, the con­
jurer waves his magic wand and, taking the covers off
again, discloses the three vases filled with hot coffee, hot
milk and sugar. This is an elaborate trick, depending for
its effectiveness chiefly on the mechanical arrangements
in the vases and covers.
Some of the card tricks, in which a card is transformed
into a different card, or into another object, are performed
with mechanical cards.
When the amateur has got beyond the elementary
stage of conjuring he will find that many of the best
transformation tricks can be performed by means of sleight-
of-hand alone.
Next come tricks of transposition, in which one object
seems to travel invisibly from one place to another. As an
example of such tricks, I will describe one which I used to
perform frequently when I first commenced conjuring.
I always found that it made a capital impression on an
audience, and I have no doubt if it was done now it would
 MORE SECRETS REVEALED 119
be equally well received, although perhaps some conjurers,
who are always reading up tricks which they never perform,
would consider it out of date.
I came upon the stage with what appeared to be an
ordinary champagne bottle in one hand and an ordinary
tumbler in the other. Near the front of the platform were
two small tables, on each of which was an ordinary dinner-
plate ; on the right-hand table was also a small thin funnel.
On another table were two cylindrical covers made of
cardboard. There was no trick about these, but one was
slightly larger than the other, for a reason that will presently
be apparent.
I began the trick by telling the audience that I would
show them a curious trick with water, and I apologized for
my water-bottle, which was the only one I could find
handy. I could generally manage to work in a few small
jokes about the bottle. For instance, if I was performing
in a temperance hall, I would tactfully say that if cham­
pagne bottles never contained anything more dangerous
than the fluid which I was about to pour from mine the
world would be a happier place than it was ! I then filled
the tumbler with water and put the bottle on the right-
hand table. There was only sufficient water in the bottle
to fill the tumbler. Then, advancing to the front of the
stage with the glass of water in my right hand, I explained
that the trick consisted in my throwing the glass of water
round the room. I informed the audience that if they would
keep still they would not be splashed, and the glass would
fly round the room like a pigeon—a tumbler pigeon—and
eventually come on to the table at my left hand. I then
made a great show of pretending to throw the water, but
hesitated each time, because someone was moving. Finally
I said that perhaps it would be safer if I attempted the trick
with a little less water in the glass, and so I would pour some
of the water back into the bottle. Tricks with water, I
explained, were always difficult. I knew only one man who
could do a good one, and he was a milkman. The glass
was then half filled with water, and again I assured the
audience that if they would only keep still 1 should be able
to throw the glass round the hall. After a few feints at
120 MY MAGIC LIFE
throwing the glass away from me, I told the audience that
I was afraid they were too nervous for that experiment, and
I should have to perform it some other way. Taking up the
plate on the table on my left hand, I put the glass upon it,
and then put them both on the table. “Now,” I said to
the audience, “I will endeavour to make the glass travel
invisibly to the table on my right here, and the bottle on
my right hand shall stand in the position now occupied
by the glass. To do this, however, I must first render the
bottle and glass invisible, and so I will cover them both with
these two thin cardboard covers, which I will first pass
round for examination, so that you may see for yourselves
that there are no secret pockets in them which can contain
water, bottle, or glass.”
I then passed the cardboard covers round for examina­
tion, and after getting a little “rise” out of my audience by
pretending to slip something into one of the covers while I
was passing the other round for examination, and by leading
them to believe that I slipped the article into the cover they
examined after it was returned to me, I eventually worked
them up to such a pitch of enthusiasm at having caught me
in introducing something into the covers that they usually
clamoured to have both covers shown to them at once.
Then, of course, I handed both covers at once to the audience
and thus convinced them that the covers were quite empty.
When the covers were returned to me I showed that both of
them would fit the bottle and glass, which, my readers will
remember, was half filled with water. Having dropped both
covers alternately over the bottle and the glass, I left one
cover on the bottle and the other on the glass. Making
some appropriate action with my hands, I commanded the
bottle and the glass to change places. I then lifted the
covers, showing the bottle where the glass had been and the
glass, half filled with water, in the place occupied by the
bottle.
“So far,” I would say to the audience, “the trick has
been fairly simple. Anyone who has a bottle and a glass
can do that. All you have to do is to get a bottle of
champagne, empty it—or get somebody to help you to
empty it—and then put in a little water. You then get a
 MORE SECRETS REVEALED 121

kitchen tumbler and a couple of cardboard cylinders. In

case all of you haven’t followed the movement, I will
repeat the trick by making the bottle and glass return to
their original places.”
I then covered the glass and the bottle once more,
lifted the covers, and showed the bottle on my right hand
and the glass on my left. The covers I threw at once to the
audience for their examination.
That was the effect of the trick to the audience. This is
the explanation :
The trick was performed with two bottles and two
glasses. The bottles were made of tin, japanned to
represent ordinary glass bottles. One of the bottles was
divided into two compartments—that is to say, the bottom
of the bottle was really in the middle. Thus the upper
part could contain water, while the bottom half, being
hollow, formed a cover for a tumbler. A small tube ran
from the mouth of the bottle through the partition in the
centre, and had an outlet just underneath it, so that water
poured through the little tube ran into the tumbler
underneath.
The second bottle was a shell of tin that exactly fitted
over the first bottle. Both the bottles had a small hole, just
large enough to admit my finger, about two inches from the
bottom. The bottles were exactly like each other, and the
two holes were in the same position. Thus by putting my
finger through the two holes I could press the glass which
was under the inner bottle against the side and hold it there.
Thus holding this combination of two imitation bottles and
a solid tumbler, I came on the stage. The imitation bottles
had imitation champagne labels on them (I believe these
can be obtained from any cheap Italian restaurant.) I
first emptied the whole of the contents of the bottle into
the glass on my left hand, but when I pretended that I
had got too much water, and that I should have to pour
some back, I used the little funnel, and thus really poured
the water down the little tube and into the glass concealed
under the inner bottle. While this was going on, I took
care to keep the side in which the holes were away from the
audience.
122 MY MAGIC LIFE
It will be seen that when I poured the water into the
bottle I really half-filled the glass below. Here I knocked
the bottle on the plate, to prove indirectly that it was of
solid glass. What I really allowed them to hear was the
knocking of the tumbler under the bottle on the plate. I
practised another deception when I first put one cover and
then the other over the bottle to show that both fitted. I
really put the larger of the two covers over the bottle, and
when I took it away I gripped it tightly, and so took away
with it the shell bottle. This cover I put over the glass on
my left hand. When I moved this cover again I took hold
of it very lightly, and thus left the shell bottle over the glass.
The other cover—over the bottle that had contained the
water—I gripped tightly, and thus took it away, showing
the glass that had been underneath it. It will be obvious
that to make the bottle and glass return to their original
places all I had to do was to grip the left-hand cover tightly,
and thus pick up the shell bottle that had been placed over
the glass there, and take the other cover up lightly, thus
leaving the other bottle over the glass. It will be seen
that the shell bottle was then in one of the covers. This
cover I dropped over the bottle—in a careless way—and
thus got the shell bottle over the other bottle again, and
the trick was finished. The covers could, of course, be
given for examination.
Another excellent trick of transposition—invented, I
believe, by Conradi—is that of the flying lamp. A lighted
lamp is taken from a shelf and put on a small glass-topped
table. A pistol is fired at the lamp, which immediately
vanishes from the table and reappears at the same moment—
still alight—on the shelf. This trick, however, is quite
beyond the reach of the amateur.
There should be an element of surprise in all trans­
position tricks, otherwise they are apt to fall rather flat.
For instance, it is not enough to say that you are going to
make a card leave the pack and fly invisibly through the air
into the pocket of a man seated at the other end of the hall
in which you are performing. Say that by all means, and
carry out your intentions, but do something else as well. It
may be remembered that in my well-known rabbit trick I
 MORE SECRETS REVEALED 123
make a watch disappear from a paper cone held by a member
of the audience and reappear in the pocket of another
member of the audience, but then, in its invisible flight, the
watch had got tied round the neck of a rabbit.
A pretty transposition trick with a ring is done in this
way. Borrow a ring, hold it in the right hand, and ask a
member of the audience to tie your hand up in a serviette.
It will then be apparently impossible for you to make the
ring pass from the right hand to the left. However, to
make the trick still more difficult, you invite a member of
the audience to tie your left hand up in a serviette. You
then ask anyone to say to which finger of the left hand the
ring shall invisibly travel; and when the serviettes have been
removed the ring is seen on that particular finger.
The trick is performed with the aid of a little tape-
measure, which you have sewn on to the left-hand side of
your trousers in such a position that it is concealed by the
coat. The measure has a spring in the centre, and after the
tape is pulled out to any length it immediately flies back
again when the spring is pressed. Before the per­
former commences this trick he pulls out the measure,
passes it diagonally across the back of his waistcoat, carries it
down to his right sleeve, and hooks it to his cuff. At the
end of the tape is a small swivel hook. When the performer
takes the ring he slips it on to this hook, using the serviette
as a cover to hide the movement. Then he waits until
the member of the audience is about to tie his right hand up
in the serviette, and then presses the spring on the left-hand
side of his trousers. The ring immediately flies up the
sleeve, and so to the measure on the left-hand side of the
performer’s trousers, where he can easily get possession of
it before his left hand is tied up.
Next in order come those tricks in the performance of
which there is an apparent defiance of natural laws. Many
of these are most effective because they completely mystify
the audience. A conjurer can pick up a pistol, load it with
powder and a marked bullet, and have it fired at him without
hurting him. One secret of this trick is to exchange a real
bullet for one made of blacklead, which is then smashed up
in the pistol while the performer says that he is ramming it
 124 MY MAGIC LIFE
home. The performer slips a real bullet into his mouth,
and when the pistol is fired, apparently catches it between
his teeth.
A startling trick that comes under this heading is
one in which a sword is boldly plunged through a man’s
body. The point is seen coming out at the back of
him, and to prove to the audience that the point of the
sword which they see at the back of the man is really the
point of the sword which they saw plunged into his body, the
performer pulls the sword backwards and forwards. This
trick is performed with a thin flexible piece of steel, which
looks like a sword. This passes through a tube concealed on
the man’s body. The tube runs round the man’s body.
One end of it is just below the bottom button of his waist­
coat, and the other is at a point beneath his coat-tails.
The following is a description of a trick of my own, in
which I use a glass cylinder and two small pieces of writing-
paper. I place one paper on the bottom of the cylinder,
and then fill the cylinder with water. I then put the other
piece of paper on the top of the cylinder. Then I take my
hand away from the bottom of the cylinder and the water
remains in it, visible to the audience. Now comes the
difficult part of the trick. I take the top piece of paper away
and put it back again. Then I take both pieces of paper
away and roll the tube on the floor. Having replaced both
pieces of paper, I make a hole in the top piece with a hat-pin,
when the water and papers fall into a glass bowl. I simply
quote this trick as the kind of thing I mean by an apparent
defiance of natural laws. This particular trick requires
special apparatus, and, as it is rather risky to perform it, it
is hardly suitable for the amateur.
A very effective little trick, but one seldom performed
now, is done in this way. The conjurer brings forward a
glass bowl filled with water. He takes a few handfuls of
sand and throws it into the water. The water is then stirred
up, and the sand is seen to be thoroughly mixed up with the
water. The performer then puts his hand—which he first
shows to be empty—into the bowl, and takes out the sand
perfectly dry. There are several ways of performing this
trick, and, as in most cases, the simplest is the best. Before
 MORE SECRETS REVEALED 125
doing the trick, the conjurer prepares some cakes of sand by
frying them in a little tallow grease. These cakes are put
in the water under cover of the other sand, and, being
greasy, they are impervious to the water. All the per­
former has to do is to pick them up and crumble them in his
hands as he takes them out.
The most marvellous of all tricks showing an apparent
defiance of natural laws is that in which the body of a man is
made to float in the air on a fully lighted stage. A solid
steel hoop is passed over the body to prove to the audience
that there is no connection between it and the top of the
stage, the bottom, the sides, or the back. The performer
also walks right round the suspended figure. This is one of
Mr. Maskelyne’s greatest triumphs, and is so perfect that
even professional conjurers are completely puzzled by it.
None of them has ever been able to imitate the trick
correctly.
One of the prettiest of the “secret motive power”
tricks is known as the “Rising Cards”. The apparatus for
this trick consists of nothing more complicated than an
ordinary black thread, but there are many ways of arranging
the thread. One of the best methods for an amateur is to
prepare a pack of cards with a thread firmly fastened to the
back of one of the front cards, about an inch from the top.
The rest of the cards are pierced, and the thread drawn
right through all of them. The performer fastens the end
of the thread to his bottom waistcoat button, and puts the
pack thus prepared in the breast pocket of his coat. He
then goes down to the audience with an ordinary pack, and
invites two or three members of the audience to choose
cards from the pack, and to show them to the people near
them. It is quite natural that while the people are thus
employed the conjurer should turn his back on his audience
so that he shall not see what cards have been chosen. This
movement of the conjurer’s body, although apparently
natural, is really made in order that he may take out his
prepared pack of cards from his breast-pocket and substitute
them for the pack that he handed to the audience, and
from which they have selected cards. The prepared pack is
then put into a tumbler with upright sides, and those people
126 MY MAGIC LIFE
who have chosen cards are requested to push them any­
where they like into the pack. The best plan is to have
each card pushed into the pack separately, and the conjurer
must take care that he conceals the thread with his arm.
Then all that he has to do is to move the tumbler slowly
away from him, thus tightening the thread, forcing the
card upwards, and causing it to rise. This requires a little
practice.
The trick of the rising cards is also performed by means
of a clockwork pack, which is exchanged for the pack from
which the cards have been selected. The clockwork pack
is a beautiful piece of apparatus, so cunningly devised that
the pack may even be held by a member of the audience
whilst the cards are rising.
A more simple trick coming under this heading is known
as the “Rising Wand”. The performer takes the wand with
which he has been performing, and, holding it in his right
hand, commands it to rise. The wand instantly obeys the
conjurer’s commands, which is not surprising, seeing that
there is a small hook at one end of the wand, through which
the conjurer has passed a loop of black elastic. Having the
wand thus prepared, the conjurer draws the elastic up
behind the wand and grips the wand tightly. Then, by
releasing the finger at the back of the wand, it may be made
to rise slowly between the two fingers. If the performer
wishes to stop the movement, all he has to do is to press on
the wand.
Under the same heading are such elaborate tricks as the
talking skull; the mysterious hand, which, on being hooked
on to a blackboard, writes down the answer to a sum set by
the audience; and one which I have lately introduced, in
which a large ball is made to roll up an inclined plane.
Lastly come the tricks known popularly as second-sight
or thought-reading tricks. There is a great variety of these
interesting experiments. The performer may read a
sentence that a member of the audience has secretly written
down, or he may apparently transmit his thoughts to
another person, or he may find an object hidden by the
audience, or he may even give an answer to a question
secretly written by a member of the audience. These are
 MORE SECRETS REVEALED 127
only examples of some of the best-known tricks of this kind.
Some of these feats can be performed without trickery of
any kind, but the people who are thus endowed by nature
with a mysterious power are few and far between, and as a
rule their performances are much too slow for an audience
waiting to be entertained. At various times performers
have announced that they are capable of reading other
people’s thoughts and transmitting their thoughts to
others, but in most cases these performers made use of
certain methods well known to conjurers and were therefore
rightly exposed.
Finally I should like to make it clear that, although in
the foregoing chapters I have given away many secrets,
the mere knowledge of such secrets will not help the amateur
conjurer very far on the road to success. The simplest
trick must be practised, suitable patter must be invented,
and there must be many rehearsals in which the patter is
spoken exactly as though an audience were in front of the
conjurer. It is, of course, the conjurer’s first business to
mystify his audience, but hardly less important is his
ability to entertain them. The amateur must take care
that his performance does not degenerate into a mere
exhibition of manual dexterity or of an ingeniously con­
trived piece of apparatus. The performer who really says,
in effect, to his audience, “See how fast I can palm this card
at the back of my hand” is not a conjurer. He is a juggler
with cards. The true conjurer will perform the same
sleight equally neatly and quickly, but by his look, gesture,
the tone of his voice, in short by his acting, he will almost
persuade the audience that the card which has vanished has
really melted away and cannot be recovered until the
performer puts forth his magic power to restore it to its
original condition.
 CHAPTER XII

THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK

Now let us return to my “magic life”.

The next event of outstanding importance was a
challenge issued by Archdeacon Colley to all and sundry to
reproduce an apparently miraculous happening he had
witnessed in a house in Bloomsbury.
A medium had stood in the centre of a twilit room, and,
after a few writhings and contortions, vapour was seen to
issue from his side, when to the amazement of the onlookers
a golden-haired spirit form emerged from the same part of
his anatomy. This mysterious creature made her advent
horizontally, and slowly came forth until her full length was
visible. She then turned her feet to the ground and began
to walk about, spoke a few words to the Archdeacon, and
returned the way she came.
Archdeacon Colley offered £1,000 to anyone who could
duplicate this mystery, using only natural means. Mr.
Maskelyne had expressed his disbelief of the story, and the
challenge was expressly sent to him. Nevil and myself had
great difficulty in persuading Mr. Maskelyne to accept the
challenge. He had fought bogus spiritualistic mediums for
years, though none of his efforts had appeared to alter the
credulity of the victims.
However, he finally consented to accept the task, and
in due course reproduced the effect on the stage at St.
George’s Hall. The results were proclaimed by the Press
and public as an exact duplication of the description given
by the Archdeacon.
Mr. Maskelyne naturally applied for the thousand
128
 THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK 129
pounds, but the Archdeacon refused to pay up, and Mr.
Maskelyne thereupon sued him for it in the High Court.
Archdeacon Colley put in a counter-claim for libellous
statements, and also pleaded that, although Mr. Maskelyne
had produced the ghost correctly, he had not caused it to
return through the medium’s side. On these counts
Mr. Maskelyne lost the case, and he had to pay damages and
costs. But it turned out the biggest draw to our enter­
tainment that we had had for years, and “The Side Issue
of the £1,000 Ghost”, as we called it, packed the hall for
months and months.
The mention of ghosts reminds me of a joke I once
played on the “Magic Circle” during one of their annual
banquets. After doing several tricks, I had a few ordinary
screens brought out, and when the lights were lowered a
ghost covered in silken gauze glided slowly in from the back
end of the hall. Piloting it to the centre of the stage, I
requested members of the audience to place a couple of
screens around it. This I called the “inner circle”. Then I
made a ring of screens round the screens that hid the ghost,
and invited twenty or so gentlemen to go within these
outer screens and join hands round the inner structure. The
waiters then removed the outer screens, and the committee,
with their hands still joined, were requested to peep within
the inner screens, when they found the ghost had evaporated.
The great success of “The Side Issue” permitted me to
consider another offer from Vienna. There was a hall there
called the Sofien Sall, which was used as a dance-hall in the
winter and a fashionable swimming-bath in the summer.
The company that owned it desired to try another form of
entertainment between the two seasons. They sent
representatives to London, who approached me with
tempting terms. What they required was two hours’
entertainment ten times a week for six weeks.
The first question I asked them was about the language,
and I was assured that English would be sufficient. But I
had been to Vienna before, and knew better than to try and
give a two hours’ entertainment to a mixed audience in
English. I set about seeking lessons in German, had my
patter translated into that language, and eventually learned
 130 MY MAGIC LIFE
it off by heart. I was taught all this in six weeks, an hour a
day being devoted to it by the Berlitz method. I also
engaged a clever conjurer from America, named Germaine,
temporarily to take my place.
I journeyed to Vienna with my sister, Gintaro, Mr. Bate,
and another assistant. The latter took the part of Diogenes,
whom I “produced” from a barrel. Gintaro opened the show
with his graceful juggling, and this, with orchestra and
intervals, made the show last two hours and a half. My
wife was also with us, and she had the surprise of her life
when I began my performance in high German. I had kept
the fact that I was learning the language a complete secret
from her.
In Vienna I produced a new illusion called “The Giant’s
Breakfast”, in which I put the portrait of a giant’s head in a
frame hanging in mid-air, when it suddenly became a giant
egg, from which emerged a woman dressed as a chicken. I
advertised this by sending an egg of enormous proportions
to perambulate the city on the roof of a cab. It caused
much amusement.
Incidentally, soon after I returned to London, Rostand
produced “Chanticleer” in Paris, so I turned “The Giant’s
Breakfast” into “Chanticleer”, drawing a picture of
Rostand’s head to take the place of the giant’s face.
I saw a good deal of Vienna a day or two before I opened
my performance. I was doing a trick called “The Point of
View”, and for this I required a couple of white rats. My
friend Ottokar Fischer marched me from shop to shop all
over the town, and we were almost giving up the quest,
when we found them. I was thus able to do the trick
as arranged.
When I returned to London I had to have a few weeks’
rest, owing to a rheumatic affection of the eye.
It had long been an ambition of mine to reproduce the
legendary Indian Rope Trick, and I believe we were the first
to carry it out on any stage in 1907. We issued a circular
which ran as follows :
We have endeavoured to find out what truth there is in the old
story about the Indian Rope Trick. The commonly accepted
version of that story is as follows:
 THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK 131
The necromancer, standing in the open air, and surrounded by
spectators, throws up one end of a rope, the other end of which
rests on the ground. The rope becomes stiffened and stands without
support, a boy climbs up the rope and disappears into space.
We regard this story as simply an old legend, a traveller’s tale which
has grown up in repetition. It is true a few persons have written us
to say that they have seen the trick, but, with all respect to these
correspondents, we think they are confusing many partial memories
into one general impression, largely erroneous.
We have the more reason for suspecting this, as it so frequently
happens in the case of our own productions.
We have also received confirmation from an English conjurer who
saw the Rope Trick in India, but it is quite different from that of the
usual story.
Several persons have written to say that they lived in India many
years, but never saw the Indian Rope Trick, although they tried many
times to find a conjurer who could do it. A newspaper correspondent
who accompanied the Prince and Princess of Wales on their Indian
tour says that all the journalists tried, without success, to find anyone
who had seen the trick, or who knew anyone who had seen it.
This gentleman adds : “I fancy that, if there really were an exponent
of this trick, he would have been produced for the entertainment of
the Prince and Princess. But he wasn’t !” That is precisely our
own view of the matter.
Furthermore, we know that people have gone out to India with
the express purpose of bringing back conjurers who could do this trick,
but such expeditions have always failed.
The Indian conjurers are, in fact, very poor, and if any one of them
could do the Rope Trick the large sums offered would have brought him
to Europe. But such a performer has never yet been found, and an
Indian conjurer lately in England publicly stated that the trick had
never been done.
Some people have suggested that the spectators of the trick are
hypnotized, and though this might be possible with an audience of two
or three persons, it could not be done with a crowd of spectators.
This idea originated in an American work of fiction, and has no
foundation in fact.
We are prepared to pay a salary at the rate of £5,000 a
year to any man who can perform the Rope Trick as described
in the legend. Let it be clearly understood what he is to do. He is
to stand out in the open air and he is to be surrounded by spectators.
He is to throw one end of a rope into the air, and the other end is to
be on the ground. The rope is to become stiffened ; a boy is to
climb up it and disappear into space. Pending the arrival of this
132 MY MAGIC LIFE
miracle-maker, Mr. Devant, in the course of “The Magical Master”;
presents an illusion founded upon the story of the Indian Rope Trick.
No conjurer has ever before attempted to produce this effect.”
Maskelyne and Devant.

This sketch contained many other illusions besides the

Indian Rope Trick, in which I carried a portmanteau
which I emptied in front of the audience, the contents con­
sisting of the dismembered portions of a dummy Indian figure.
The legs, arms, head and trunk of this figure were replaced in
the bag and wrapped up in a piece of cloth ; the cloth
began to move, and gradually a living figure rose up
underneath it. It was found to be the Indian of which the
dummy was the prototype. The whole of it was done on a
stool isolated from the ground. This seemed to astound the
audience more than the same man disappearing on the
rope.
Another trick consisted in clothing a man in a lady’s dress
by smashing paper hoops over his head. By this means the
astonished butler in the sketch was draped first in a skirt,
then in a cape, then a feather boa, and finally in a gorgeous
hat.
The manager of the Folies~Bergeres, Paris, saw this
trick and took a fancy to it, and paid me a large sum to go
over to Paris and show his comedians in the revue how it was
done. They did not do it for long. Comedians are not
conjurers !
His request was by no means an unusual one, for we had
a good many applications from theatrical managers to help
in their productions for some illusionary effects. Personally,
I produced the tricks that Oscar Asche performed in “Kismet”.
H. B. Irving also commissioned me to produce the effects
of his version of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”. These were
simple, and mostly arranged over a luncheon at the Garrick
Club. Then Sir Gerald Du Maurier and Sir J. M. Barrie
consulted me about the play they produced with a mysterious
voice they wanted heard without the audience being able to
trace the source of its origin. In Mr. Arthur Bourchier’s
“Macbeth” I was responsible for making the ghost of
Banquo appear at the back of the chair which Macbeth
 THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK 133
was about to occupy. This effect was afterwards used by
Sir Beerbohm Tree in his production.
Sir Thomas Beecham also consulted me for opera effects.
All these, and sundry other producers, expected me to work
miracles. They themselves took months to produce their
plays, but expected the illusionary effects to be contrived
and made in a few days.
Meanwhile Oswald Williams and Julian Wylie were
making great headway on the music-halls. I understood
they had formed a sort of alliance, Julian Wylie acting as
agent for conjuring acts staged by Williams. This was a
great success, but Wylie, having booked up Williams for
considerable periods, set about getting other acts, and made
a wonderful talking head of his own. This head was
carried into the audience on a sheet of glass, and it carried
on a conversation with the surrounding spectators.
Then Wylie came to me with a proposal that I should
go on the halls. At first I scoffed at the idea. I had had
enough of the halls in the early days, but he was very per­
sistent. He had got into the habit of coming into Pagani’s, so
that we used to meet almost every day. At last he persuaded
me to accept a week at Brighton Hippodrome at a salary of
£200. This was arranged for a week in our usual vacation,
so I was able to take my regular assistants with me. A few
months before this we produced a fairy play at the Hall, by
Mrs. Nesbit. This was called “The Magician’s Heart”.
I was the wicked magician, and had to boil my hard heart to
soften it.
In this play the foolish apprentice dreamed of a fairy
princess, and I, the wicked magician, had to vanish his
dream. This really was the same vanish I had previously
used in “The Mascot Moth”, but in this case the dress was
a sort of galatea or Grecian robe. Wylie here showed his
cleverness as a producer, for he asked me to include in the
programme “The Artist’s Dream”, and, to make it more
sensational, proposed that I should add to it my vanishing
the “Spirit of Mercy”, concluding the sketch by falling
prone upon the stage, apparently dead.
As the day approached for this trial week at Brighton I
put on the act that I intended to do at St. George’s Hall, so
134 MY MAGIC LIFE
that when I faced the huge audience that had assembled for
my first night I did so with the utmost confidence. It was
a very different situation from my previous attempts at
vaudeville, for I was now well known to the public. I was
“top of the bill”, and, most important of all, I had fifty
minutes instead of eight in which to get my atmosphere and
prove myself. The result was very satisfactory, and
immediately I was offered some years’ engagement at a
salary of £325 per week.
We had by this time formed Maskelyne and Devant’s
Mysteries as a private company, of which I held half the
shares and was managing director. We had gone on from
one thing to another in the illusionary way, and had had
several outstanding successes. Amongst them “Selbit’s
Spirit Paintings”, “Walking Through a Wall”, and “The
Disappearing Donkey” were particularly well known.
The latter illusion I found in a very curious way. I was
playing at the Hippodrome, Newcastle, and I motored over
to Hexham to see an old employee who had taken an hotel
there. In the course of conversation he told me there was
a conjurer in the town.
“What name?” said I.
“Charles Morritt,” he replied. This rather surprised
me, because we all thought Charles Morritt was dead. No
one had heard of him for years. They took me to a shop at
which the show was being given, and there, sure enough,
was Charles Morritt’s name, and, above, the words “The
Disappearing Donkey”.
I knocked at the door, and there was Morritt in person,
wearing his usual top hat. After greetings and congratula­
tions, I asked to see the donkey disappear, and then offered
him an engagement. I at once saw the drawing power of
the title. By arrangement with Morritt, I presented it
myself in some of my vaudeville engagements, and in so
doing I used to tell the tale of an Irish priest who came upon
a man sitting on a stile watching a donkey in a field.
“Hallo, Pat,” said the priest ; “are you watching your
brother ?”
“Yes, Father,” replied Pat.
 CHAPTER XIII

“the man who makes money”

I have occasionally suffered a few woes at the hands of my

assistants. I remember on one occasion I was performing the
box trick before a very large audience in the Midlands, an
audience composed principally of people who worked in
factories, and who were exceedingly keen on discovering
how the box trick was done. My assistant had got into the
box, the box was placed on an ordinary chair, the curtain
was pulled in front of it, and I turned to the audience and
explained that I would endeavour to amuse them with a
little experiment in sleight of-hand while the man was
getting invisibly out of his box and vanishing into space.
Upon this particular occasion, when I returned to the box I
thought it felt unusually heavy. However, it was too late
then to tell the audience I was afraid that the man had
not vanished. The cords were undone, the wrapper was
taken off, the box was unlocked, and there was my assistant
fast asleep inside. I discovered afterwards that the man
had been dining not wisely but too well, and that that was
why he had fallen asleep. He never fell asleep in the box
again, because he never had the chance to get inside it.
The remembrance of that mishap with a box reminds me
of another that I once had to endure. It was soon after Mr.
Maskelyne’s famous box trick case had been decided. With
the permission of Mr. Maskelyne, I was presenting the box
trick in the country. At one town I visited I was the guest
of a very old friend of mine, who was much interested in
magic of all kinds, and, just to please him and to amuse his
friends, I gave a private performance at his house one
night.
136 MY MAGIC LIFE
He had suggested that the box trick could not be done at
a private house, and, to convince him that he was wrong, I
brought the box and my assistant with me, and we did the
trick in my friend’s drawing-room. Afterwards everyone
crowded round and bombarded me with questions, and I
suppose it was because I had been talking so much about the
box that when I went to bed I dreamt about the box trick.
My dreams were of the most awful description.
Everyone in the dream had discovered how the box
trick was done, and I was being laughed at by jeering
crowds. At other times in the dream I was shut in the
box by myself, and was powerless to get out, although I had
provided myself with a hatchet and hand saw. Then the
dream was changed, and I found to my horror that,
although my assistant had got out of the box, someone else
had managed to get into it, and then, as fast as one man
escaped from the box, another man got inside it—in a most
mysterious way.
At length my dreams ended abruptly, and I woke up to
find a burglar standing over me with a revolver. I pinched
myself hard, so as to make quite sure that the burglar was
not part of the dream, and then I sat up. The burglar
covered my movement with his revolver.
“Speak once,” he whispered, “and you’ll never speak
again.”
Not having any wish to make him carry out his threat, I
did not speak. Then he said that if I attempted to escape by
the door or window he would shoot point-blank at my head.
I had the pleasure of seeing him take a little loose gold from
one of my pockets, and then I had still greater pleasure in
seeing him bark his shins on the famous box, which stood
open at the foot of the bed.
After he had sworn softly to himself, an idea suddenly
seemed to occur to him. He motioned to me to get into
the box. While I was obeying—under cover of his revolver
—he took the key from the lock.
“Head down,” he whispered gruffly ; “go on.”
Then he pulled the lid of the box down, put the key in
the lock, turned it, and took the key away.
A moment afterwards I found myself being lifted up,
 “THE MAN WHO MAKES MONEY” 137
and before I had time to imagine what the burglar was
going to do with me, I was deposited on the bed. People
who have seen the box trick will not need to be told that
the burglar had hardly closed the door behind him before
I had escaped from the box. Then I found my own
revolver and went downstairs after the burglar. He
seemed uncommonly surprised to see me.
“Hands up!” I whispered.
Somewhat to my surprise, he put his hands up without
even trying to get at his own revolver. Then I made him
walk backwards into my bedroom.
“Get into that box,” I whispered.
He quickly stepped into the box, and did not remonstrate
when I locked him in. The next thing to do was to cover
the box with the bedclothes, so that my burglar should not
alarm the household. Then I dressed, slipped noiselessly
downstairs to my host’s room, and woke him up. He
seemed quite delighted at the idea of the box being of some
real use in assisting me to catch the burglar, and insisted on
accompanying me in my search for a policeman.
We obtained the services of a sergeant, who was simply
radiant at the idea of catching a burglar so neatly. But, to
our great surprise, when we were all in my bedroom, we
found that the bird had flown ! The box was there,
properly locked, but the burglar had vanished. The
police-sergeant thought we were playing a trick on him.
“You asked me to come and arrest a burglar,” he said.
“Kindly produce your burglar.”
“I wish to goodness I could,” I replied. “I would not
let a man like that escape for worlds.”
“You’re sure there was a burglar ?” said the sergeant,
looking at me very suspiciously.
I don’t quite remember all I said to that police-
sergeant, but I know that my host apologized for my
unintelligible explanation, and suggested that we should
search the house.
“No,” said the police-sergeant, “you said the burglar
was in that box. Where is he ?”
Then I had to eat humble pie and explain that the
burglar had evidently discovered the secret of the great box
138 MY MAGIC LIFE
trick ; that was how he had managed to escape. I could
see, even then, that the police-sergeant did not believe me,
although I was in such a state of anxiety at the idea
of the secret being discovered that I did not pay very much
attention to him.
“Well,” said my host, “though the burglar has escaped
from the box he may be in the house now. Suppose we
search.”
“Not necessary,” I said ; “it is quite evident that he
left the house, as he entered it, by the window. I locked
the door when I left him here, and the door was locked when
we returned. He must have got out of the house by the
window.”
“Quite right, Mr. Devant,” said a voice behind us. “He
did get out of the house by the window.”
We looked round quickly; there was the burglar,
standing unabashed in front of the police-sergeant !
“Arrest him instantly !” I cried.
The burglar replied, “With pleasure.”
At that moment the burglar threw off his disguise and
presented himself before me.
He was my assistant !
The rest of the story is soon told. My assistant had
arranged to play a little practical joke on me. He thought
that he had “arranged” the box in such a way that I would
not be able to find the secret. Then he had intended to go
to my host and invite him to come up and see me imprisoned
in the box. When my assistant saw that I had got out of
the box, he made up his mind to scare me by getting out of
the box himself. My action in forcing him to get into the
box was exactly what he wanted.
I may add that he has often asked me, since then, to
tell him how I managed to get out, but there are some
secrets that one does not tell even to one’s assistant; and
the secret I made use of on that night is one of them.
Soon after this experience I was walking home after
giving a performance in a country town when I was suddenly
brought to a standstill in the middle of the path.
A man had leaped out of the hedge and was standing in
front of me. It was at once evident that he did not mean to
 “THE MAN WHO MAKES MONEY” 139
allow me to pass. I sized him up quickly, saw that he was
taller and much more powerful than I was, and decided that
discretion would be the better part of valour in this case.
For a second or two, which seemed like hours, he did not
speak; but then, seeing me cast my eyes towards the road,
he read my thoughts and translated them instantly.
“It’s no use your looking at the road ; you can’t get
by me.”
“What do you want ?” I asked.
“Well,” he said slowly, “there are a good many things I
want, but what I want most just now, and what I’m
going to have, is money. I have had nothing to eat all day
and I’ve got nowhere to sleep, and I’ve had no drink.
Think of that, you soft-hearted, fur-coated ruffian !
Nothing to drink ! Can you imagine what I’ve suffered by
not having anything to drink ?”
The man talked so strangely that I took courage and
looked him in the face. The moon shone directly into
his eyes, and the bright beams seemed reflected there. I
had never seen a man with such eyes ; they sparkled like
diamonds, and they seemed to have at the back of them a
weird phosphorescent light.
I asked the man how much money he wanted, and told
him what was indeed the truth—that I was very poor and
had very little money with me.
“Nonsense !” he screamed. “Nonsense ! They all say
that ; but they pay before I’ve finished with them !”
Then he leaned down and peered into my face. I felt
almost hypnotized, but as he put his face near mine I had
enough presence of mind to show no signs of being frightened.
I do not mind admitting that I never felt more uncom­
fortable in my life. He remained with his face close to
mine. His eyes were almost starting out of their sockets
as he glared maliciously at me. Suddenly he started back
and, raising his hands above his head, burst into a fit of
laughter. It was something like the laughter of an hysterical
woman, the laughter that makes you shudder. I waited
for a moment to see what could be the cause of his merriment.
“Why,” he shouted, “I’m in luck! You’re the man
who makes money !”
140 MY MAGIC LIFE
“Not very much,” I pleaded feebly. “And not very
often.”
“Nonsense !” he shouted. “They all say that—all of
them ! They all pretend that they haven’t any money ;
but they pay before I’ve finished with them! You—you
must have heaps of money. You’re the man who makes
money !”
I told him as quietly and as firmly as I could that I felt
sure he was mistaken, and that in any case I did not quite
understand him.
“Why,” he screamed, “do you lie like this ? I saw you
making money on Monday. You made heaps of it, and I
wanted to get some, but they would not let me have it.
Don’t you remember how you made money at the big hall
in Wiltenham ?”
I stepped back quickly at the mention of that word, for
I understood at last exactly what the man meant. I had
performed on the Monday of that week at Wiltenham
Asylum, and one of my tricks was catching money invisibly
in a hat. I realized in a moment that the man standing in
front of me, and glaring down at my face, was an escaped
lunatic. Remembering what I had often been told by
doctors at asylums—that one must never make a patient
excited—and realizing also that I was in some danger of
being seriously injured, I began to soothe the man as well
as I could.
“Oh,” said I, “I remember you now quite well. I
shall be most happy to oblige you ; but don’t you think
that if I begin to make money here somebody else will see
us perhaps, and then they will want some too, and there
won’t be so much for you ?”
I was hoping that by this simple ruse I might be able to
induce the man to walk with me along the road, and so to
the next village. He seemed to be considering the matter
for a moment, but then replied very excitedly :
“No! no! no! We shan’t be caught here, if you do it
very quickly. Make lots of money, fill your hat full, and
then give it to me. Look at that bright shower of diamonds
over that tree. Can’t you get some of those too ?”
The moon had gone behind a cloud while he had been
 “THE MAN WHO MAKES MONEY” 141

speaking, and the stars shone out brilliantly. It was to the

stars that he pointed when he asked me to get him some
diamonds. I told him that I would do my best, and I
began to take off my gloves. He was eager for me to begin
at once, and kept on calling on me to lose no time, because
someone might come along the road, and then it would be
too late. If I had had any doubt as to what I ought to do,
that doubt was dispelled when the moon shone out again on
to his face. It was distorted with passion.
“Look here,” he said, “begin at once—at once ; do you
hear ? I’m going to sit down; I’m tired. I’ve been
walking about all day and have had nothing to eat. Begin
at once and make me lots of money, and then give it to me
and I’ll go ; but if you don’t make plenty, and if you don’t
give it to me, then,” he said with a childish chuckle, “you
shall go into that nice little round room all to yourself.”
Never have I conjured under such strange conditions.
The man sat on a stile and laughed with joy directly I
began. I suppose most people have seen the trick per­
formed. The conjurer holds up a silk hat with his left
hand, catches money invisibly in the air with his right
throws the money invisibly at the hat, and it is heard
to fall inside. At any time the conjurer’s hands are seen
to be empty ; but when he has finished, a good pile of
coins is in the hat. Every time the man heard the chink of
money he clapped his hands. Certainly I had never had a
more appreciative audience.
I was careful not to do the trick too quickly, and there
seemed to be no reason why I should hurry, because
directly the madman saw me begin his manner changed—
he became more quiet ; and perhaps if anyone had come
along then they would have said that a conjurer who could
perform on a cold night in the open air was more likely
to be insane than the man who was watching him. After
the first few minutes I told him that my arms were getting
a little tired, and that I should like to have a rest for a
minute or two.
“Not for long, not for long!” he shouted. And very
soon I had to begin again.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Let’s see how much you’ve
142 MY MAGIC LIFE
got.” I turned the hat towards him and shook up the
coins.
“All right,” he said, “you’ll do. Keep on long enough
and I shall be able to get to New York after all.”
I do not know how long I continued to do the invisible
mint trick. It seemed to me to be the longest performance
I had ever given. The moon was still shining brightly,
and my audience and myself were visible two miles
away. My arms were getting very tired, and I hardly knew
how to go on. I was trying to think how I should tell my
audience that I had not made quite so many half-crowns
as he had heard fall into the hat.
At last I thought of a way out of the difficulty. I made
up my mind that I would gather up the coins and throw
them to him, and then, while he was picking them up, I
would run as hard as I could down the road. I was just
debating in my mind as to when the best time would be to
do this, when to my joy I heard some footsteps, and
presently in the distance I saw two men walking along the
road. Both the men had long sticks, and they were prodding
the bushes and hedges as they went along. I guessed at
once that they were keepers—or rather attendants, as the
keepers at an asylum like to be called. I shall never forget
their startled look of surprise when they saw me standing on
the side of the road and doing the money-catching trick at
three o’clock in the morning.
They realized at once that they had found their man,
and that they would have some little difficulty in getting
near him without being seen. They motioned to me to
continue my performance, and then they retraced their
steps, walked through the hedge, and so approached my
audience from the back. But it was an experience I shall
never forget.
 CHAPTER XIV

“magic and spiritualism”

M any persons have asked me what I have to say about

spiritualism.
To them I can only reply that so much has been said
and so little is known, even by spiritualists themselves, that
there is very little left to write about.
I am in deep sympathy with the eternal quest of the
believer in spiritualism. Far be it from me to scoff at that
belief. The great majority of mankind has faith in a
future life, and why should it not be possible for the souls
departed sometimes to get into touch with us who are
living in this world ?
But, personally, I do not think we are meant to lift
the veil.
Most of the mediums that I have come in contact with
have been simply conjurers performing under very favour­
able conditions, and most original conjurers too. Many
great stage illusionists have built up their reputations by
exposing or just copying their manifestations.
Never having made a speciality of medium-testing, I
have not many experiences to quote, but I was once taken to
investigate the doings of a wonderful medium in Maida Vale.
He was an ordinary working man, who could, under test
conditions, produce “apports”, i.e. material objects, from
the spirit world.
A committee of which I was a member put together
a sort of enlarged meat-safe, a cabinet formed of wooden
frames, fastened by screws, upon which were stretched
sheets of gauze. We then stripped and searched the
medium.
143
114 MY MAGIC LIFE
His attire was simple—coat, trousers, flannel shirt and
body-belt, and thick boots. He was led to the cabinet, and
when he had entered the door was sealed. Apparently he
had nothing with him and nothing could be passed to him.
The lights were then reduced to one silk-shaded lamp
in a corner of the large room, and the spectators surrounded
the cage, where the figure of the medium could be just
dimly discerned writhing and twisting as though in pain.
We all sang hymns, which were punctuated by groans
from the medium, for about twenty minutes, when suddenly
the performer shouted for “lights”. Peering through the
gauze we could see the man holding between his two hands
a bird’s nest, with two speckled blue eggs within.
On the door being opened these articles were passed out
for inspection. First the eggs and then the nest, but the
latter was unfortunately pulled apart by the medium’s
nervous fingers before we got a close look at it.
Many intelligent people were present, and they seemed
greatly impressed by this “stance”. But I informed my
friend that the material for the nest formed the padding for
the innocent-looking body-belt, and that the eggs had been
in the heels of the boots, which were really little boxes,
opened by lifting the leather lining of the boots.
Acting on these hints, the mediumistic working man was
exposed at the next exhibition of his wonderful power, and
was sent back to more mundane work.
Performing as I do before thousands of the public each
week at the vaudeville theatres, I have ample opportunity
to test the credulity of spiritualists.
In some of my illusions—frankly advertised as illusions—
I materialize phantoms in full light, including a spirit form
of myself. Now these magical effects simply terrify some of
the persons whom I invite on to the stage, and I generally
find that they are spiritualists.
These persons usually accuse me of being a medium who
is prostituting great powers and posing as a conjurer for
monetary gain. Nothing I can say will convince them to the
contrary. Even a nervous tremor which I unfortunately
developed in my left hand was quoted as evidence of the
power within me.
 MAGIC AND SPIRITUALISM 145
In my opinion, the bogus mediums that do the most
harm—I do not necessarily wish to infer that they are all
bogus—are not those who bang tambourines, but the
unctuous humbugs who gather their flock into a darkened
room and so play upon their imaginations that they actually
do fancy that they see spirits.
Returning, after this digression, to the world of the
theatre, the tide now seemed to have turned in my affairs.
Several important productions followed each other in
quick succession, notably “The Window of the Haunted
House”, in which living ghosts appeared in an isolated
window under the close surveillance of the audience.
Then there was an ambitious effort, “The Pillar of Brass”,
which had a short life, and ran for one night only, although
it was entirely successful. I played the principal part
myself, and the reason for its sudden withdrawal was that
the board of directors imagined I could not be replaced, and
as I happened to be wanted on tour at the moment of
production, I had to leave it for future use. Unfortunately,
the future never provided an opportunity.
I think I have said before that my performance on the
music-halls lasted fifty minutes at each show, and this, twice
nightly, together with one or two matinees, formed a
mighty strain on my strength. Besides this, I used to give a
two hours’ matinee performance each week entirely by
myself, that is, with no supporting turns to help me out.
On that day, usually a Saturday, I was on the stage for three
hours and forty minutes without a break.
One day the music-hall world was startled by an an­
nouncement that King George V had commanded a special
performance at the Palace Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue,
to take place on 1st July, 1912. The programme was as
follows:
1. Overture 8. Cinquevalli
2. Pepifax and Paulo 9. Harry Tate
3. Barclay Gammon 10. Ida Crispe and Fred Farren
4. Palace Girls 11. Vesta Tilley
5. Chirgwin 12. La Pia
6. The Bogannys 13. Little Tich
7. Fanny Fields 14. Arthur Prince and Jim
 46 MY MAGIC LIFE
15. Selection 24. Cecilia Loftus
16. Alfred Lester 23. Harry Lauder
17. Clarice Mayne with “That” 20. David Devant
18. Charles T. Aldrich 21. Wilkie Bard
19. Geoge Robey 22. Anna Pavlova
25. Varieties Garden Party, produced by Albert Toft.

I was agreeably surprised when my name was found to be

in the final list. The function was a brilliant one, and the
Palace Theatre was beautifully decorated for the occasion.
On the Sunday before there was a full-dress rehearsal,
when I gave my turn. I was very pleased with the result
and by the way it was received by the packed house that had
been assembled by persons more or less connected with
the music-hall world. But unfortunately, to meet the
exigencies of stage management, my time had to be cut down,
and I was only able to do two small tricks. For one of
these—a very successful trick with eggs I was doing at the
time—I required the services of two children, which I
usually obtained from the audience, but on this occasion I
could not depend on children being present, so I had to
provide my own in readiness in the side wings. They were
not in any sense confederates, and required to know nothing
about the trick beforehand. The children I arranged to be
present were my own small daughter Vida and little Jasper
Maskelyne, then about seven or eight years of age. At the
rehearsal all went well: they acted the part of unsophisticated
children with great success. Of course, it must be remem­
bered that they were quite familiar with the trick, and knew
just what was going to happen. Consequently when they
walked upon the stage on the great night they evinced no
curiosity as to what was going to happen on my side of the
stage, and fixed their eyes on the Royal Box. Apparently
they expected to see the Queen wearing her crown, and
thought of nothing else. It was as much as I could do to
call their attention to myself at all. This rather spoiled
the effect, but the audience seemed to understand that the
children found Royalty a greater at traction than conjuring.
There was general dissatisfaction amongst the artists
regarding the short time allowed for each turn. Of course,
this being the first Command Performance there had ever
 “MAGIC AND SPIRITUALISM” 147
been, the management wanted as many representative
turns as possible to appear. Thus no one had long enough
allotted to them, and the entertainment consequently was
rather patchy.
The following year another Royal Performance, at which
the King and Queen were present, took place at Knowsley
Hall, on July 7th, 1913. This was by way of celebration of
Lord Derby’s eldest son’s coming-of-age. The music-hall
entertainment was provided by Moss Empires, and I was very
proud to find my name amongst the artists selected for this.
I think I was the only one who appeared at both functions.
At this performance I had ample time allowed me to give
a typical performance, and the King honoured me by
requesting an encore, which was also allowed.
Lord Derby gave us all a very jolly time, and each of us
bore away as souvenirs a diamond tie-pin or brooch.
Anent Royal Commands, I had two curious adventures,
both concerned with motoring holidays. In the first
instance I had gone up the East Coast for a holiday, and we
had no settled place to stay at. I promised them at the
office that I would send the address on as soon as I had
found the ideal cottage—all they knew was that I was going
towards Cromer. After some searching we found an
excellent furnished cottage at East Runton, which we gladly
settled upon. My wife, wanting some groceries for
housekeeping, went into an adjacent shop, and I followed
her just in time to hear the grocer say : “What address,
madam ?” Whereupon she gave the name and address.
“Devant ?” said the man. “The police have been ’phoning
for him.”
It turned out that Queen Alexandra required my
services for a garden party, and the police, in an endeavour
to find me, had telephoned to all the post-offices at likely
villages along the coast. But, unfortunately, it was too late
to comply with the command.
Another similar instance happened for the second
Royal Command. I was taking a tour on the Continent by
motor-car. I went over the Mediterranean Alps, along the
French and Italian Rivieras, up past the Italian Lakes,
through Switzerland, the Black Forest and Paris, home. As
148 MY MAGIC LIFE
we had left no address, when our agents wanted to get into
touch with me to advise me of the performance at
Knowsley Hall they applied to Cook’s to stop me en
route and give me a message. Consequently when I walked
into Cook’s office one day I was told the manager wanted to
see me instantly. I wired a reply to Lord Derby promising
to curtail my tour and be back in time for the event, and
from then onwards every time I put my nose into one of
Cook’s offices I was met by the same slogan : “The manager
wants to see you instantly.” At last, on going into an
office of Cook’s, I used to say : “My name is Devant, and the
manager wants to see me instantly.”
Another notable event at which I had the honour of
being selected as one of the artists was the opening of the
theatre on the Aquitania. I had the honour, too, of being
“top of the bill” at the opening of Golder’s Green Hippo­
drome, and retained that position for the first fortnight.
I also opened the New Palace Theatre, Manchester.
 CHAPTER XV

MAGIC IN THE PAST

I have been asked to include in this book a brief review of

the general aspects of magic, including the historical past
of magic, the present state of magic, and the probable
future of magic.
The past history of conjuring takes one so far back that
it is almost impossible to trace its origin ; one has to delve
deeply over a wide area to get any concrete evidence. As a
matter of fact, Mr. Sidney W. Clarke has done this so
cleverly and so thoroughly in his “Annals of Conjuring”,
published in the Magic Wand Magazine, that there is very
little ground left for a new explorer, and in summing up
past history one is forced to use much of the material
already set forth by him.
Mr. Clarke dates the earliest conjuring performance at
6,000 years ago, and quotes a description from the Westcar
Papyrus, which can be seen in the Berlin Museum, of the
doings of bygone wonder-workers.
One of these was named Dedi, who did a surprising
decapitation trick before Kufu, who built the Great
Pyramid. The King offered him a prisoner to perform
the trick upon, but this the magician refused to try, offering
to do it with a goose. Dedi cut off its head and placed it
at the other side of the hall away from the body. The
body then began to move forward, the head moved to meet
it, and when they were finally united the goose cackled
with joy.
This trick survives to the present day. Servais Le Roy
did it with a duck and a cockerel, cutting off both heads and
transposing them.
150 MY MAGIC LIFE
In Ancient Assyrian records there is to be found a
description of how the Father of the Gods caused a clay
figure of a man to breathe, and sent him below to find a
goddess who had wandered away from home. He instructs
him how to prepare the magic which is to overcome the
infernal deities.
Another contemporary trick was to bring forth fishes of
the waters out of an empty vessel, a trick which also survives
to the present day.
Mr. Clarke produces evidence in pictures of the Cups
and Balls trick being done in Ancient Egypt and Greece,
as well as fire-eating, sword-swallowing, and ventriloquism.
The Cups and Balls is, of course, a familiar trick per­
formed by every Indian juggler. The secret is passed down
from father to son. The balls are made to pass from one
cup to another. After various evolutions they become
enlarged, getting bigger until they become oranges or small
chickens. It is still the most popular trick these jugglers do.
Heron of Alexandria described details of the construc­
tion of automatons controlled by hydraulic power and
used in the ancient temples, together with mechanical
trumpets and ever-filling jugs. This was written 150 B . C . ,
and hardly comes under the general term of conjuring.
However, these mechanical effects were freely used in the
ancient temples.
In Ancient Rome were dexterous performers and jugglers.
Doubtless some of these followed the Roman legions to
Britain and taught our forefathers to become conjurers.
In the early part of the thirteenth century there was
quite a varied assemblage of performers. They were called
minstrels, or troubadours, while conjurers were generally
termed jugglers, or jongglers.
The King of England’s minstrels in 1344 were all
instrumentalists. The Minstrels’ Guild was formed to
keep out workers of other trades, and jugglers or tregetours
became more or less outcasts and wandered about by
themselves.
From 1100 until the thirteenth century the jugglers were
greatly persecuted, and were in fact denounced by preachers
as rogues and vagabonds and such that no Christian should
 MAGIC IN THE PAST 151
look upon. As late as 1571 a juggler who did card tricks was
imprisoned in Paris on a charge of witchcraft.
In 1272 a Dutch conjurer decapitated a boy, and
Turkish magicians cut children in two. Another conjurer
was said to have cut off his own head.
A more charming trick was that done by Zedekiah, a
Jew, who showed an emperor a garden full of flowers and
fruit in the depth of winter. This was something after
the style of Albertus Magnus, Bishop of Regensburg, who is
said to have produced such a garden for William, Prince
of Holland, when he visited Cologne in the year 1260.
About the year 1500, engraved playing-cards were
introduced into England, and the jugglers soon began to do
simple tricks with these. About this time, too, gypsies, or
Egyptians, came to England and taught the jugglers many
new Oriental tricks. But in 1541 conjurers were still
whipped at the cart’s tail, had their ears cut off, and
were classed with wandering pedlars.
The Discovery of Witchcraft, published in 1584, written
by Reginald Scott, tells of the performance of Brandon, a
juggler who, according to Scott, painted on the wall a
picture of a bird and, pointing out to the audience—-which
included a king—a pigeon on the top of a house, pricked the
picture with a knife so hard and so often that the pigeon fell
down dead from the top of the house. This, he explained,
was done by drugging a live bird with some poison, which
would act in a certain time, so that the bird fell down. Stab­
bing the picture was only to fill up the time that was to
elapse. This may or may not be true. Scott put it forth as
his own idea of the explanation.
In a rare pamphlet entitled Kind Hearts’ Dream, printed
in 1592, Henry Chettle, the author, gives an account of a
quaint juggler whom he calls William Cuckoe, who must have
been somewhat celebrated. Here is his description:

An olde fellow, his bearde milke white, his head covered with a
round lowe-crowned silke hat, in which was a band knit in many
knotes, wherein stucke two round stickes after the juggler’s manner.
His jerkin was of leather cut, his cloake of three coulers, his hose
painted with yellow, drawn out with blew, his instrument was a
152 MY MAGIC LIFE
bagpipe, and him I knew to be William Cuckoe, better knowne than
loved, and yet, some thinke, as well loved as he was worthy.

Banks was another celebrated juggler, who lived in the

Old Bailey in 1608. He had a famous horse called Morocco,
which danced to music, told fortunes, selected chosen cards,
told the amount of money in a spectator’s pocket, and is
said to have climbed to the top of old St. Paul’s. A good
horse for a place bet !
Mr. Clarke tells us that Gonin was the first French
conjurer recorded by name. He practised in the reign of
Francis I (1515-47), and his clever performances gave a
phrase to the French language, Un tour de Maitre Gonin.
The greatest medieval wonder-worker, however, was
Faust, or Faustus. He was a German born in Kundlingen
about 1460. Not until 1587 did his marvels attract attention.
From what can be gathered about this man, he was a
charlatan after the style of Cagliostro, who was neither a
conjurer nor a juggler, but who lived by his wits alone, and
gained his reputation chiefly by specious promises and
boasts.
In 1584 Scott published his epoch-making book, which
altered the whole outlook of the public as to witchcraft,
juggling, and conjuring, and taught them that the marvels
they witnessed under these headings were not necessarily
performed by unholy means—in fact that juggling was
quite a simple recreative science.
Reginald Scott published his Discovery of Witchcraft for
the set purpose of exposing the cruelties of superstition
which were applied to so-called witches. So wroth were the
divines with this exposure of their ignorance that they
caused all the copies of the books obtainable to be burned
in 1603, which makes the first edition very rare indeed.
However, it was reprinted in 1651 and 1665 with additions.
A new, but not very pleasant, form of trick was that
introduced about 1641 by two Italians named Maufre and
Marchand, called “Water Spouting”, which consisted of
drinking huge quantities of liquid of different colours and
spurting them out of the mouth into a bucket in separate
colours—a most unrefined performance, which was never­
 MAGIC IN THE PAST 153
theless apparently witnessed by the highest in the land.
Another delectable performance was chewing and
swallowing live coals, and picking up glowing red-hot
irons by the mouth. These and similar tricks had quite a
vogue until about 1700.
At the beginning of the eighteenth century conjurers began
to issue descriptive posters of their entertainments, and
advertised in news sheets. At this time they used to
perform chiefly in fair booths, such as those at Bartholo­
mew’s, but they soon afterwards began to take rooms and
give entertainments at proper times and at fixed charges.
A man named Winstanley, the engineer who erected
the first Eddystone Lighthouse, had an ingenious hydraulic
exhibition at the Hyde Park end of Piccadilly. This “Water
Theatre”, as it was called, was really the first permanent
room to be devoted to a magical sort of entertainment. He
had a wonderful barrel, the precursor of many similar
devices, which would produce any wine or liquids, hot or
cold, that the audience wished. He also presented a dairy
house, in which the spectators could obtain milk, or cakes,
and cheese cakes, butter, and cream, on demand.
The Cups and Balls and card tricks were still a strong
suit of the conjurers of the time.
There was one remarkable conjurer born in 1674 without
hands, feet, or legs, who, however, managed to do many
things like other people. This freak man was also able to
perform the Cups and Balls. On the strength of that, he
called himself the “High German Artist”. His name was
Buchinger.
A book called Hocus Pocus was first published in 1725 or
1728 by John White, which contained many exposures of
simple tricks, including the great dictionary trick.
Another popular book was the Whole Art of Legerdemain.
Richard Neve, another writer of the time, published
about 1716 a book called The Merry Companion, with
instructions to the amateur conjurer, which are most amusing.
The conjurer, we learn, should “be one of a bold and audaci­
ous spirit, so that he may set a good face upon the matter.
Secondly, he must have a nimble and cleanly conveyance,
for if he be a bungler, he discredits both himself and his
154 MY MAGIC LIFE
art, and therefore he must practise in private life till he be
perfect”. Which is still all very good advice for the
beginner.
Isaac Fawkes, or Faux, is said to have been the greatest
conjurer of his time up till 1731. In connection with him
we first hear of the musical clock made by Mr. Pinchbeck of
Fleet Street. Fawkes used to perform at the Southwark
and Bartholomew Fairs, and in a room adjoining the King’s
Theatre, Haymarket. One of his tricks was the “Egg and
Hen Bag”, in which dozens of eggs were produced, and
finally a live hen. This trick was most popular for some
time, and still goes on as well as ever in good hands.
Puppet shows, and what were called “moving pictures”,
such as a concert of several dolls playing on various in­
struments, ducks swimming in the river and a dog diving
after it quite naturally, were really automatic machines of
the penny-in-the-slot type, and were much used by the
conjurers that of time to augment their performances.
In 1749 London was hoaxed by an announcement that a
conjurer would get into a wine-bottle in full view of the
audience at the Haymarket Theatre. There was a full
house on the night announced, including members of the
Royal Family, and they were kept waiting for the performance
to commence until they lost patience. When they found
they had been tricked, they wrecked the theatre and made a
bonfire of the contents.
Flockton, Gyngell, and Lane were conjurers who came
to the fore about 1784. Mr. Lane had a sagacious swan,
the only one seen in England for nearly forty years. An
inanimate bird is seen afloat in a basin of water, a variety of
questions are proposed on a card drawn, an hour decided upon,
when this beautiful swan is seen to hesitate for a minute,
then she swims to give the answer, to tell the card, or dis­
cover the thoughts, to the great surprise of all present.
In 1785 a book entitled Natural Magic was issued by
Philip Astley, a circus proprietor. This was really a copy
of the Conjurer Unmasked. Astley claims to have invented
the famous gun trick, in which a marked bullet is fired at the
performer and caught apparently on a plate, or between
his teeth. This, however, was disputed, as the trick was
 MAGIC IN THE PAST 155
published in a book in 1631, attributed to a man named
Coulew.
Here is an amusing description of Gyngell in 1814 :

Monsieur Gyngell, Emperor of Cards, arch-shuffler, wizard-like,

held his pack, cutting, dealing, shifting in his delicate hands, sparkling
with diamonds (as we thought them, but which were cut glass in
reality). With what a courtly air Monsieur requests the loan of a hat,
merely to boil a pudding in ! Sometimes, in dulcet tones, he would
entice a shilling, or half-crown, from a fair lady’s purse, to be cut in
half by his mighty magic, and then to be reunited before our very
eyes. Incomparable Gyngell! Why, if you talk of attire, neither
Worth nor Poole ever dreamed of so much elegance. Real ostrich
feathers, three in a jewelled cap—three ! like a Prince of Wales ;
silk and satin dress, spangles, lace, pink legs, milk white face, with a
touch of rose colour; smile bewitching, voice enchanting. He
never asked for money, it flowed into the ample pockets of his silken
jerkin willy nilly. Such were the necromancer’s powers of persuasion
over juvenile hoards and savings.

This was written by Edward Sterling, the manager of

the Drury Lane Theatre, when describing his boyhood days.
There was quite a vogue in 1742 for Vaucanson’s
mechanical pieces, which were shown in the long room over
the Opera House. One of these was a flute player, which
played difficult music perfectly, using the proper movements
of the tongue and fingers like a real performer.
In 1774, Droz, the Swiss mechanic, presented an
automaton figure which wrote and drew.
In 1784 we had Kempelen’s famous automatic chess­
player at No. 14 St. James’s Street. This figure had had a most
adventurous career all over the world, thereby causing a
sensation.
Then there were speaking figures, which had a sur­
prising run, shown by Thomas Denton and others. These
figures answered questions in every language, and were
usually suspended in the air by a ribbon. They replied to
questions whether put loudly or in a whisper.
Another exhibitor of automata was Maillardat, who
travelled with a harpsichord player, a rope dancer, flying and
singing birds, and a drawing figure ; also a lady who played
156 MY MAGIC LIFE
several airs by the actual pressure of the fingers on a piano­
forte.
Ingleby, “Emperor of all the Conjurers”, appeared at
the Minor Theatre in 1809. Ingleby was later burlesqued
by the famous comedian, Charles Matthews.
Robert Charles, a Frenchman, opened an entertainment
at Saville House, Leicester Square, featuring the “Invisible
Girl”, a ball with four trumpet mouths attached, so that
persons could listen to the answers which seemed to come
from within the ball, which was suspended from the
ceiling.
Conjuring was at a low ebb about this time, no very
striking performance being available. Perhaps the best
was given by David Prince Millar, who travelled about
England and Scotland between 1830 and 1873.
On the Continent things were better. There was
Comte, who was born in Geneva in 1788. He was 15 years
of age, and he began with ventriloquism.
Comte got his chance in Paris in 1814. He started a
“Two Hours of Magic” entertainment, which was of the
highest class at the time and was much appreciated by the
Parisians. One of his favourite tricks was the production
of miscellaneous articles from a hat.
When performing before Louis XVIII he paid him a
pretty compliment. The King had selected the king
of hearts from the pack, and when the pack had been
shuffled Comte handed His Majesty a portrait instead of
the king of hearts. Said the King: “This is not the
card, but a portrait of myself!” “Quite right,” replied
Comte, “you are the king of all hearts.”
Another great conjurer was an Italian, Bosco, who
started in 1814, and for nearly fifty years was most popular
in Europe and America.
It was thought until recently that his son Eugene, or
Alfred, Bosco, was the conjurer that Charles Dickens saw
in Boulogne in 1854, but it has been quite lately established
that the performer who appeared before Dickens was a
Frenchman known as Chevalier de Caston. The great
author was very much impressed with the performance.
 CHAPTER XVI

CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT

The output of conjurers on the Continent of Europe was

kept down by the warfare that was raging in every part of
Europe. Although the Continental conjurers probably
surpassed their English confreres during the eighteenth
century, during the early part of this century only a few
names have come down to us.
In 1713 Francois Chanderi, known as Siamois, showed
the “Cups and Balls” at the fairs of Paris. An earlier
performer of whom we have some detailed information
was one who called himself Le Paysan de Nort’-Hollande,
who probably, from his title, was a Dutchman. He per­
formed in Paris between 1746 and 1753, and his advertise­
ments seemed to prove that he was a fairly representative
conjurer.
His performance at the fairs of Saint-Germain in 1747
included a “Philosophical Flower Pot”, in which he raised
trees that grew in the presence of the audience and became
covered with foliage. This in turn disclosed the ripe fruit,
which was tasted by the spectators. This is very like the
trick that Fawkes was doing some years before.
The Peasant also did wonders with live animals, fire
and water, various liquids, foreign birds, all kinds of metals,
and eggs and milk. He also transformed a chosen article
into a bird or animal, restored a dead bird to life, and made
a ring dance in a goblet—a trick afterwards presented by
Pinetti. He showed, too, a performing bird, and an Indian
figure which appeared to be alive. This was probably an
automaton akin to Balducci’s “Black Moor” and Pinetti’s
“Little Turk”.
158 MY MAGIC LIFE
Four years later, in 1751, we again hear of the Peasant
at the same fair, but with a new programme which included
the old trick of killing a pigeon by stabbing its picture or
shadow, a roasted fowl restored to life, the magical
growth of herbs, a message in the egg, passing a ring into
a nest of boxes, magical lighting of candles, and the
disappearing bird and cage, which was probably a misnomer
for a cage in which a bird appeared on command, and
should not be confused with De Kolta’s disappearing cage.
The Peasant also advertised the fact that he gave lessons.
De Lisle, a Frenchman, was also of this period, and was
cooking omelettes in hats in 1749.
Billard advertised an extensive programme of the fair
of Saint-Germain in 1748, and had no fewer than 200 tricks
in his repertoire.
Garnier, otherwise Le Menteur (a liar), conjured be­
tween 1750 and 1765, and made a speciality of cards, cups
and balls, mechanical figures, and marionettes. There was
also Angelo and Haran, whose apparatus was destroyed by
fire at the fair in 1762.
In Germany and Poland during the early part of the
eighteenth century the best-known performer seems to have
been Joseph Froelich, or Frolig. He was Court conjurer and
Court fool to two Electors of Saxony. We also hear of
Tomoso Peladine, who exhibited in Berlin about 1747. He
did a decapitated bird trick, and changed a card into
a bird.
Italy has been credited in certain quarters as being the
birthplace of the modern conjurer, owing to the arrival
in France, in the middle of the eighteenth century, of such
Italian performers as Jonas, Androletti, and Antonio
Carlotte. Of these three, one was really a Dutchman, or
German.
The Treaty of Paris in 1763 brought the Seven Years
War to an end. The subsequent peace gave an impetus to
conjuring and rendered possible the interchange of expon­
ents between the various nations, and was more probably
the cause of the boom than anything created in Italy.
England was open now to Continental performers,
who took full advantage of the opportunity, and evidently
 CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT 159
found it a rich hunting-ground, for they came again and
again.
Palatine was one of the first to arrive in London. In
1763 he exhibited there with pigeons, oranges, cards, and
handkerchiefs. He swallowed knives, forks, punch-ladles, and
candle-snuffers. He performed in London on and off until
his death in 1791, his most celebrated trick being the cutting
of a ruffle from a gentleman’s shirt and in a few moments
restoring it. There was also an amusing contest of skill
between Palatine and a Frenchman named Boulevard in
1788 at Bristol.
The earliest French conjurer to gain prominence was
Nicolas Philippe Ledru, born 1731, known as Comus, and he
was quoted a skilful performer in 1762, when he had booths
in the fairs of Paris. He exhibited, among other things,
an automaton which selected and put on clothes indicated
by the spectators ; also a little figure the eyes of which
changed colour to correspond with those of the onlookers
who gazed at it, one at a time, and brought about this
sympathetic change. There was also an artificial hand
which wrote the thoughts of the spectators.
The “writing hand trick” probably depended upon the
use of sympathetic ink, and the hand which appeared to
write was only to help the illusion. The answers were
written in invisible ink on prepared sheets of paper—ques­
tions selected by the spectator, and the paper with the
corresponding answer being placed under the hand in a
glass case—and as the pen held in the hand moved, it pressed
upon a roller impregnated with a liquid which brought
out the writing. A hundred years later a similar effect
was produced by adapting a mirror principle used by Tobin
in his Sphinx illusion, which enabled a wonderful writing
hand to be shown at the Polytechnic in Regent Street,
and elsewhere in London.
In 1765 Comus came to town and established himself
in Panton Street, Haymarket. He had a great success,
and was enabled to extend his fortnight’s visit to one of
several months.
The Gentleman*s Magazine for May 1766 records:
“The Sieur Comus, during his stay here, has by his
160 MY MAGIC LIFE
dexterity acquired no less than £5,000, most of which he will
carry off with him.” It is not surprising that he returned
the next year, and again in 1770, to a city of such fabulous
wealth.
Later on Comus performed at Cockspur Street, and later
still near Exeter ’Change in the Strand. The entertainment
given by Comus consisted chiefly of mechanical pieces,
such as “The Learned Mermaid”, “The Enchanted
Clock”, “Perpetual Magnetic Motion”, and some sort of
second-sight performance.
Philadelphus Philadelphia, whose real name was Jacob
Meyer, was a follower of Comus, and made a great reputation
on the Continent. His performance included a magic
inkstand, which yielded inks of any colour desired ; also
a barrel which converted water into wine.
In 1766 there lived in Houndsditch, London, a popular
performer, Philip Jonas, who was reputed to be an Italian,
but more likely was a German. He performed at inns
and tea-gardens, and at his residence. Jonas’s advertise­
ment gives no clue as to the style or manner of his perfor­
mance. One, however, announces the cutting off of a
pigeon’s head through its shadow. This was done 250
years before.
When Philip Breslau came to England between 1760
and 1765, Jonas retired from active conjuring, and in 1780
he was conducting a moneylending business in London,
doubtless a more profitable occupation than conjuring.
Breslau’s exhibition was held at No. 1 Cockspur Street
in 1772, two doors away from Christopher Pinchbeck’s
clockmaking shop. He successfully performed there for
nine seasons, usually half the week. On other nights he
performed at various taverns in the City, such as the “King’s
Head” near the Mansion House, at Marylebone Gardens,
and other places. It can be gathered from a bill of 1777
that his programme included the new “Sympathetic Bill”,
“Magical Clock”, and experiments in pyramidical glasses.
This latter was the transposition of glasses of wine and water
by covering them with cones or pyramids. In 1778 he
began to add other attractions to his programme, such as
a bird imitator, and some Italian musicians. On one
 CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT 161
bill he announced an expose given in the interval in the
following words :

Mr. Breslau will discover the following deceptions in such a

manner that every person in the company will be capable of doing
them immediately for their own amusement :
First, to tell any lady or gentleman the card they fix on, without
asking any questions.
Second, to make a remarkable piece of money to fly out of any
gentleman’s hand into a lady’s pocket handkerchief at two yards
distance.
Third, to change four or five cards in any lady or gentleman’s
hand several times with different cards.
Fourth, to make a fresh egg fly out of any person’s pocket into a
box on the table, and immediately to fly back into the pocket.

In 1780 Breslau moved to a great room in Panton Street,

where the French performer had exhibited “Les Ombres
Chinois”. Here he presented a varied programme under
the high-sounding title, “A New Stereographical Operation”,
and his Enchanted Pixies, Militica, together with various
card deceptions. He also announced his readiness to give
lessons in conjuring. A year later he was giving a thought-
reading exhibition, and undertook to do it without the
assistance of speech or writing.
There seems a little doubt as to the correct date of
Philip Breslau’s death. The Gentleman's Magazine
for November 1783 announces the death in Brussels of
Mr. Breslau, the noted conjurer. On the other hand,
there was an announcement in Liverpool in 1803 of the
death of Breslau, the celebrated conjurer, aged 77. This
probably referred to another performer.
A little book containing a few simple tricks was subse­
quently published under the title of Breslau’s Last Legacy.
Breslau probably had nothing to do with it, and it may have
been a speculation of a bookseller. Ten editions appeared
in as many years. The 1792 edition of this book credits
Breslau with the trick of pulling off a person’s shirt, which
was a special item of Pinetti’s entertainment.
Neither Gustavus Katterfelto nor Cagliostro was a con­
jurer in the true sense of the word, and they might be more
162 MY MAGIC LIFE
correctly described as “quacks”. Although they both used
some of the tricks of conjurers, they used them only for
the purpose of selling their remedies, which were “cure-alls”,
although Katterfelto claimed to have invented the useful
phosphorus match, then a novelty. He was a first-class
showman and a bold advertiser. Another of his claims
was the invention of the famous gun trick. Anyway,
he was probably the first entertainer to do the trick in
this country. In his advertisement of March 1781 he
announces he will demonstrate the “art of gunnery”. “Any
gentleman may load his gun with powder and ball; he will
fire at a glass without breaking the glass.”
Bernard, too, flourished about this time at the Paris fairs
in 1769. He used to make a speciality of vanishing a child
before the eyes of the crowd outside his booth.
Then there was Rupana, the Venetian, who was in
Paris in 1776 ; Brann, a German, who was in London the
same year; and Ambroise, who performed in Paris, 1775.
Also there may be mentioned Pelletier (1762-8), Perrin
(1785-9), Paulmier (1789), and Bouthoux de Lorget. The
last named gave an entertainment in Paris lasting two hours
and a half. Still another French conjurer, Noel, who
possessed a sympathetic lamp which went out when a
candle was extinguished by one of the audience and a gun
that fired at any desired moment.
There was a remarkable family of conjurers in Holland,
founded by Eliazar Bamberg, 1760-1833, who chiefly
exhibited automatons. Eliazar was followed by his son,
David, his grandson, Tobias, and his great-grandson, David
Tobias, who Cwas ourt magician to Holland until he died
in 1914. His eldest son, Theodore, still carries on under the
name of Okito, and has performed all over the world, and
was even in this country quite lately. His home is in the
United States, and he has a son who has already appeared
as a conjurer, so there are six generations of conjurers in
this one family.
The most famous conjurer who figured in the second
half of the eighteenth century (as Fawkes did in the first half)
was Pinetti, who had a European reputation. He was
supposed to have been born in Tuscany about 1750, and to
 CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT 163
have been the son of a village innkeeper. He even outdid
Cagliostro in the royal display of rich costumes, and in the
style he went about the city. Four magnificent white
horses drew his carriage, and he was often taken for a prince.
When the King of Prussia saw his sentries salute this per­
sonage, overcome by the display, he promptly gave him
twenty-four hours to get beyond the frontier.
Pinetti was first brought to public notice in Germany
about 1780. In the winter of 1783 he reached Paris,
where he quarrelled with a lawyer named Henri de Cremps.
The cause of the quarrel is not known, but it is inferred
De Cremps invented some magical feat and had shown it
to Pinetti who had been dishonest enough to appropriate
it as his own invention. Pinetti, for a dozen years or
more, was undoubtedly the most successful conjurer on
the Continent.
The following account of his performance is translated
from Les Memoires Secrets, dated January 1st, 1784 :

M. Pinetti’s tricks are varied and surprising, and although he is a

foreigner, and not very familiar with our language, he succeeds in
pleasing our audiences, which have included many personages of
high rank.
His best trick is a small golden head, about as large as a nut, which
on being placed in a glass and covered by a silver lid answers by its
motion any questions addressed to it. The device which the
conjurer called Le Bouquet Philosophique is a plant made of small
branches of an orange tree with fresh and natural leaves; he puts it
under a crystal shade, sprinkles it with a few drops of some special
liquid, and the leaves unfold, flowers appear, and, finally, fruit. The
illusion is excellent.
He next shows a new pack of cards and requests the spectators to
think of several cards. The pack is placed in a small silver box, open
at the top and supported on the neck of a bottle, which has been
examined by the audience. The apparatus is put on an isolated
table, and when the conjurer commands, the chosen cards jump from
the pack.
A canary is taken from an egg and made to appear dead and
alive. He cuts off the head of a live pigeon by an electric shock,
which appears to be communicated through a strip of ordinary paper.
He performed fifty, a hundred, even a thousand tricks which one
cannot describe, and he promises a still greater marvel—an artificial
164 MY MAGIC LIFE
canary that warbles tunes. M. Pinetti stays in view of the audience
during all his experiments, and it is hard to discover how he
effects communication between himself and the various articles he
presents for their entertainment.

In the autumn of 1784 Pinetti came to London and

appeared during the winter season at the Little Theatre in
Haymarket, where, it will be remembered, the “bottle con­
jurer hoax” was perpetrated. De Cremps’ enmity took the
form about this time of publishing a book which purported to
be an exposure of the tricks then presented by Pinetti.
This was called La Magie Blanche Devoilee. In 1785 he
published a supplement to La Magie Blanche Devoilee, and
an English edition appeared in the same year. This
included both books, and was called The Conjurer Un­
masked. A further supplement was issued in 1786 under
the title of Testament de Jerome. In this De Cremps
lays down several maxims for conjurers which are as im­
portant to-day as in his time :

1. Never say beforehand what you are going to do.

2. Always have several methods of producing an effect.
3. Never repeat a trick at the request of a spectator; do not
refuse to do so, but do the trick in another way.
4. Do not confine yourself to one class of tricks, mingle sleight-
of-hand with tricks depending upon confederacy, scientific principles,
or the use of apparatus.
5. Misdirect your audience as to the means you are employing
—make them think an apparatus trick is done by sleight-of-hand, and
vice versa.
6. Redress your old tricks when you cannot invent new ones.
7. Do not claim supernatural powers when performing to
educated people.
8. Never perform until you have carefully prepared your moves
and patter.
9. Take advantage of all chances that may offer themselves to
enhance your mysteries.

Towards the close of the eighteenth century a conjurer’s

repertoire consisted of the stock tricks, such as cups and
balls, beads on cord, decapitation tricks. The “rising
cards” was an advance on what had previously been done
 CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT 165
with cards, and jumping coins, eggs, rings, etc., were
popular favourites.
Pinetti was one of the first to introduce a lady in an
elementary second-sight performance. She was seated
in one of the front boxes with a handkerchief over her eyes
and guessed at everything imagined and proposed to her by
any person in the company. Pinetti also made a great use
of the automata. He had a rope dancer automaton about
the size of a man ; also the “new, truly most superb,
majestic, amazing, also seemingly incredible, grand spectacle
of the Venetian beautiful Fair, which mechanical figure,
being altered in character, holding the balance in hands,
dances and exhibits upon the tight rope with unparalleled
dexterity and agility, and in a manner far superior to any
exhibited by the most capital professors, almost difficult
and prodigious feats of activity, leaps, attitudes, equilibriums,
antics, etc., absolutely beyond imagination and proper
description”. This most modest announcement heralded
the automaton rope dances, which are often seen in Paris,
but are more novel to English audiences.
Here is a newspaper report of Pinetti’s first appearance
in London :

On Tuesday evening Signor Pinetti’s reputation received a

considerable wound in the failure of two of his most capital man­
oeuvres, particularly that of firing a nail through a card, which he
attempted twice and was unsuccessful. In consequence of the
second disappointment he had the temerity to run up and fix the
card to the back scene. The imposition was too palpable, and met
with a general mark of disapprobation. He was so much dispirited
at the event that at the end of his performance his interpreter came
forward and told the audience that Pinetti was very unwell and
did not know when he should perform again. Notwithstanding
which, candour obliges us to acknowledge that several of his deceptions
were truly pleasing and wonderful.
The programme as presented by Pinetti contained feats of most
of his contemporaries, such as, the cut and restored handkerchief; a
card burnt, and found afterwards in a gentleman’s watch in miniature
form ; the writing on paper found in a selected candle ; dancing
eggs ; naming cards while blindfolded ; a ring fired from a pistol
found tied to the neck of a dove in a previously empty box ; a
smashed and restored watch, etc. He also did several escapes from
166 MY MAGIC LIFE
ropes and fetters, and created much astonishment by the “thumb tie
trick”, which seems only to have been performed by him up to that
time.

And there was also the hundred-years-old trick of remov­

ing a man’s shirt without taking off his coat. Pinetti
gave away this trick in the book which he sold at the
entertainments.
Pinetti appeared again in Paris in 1785, and from there
resumed his Continental tours. After touring France,
Germany and Italy, he reached Naples in 1796, where he
met Edmond de Grisy, a French aristocrat who escaped to
Italy during the French Revolution and at this time was
practising as a physician in Naples. De Grisy was a popular
amateur conjurer, performing on occasions to the highest
circles of Neapolitan society.
Pinetti became jealous of this gifted amateur, and, deter­
mining to get rid of him, played a trick upon him that made
him look foolish in public. This resulted in De Grisy
becoming a professional conjurer and vowing revenge on
Pinetti. He began at once to take the business seriously,
learning all Pinetti’s tricks, and in many cases improving
upon them. Then he followed Pinetti on his tours as
often as possible, anticipating the visits of Pinetti to the
towns, until Pinetti finally left Italy for Russia, where he
died in the year 1800.
A tragic happening in De Grisy’s life was the accidental
killing of his own son during a performance of the gun
trick. He was arrested and sentenced to six months’
imprisonment. When he was released he found his wife
had died. He was alone in the world and penniless, but
managed to get together a small collection of apparatus,
making a very poor show indeed after the splendid display
he had been in the habit of giving. He took the name of
Torrini, which was his wife’s maiden name, and started
travelling through France in a caravan. Here he met a
young lad to whom he taught some tricks, and who later on
became the famous Robert Houdin. De Grisy ended his
career in Lyons about 1828, where he died.
Oliver was a performer who flourished in France for
 CONJURING ON THE CONTINENT 167
some thirty years about 1790. He seems to have done the
same tricks as Pinetti and De Grisy, in addition to some
special coin tricks of his own invention.
One of the best known French performers was Comus II.
He was in England in 1793, where he remained for nearly
two years, having a room on the first floor of No. 28 Hay-
market. His programme was of a very flowery nature, and
ended with the “grand magical house of pyramidical glass
machineries, an operation never attempted by any other
man living, and will astonish every beholder”. He also
had an enchanted Sciatericon and a Pexidees Literarium,
to say nothing of a Capromancie and a Deceptio Ovorum—
all very imposing, but not very illuminating.
Linski, a German conjurer, became well known on the
Continent at the close of the century. He ended with a
terrible tragedy in the year 1820. He was doing the gun
trick at Arnstadt, and his wife was killed owing to a real
bullet being left in the gun.
Castello was a performer who offered to eat a live man
as an attraction. On a volunteer presenting himself,
Castello made elaborate preparations; if these didn’t frighten
the man away, he would bite him in the neck, which usually
caused the man to leap off the stage, whereupon the conjurer
expressed his regret for the disappointment of the audience.
The principles of science were now coming into use
amongst conjurers. The first attempt to use the principles
of optics for an entertaining purpose was made by a Belgian
optician, who in 1784 astonished his friends and neighbours
by raising ghosts, using a magic lantern.
Gaspard Roberts, who called himself Robertson, made
this the basis of a public illusion entertainment. After
spending nearly ten years of work on his apparatus, he
opened his ghost show in Paris in 1794. It was principally
worked by a movable projecting lantern and awesome
figures painted on glass slides projected on to a screen,
also on to clouds of smoke emerging from braziers. This
entertainment was given at the Pavilion de l’Exchequier.
It was a great success, and later on was moved to a disused
chapel. This was approached by corridors of tombs
and other monuments, which helped to produce the weird
168 MY MAGIC LIFE
atmosphere necessary. The interior of the chapel was
draped in black, and the only light came from a single
lamp burning with pale flame.
Robertson came forward and gave a sort of lecture on
sorcerers, claimed that he was no charlatan, but could raise
the dead. He asked the audience the names of their dead
relatives and produced apparitions of them ; during this
the single lamp went out, while a storm with thunder and
lightning took place, and a church bell solemnly tolled,
music was heard, and a ghost appeared. This weird per­
formance of Robertson’s was given for six years with an
enormous success in Paris and other large cities.
“Phantasmagoria” was the title given to Robertson’s
entertainment. He also exhibited very curious scientific
experiments. In 1796 he originated the “Invisible Girl”
apparatus, whereby questions whispered into a horn attached
to a hanging glass box were answered by an invisible woman.
Robertson’s show was copied extensively. England and
France, too, produced many ghost-raisers, but Robertson him­
self after 1800 turned his attention to the development of
ballooning. He died in Paris in 1837.
The best exhibition of “Phantasmagoria” was given in
this country in 1802 by De Philipsthal and Moritz. Sir
David Brewster gives a description of this show in his
letters on “Natural Magic”.
 CHAPTER XVII

PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT

A n e w boom in conjuring commenced when conjurers

began to use spectacular display as an attraction. The
apparatus had to be gorgeous and well polished, while plenty
of brass and tin instruments piled on velvet-covered tables
loaded the stage.
This sort of thing held sway until the masterly simplicity
of Robert Houdin’s methods took its place. One of the
pioneers of this simple apparatus school was Chalon, a
Frenchman who appeared at the Odeon Theatre, Paris, in
1816. He came to England in 1820 and died here in 1825.
He was a very clever performer.
A German conjurer named Blitz also distinguished
himself by the feat of dancing dinner-plates, his son Antonio
carrying on after his father’s death. It was his performance
that suggested to J. N. Maskelyne how to manipulate plates.
At this time, about 1830, there seems to have been a
great sameness about the performances by the different
conjurers. This was broken by the introduction of the
“Suspension Trick” by Heimburger, who was apparently
the first to bring it from India.
Sutton, an English conjurer, appeared at the Strand
Theatre in 1838. He was probably a better ventriloquist
than a conjurer. He would hold a lighted candle to his
lips to prove there was no breath of air or motion to be
perceived.
Then came John Henry Anderson, the Wizard of the
North, a Scotsman born in Kincardine. He was a veritable
prince of showmen and advertisers. He yearned to be a
leading actor, and it was his ambition that ruined him. He
169
 MY MAGIC LIFE
commenced by being apprenticed to Scott, one of the smaller
showmen of the day, and the date of his first performance
in Aberdeen was 1831.
He went on and on until he arrived at Covent Garden
Theatre, which he packed to the doors at one time by his
showy performances, aided by clever advertising. But he
could not contend with the more refined performance of
Robert Houdin, who appeared at St. James’s Theatre. He
had a penchant for high-sounding titles ; for instance, two
of his tricks were entitled “The Palengenic Cauldron” and
“The Silver Cups of Herculaneum”.
Anderson used to tell a story of how the great Sir Walter
Scott first christened him the “Wizard of the North”. This
story, Mr. Clarke tells us, is untrue. It would have been
impossible for Sir Walter to have seen the performance as
Anderson described. The story is often quoted, and here
it is refuted. Nevertheless, the name of the “Wizard of
the North” will always stick to Anderson.
Anderson built himself the City Theatre, Glasgow,
and here his first disaster overtook him on November 18th,
1845, when the new theatre was burnt out and he was
left with five pounds only to work upon. He gave a few
performances in Dundee, then visited Continental cities.
He was, I believe, the first British conjurer to perform in
the Russian capital, where he entertained the Czar at the
Winter Palace. We find him back in London in 1846,
in Covent Garden Theatre. That year he gave a perform­
ance at Balmoral before Queen Victoria.
In 1848 there were three important conjuring enter­
tainments going on in London.
Robert Houdin, the great French conjurer, was at St.
James’s Theatre, while Anderson was at Covent Garden,
and Carl Hermann at the Haymarket.
In 1850 Anderson went to America, returning to England
in 1853. Then began a series of farewell performances.
Here is a verse which he printed on his posters, doubtless
considered good advertising in those days.

Farewell, Aberdeen, take a wizard’s adieu !

Never more he will astonish your people and you.
 PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT 171
Never more on your walls will be posted his name,
Never more will he ask you to add to his fame.
Far away o’er the sea to the fair land of gold
He goes to seek new friends, as true as the old.

Then, casting aside all his magical might,

In retirement he will seek rest and delight;
Nor ever more come where he’s now to be found,
And where for this week he’ll in wonders abound.
If you fail to behold him, no words sure will tell,
The amount of your grief that you missed his farewell.

The autumn season of 1855 found Anderson again at

the Lyceum, and part of his programme was an exposure
of spiritualistic mediums. In 1855 he went back to his
first love by appearing in drama, generally in the character
of Rob Roy. He gave a two months’ season at Covent
Garden Theatre, finishing with a grand carnival benefit of
two days and nights, including a masked ball. During this
ball the theatre was discovered to be on fire, and with it
most of Anderson’s gorgeous apparatus was destroyed.
This time, however, it was insured to the extent of £2,000,
and he soon got new apparatus, although not quite on such
a grand scale. He began to perform at the minor theatres,
Sadlers Wells, the Standard, and the Surrey.
The next disaster that happened to him was the failure
of the Royal British Bank, in which his savings were invested.
After another tour to Australia, the United States, and
Canada, he returned to London in 1865, and appeared at
St. James’s Hall, Piccadilly. He used to issue the Psycho-
mantic Reporter, which was a weekly four-sheet journal
with a circulation of 100,000 copies.
Misfortune again overtook him in New York. He re­
turned to England, where he was made bankrupt in 1866.
He died at Darlington on February 3rd, 1874, in his sixtieth
year, after a career of over forty years of stage life, during
which he proved himself a clever showman and advertiser.
He was one of the founders of the Savage Club.
The great “Wizard of the North” suffered a good deal
from copyists of his name and title. A man named Eagle,
172 MY MAGIC LIFE
and another named E. W. Young, unblushingly copied his
name and bill matter.
Jacobs was another well-known conjurer of this time, and
all were influenced by the magnificent art of Robert
Houdin.
Jacobs died in 1870. He was credited with being the
first conjurer to do the trick of changing a bowl of ink into
one of clear water in which goldfish swam.
I must not forget to mention Philippe, otherwise Talon,
who was a French pastrycook who came to grief in Aber­
deen. He joined a theatrical company, and, having acquired
a few tricks from Anderson, made his start as a performer in
1835. He later on acquired some Chinese tricks, and made
a great success of the spectacle, “A Night in the Palace of
Pekin”.
His opening effect was to light 250 candles by a pistol-
shot. In the estimation of Robert Houdin, Philippe was
one of the best conjurers of the day.
MacAlister was an assistant to Philippe, who annexed
his tricks, also some of Dobler’s, Anderson’s, and Robert
Houdin’s “Suspension in the Air”, and then went to America,
where he made money with his stolen performance. He died
there in 1856.
In 1849 we had Rosenfeld, a great Polish magician. He
performed at Crosby Hall in the City of London. He had
his programmes printed on satin, and gave a high-class enter­
tainment, though mostly copied from those of better
performers.
Ludwig Leopold Dobler (generally known as Louis
Dobler) was born in Vienna. When he was about thirty
he arrived in England, and startled everyone with his
original performance. He also started with lighting 200
candles, and he was probably the originator of the effect.
A man of the name of Smith, who was a tailor in Bristol,
copied the name of Dobler and became quite a popular
performer. He died in Aberdeen in 1904.
Henri Robin, a native of Holland, is said to have been the
inventor of “Pepper’s Ghost”, shown in London in 1862.
There is some doubt about this, however, as the invention
is claimed by Dircks, and 300 years before an Italian
 PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT 173
philosopher put forward the principle, and was probably
the true inventor. However this may be, “Pepper’s
Ghost” will always remain its title. It was undoubtedly
one of the most successful illusions ever presented, although
it is now too well known to attract attention.
Robin appeared at the Egyptian Hall in 1861, and when
he left his place was taken by Wellington Young. Young’s
custom was to give away free tickets for his entertainments
and make a collection after the performance. His tricks
were quite ordinary ones.
In the summer of 1845 a new and amazing conjurer
appeared in Paris, one destined to have a great influence
on the progress of the art of conjuring. This was Robert
Houdin, the son of a clock-maker, who was intended to go
into the legal profession, and had been educated to that end.
But mechanics were in his blood, and, after spending a couple
of years in a solicitor’s office, he set up as a clock-maker in
Tours and in Blois, and, after his marriage, in Paris. He
was quite young when he started learning legerdemain from
Torrine. As a mechanic, he was called upon to mend several
automata, and began to make some for himself, including a
flowering orange-tree which bore fruit.
He attended the performances of all the conjurers who
appeared in Paris, amongst which were Comte, Bosco, and
Philippe, and he gradually got together a conjuring enter­
tainment on very novel lines. He converted a suitable
room on the first floor of No. 164 in the Galerie de Valois
in the Palais Royal. On July 3rd, 1845, he gave his first
Soiree Fantastique de Robert Houdin. He was the first to
introduce a second-sight performance, with which he created
a sensation. In 1846 he was invited to the Palace of St.
Cloud to entertain the King of France. Here he performed
a most artistic marvel.
He borrowed several handkerchiefs, which he made
into a parcel, covering them with an opaque glass bell. He
then asked members of the audience to write names of
places where they would like the parcel transported. The
King chose the orange-tree on the balcony outside. The
conjurer raised the bell, the parcel was seen to be changed
into a dove which bore a little key round its neck, and a
174 MY MAGIC LIFE
messenger, digging up the orange tree, found a rusty iron
casket beneath its roots. This was carried to King Louis-
Philippe, who unlocked it with the key brought by the dove,
and found within the parcel of handkerchiefs and a parch­
ment, which read :

This day, 6th June, 1766, this iron hox containing six
handkerchiefs was placed by me, Balsamo, Count of
Cagliostro, among the roots of an orange tree, to serve in
performing an act of Magic.

Owing chiefly to the French Revolution, Robert Houdin

came to London and was well received by English audiences.
At Hertford he had a very small audience, only three spec­
tators, but he bravely went through the whole performance
as he would have done to his customary crowded house.
At the finish he invited his audience to sup with him.
He was twice honoured by invitations to appear before
the Queen, and for one of these occasions he invented a new
trick. Having borrowed a glove from the Queen, he trans­
formed it into a bouquet, which he placed in a vase, and,
sprinkling it with water, it became a garland of flowers
arranged to form the name Victoria.
After retiring to his home near Blois, he was commis­
sioned in 1856 by the French Government to pay a pro­
fessional visit to Algeria, where he greatly impressed the
Arabs with his feats, particularly the light and heavy chest
and the gun trick. He gave a few farewell performances
at Marseilles; then he finally retired and wrote his
Confidences, and other books. He died on June 13th, 1871.
Robert Houdin made a reformation in conjuring: he
firmly cut out all the draped tables and gaudy apparatus
of his predecessors. His stage represented a simple white and
gold drawing-room of the Louis XV period. One simple
centre table without cover, one shelf of necessary pieces
of apparatus—nothing suspicious, and everything of good
design. He invested everything he did with a new charm
and a new interest. The Illustrated London News well des­
cribed him as “the sole monarch of the world of wonders;
all other conjurers and wizards, from whatever point of
 PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT 175
compass they arrived, sink into insignificant imitators
before him”.
Robert Houdin was greatly disappointed that neither
of his sons was willing to don the mantle of the magician.
Emile became a watchmaker, and the other son, Eugene,
was killed in the Franco-German War of 1870.
From 1850 the management of the Theatre Robert
Houdin was left in the hands of his son-in-law, Hamilton,
who moved the entertainment to a new venue at No. 8
Boulevard des Italiens. In 1888 the theatre was sold to
George Melies, who ran it with the aid of Duperrey, Car-
melli, and Legris, all clever conjurers, still using on occasions
some of the old pieces of apparatus of Robert Houdin.
I myself had the honour of being present at the centenary
of the great master on December 6th, 1905.
Johann N. Hofzinser was a most inventive card-conjurer.
In 1853 he performed in Vienna (his birthplace) at
a place called Salon Hofzinser. Fischer published a
volume of Hofzinser’s tricks, mostly with cards, and it has
since become a classic of its sort. For some years he was in
Vienna’s permanent Magical Theatre, built by Cratky-
Baaschik, a showman-cum-conjurer, holding the same sort
of position as the Egyptian Hall did in London. It was
pulled down in 1911. Fischer managed it for about
twelve years, and it stood, I believe, in the Prater.
Wiljalba Frikell was born in Finland, educated at Munich
and successfully performed throughout Europe and India.
As the result of an accident, and losing all his apparatus,
Wiljalba Frikell was forced to perform a simple show by
sleight-of-hand in an ordinary dress. This was so liked by
the public that he stuck to the method for the rest of his life.
Frikell came to London in the latter part of 1857, and
appeared as “The Wizard without Apparatus” at Hanover
Square Rooms. He soon moved to St. James’s Theatre,
and on New Year’s Day, 1858, performed before the Queen
and Royal Family at Windsor Castle. The Times gave him
the following notice :
Your modern Magus generally seeks to dazzle the senses by
gorgeousness and glitter of his apparatus; if he borrows a sixpence
for some miraculous purpose, he plunges it into a golden vase, two
176 MY MAGIC LIFE
feet deep ; he encases a cotton pocket handkerchief in a casket of
silver. But when the dust thus thrown into the eyes—gold dust though
it be—has settled it ceases to affect the judgment. The spectator,
quietly reflecting on an evening full of prodigies, will begin to fancy
that if he has a collection of vast boxes, bottles, and goblets, all
armed with double bottoms, he might be able to transform a penny
into a guinea-pig, or a watch into a canary bird, as well as the merlin
who has operated so strongly on his organs of veneration. Now it
is the peculiarity of Professor Wiljalba Frikell that he does not use any
apparatus at all. His rising curtains, instead of displaying shelves
filled with the magnificent gimcracks of the nineteenth century
magic, reveal nothing but a table with a couple of chairs. A hat
borrowed from a visitor will yield 120 silver goblets at his command,
will become whole after utter demolition, without any other envelope
except a sheet of the coarsest brown paper, and thus restored will
deliberately float up to the ceiling and there remain fixed until it is
summoned down by the voice of the professor.
From a handkerchief obtained under similar circumstances
plumes of ostrich feathers would arise sufficient to stuff the bed of
Ware. An egg and a lemon are both exhibited without any mys­
terious adjuncts, and in a trice the egg is gone, to reappear when the
peel is removed from the fruit as its imbedded core. In a word,
Professor Frikell’s tricks are none of them mechanical, but are all
performed by legerdemain in the strict sense of the term.

Frikell made a great mistake and damaged his reputation

by explaining in public how some of his tricks were done.
He died in Dresden at the age of 87.
Adalbert Frikell, the reputed son of Wiljalba Frikell,
had a brief and chequered career in London. He performed
with Madame Stodare at the Egyptian Hall, doing the
conjuring entertainments invented by Colonel Stodare,
including “The Sphinx” and “The Indian Basket
Trick”.
Another famous name in conjuring was Hermann the Great,
son of a Jewish doctor living in Hanover. His real name
was Comparo ; he was oftener called Carl. He made various
appearances in London with almost a replica of Houdin’s
programme until 1863, when he returned to the Princess’s
Theatre with a changed programme. He now appeared
with feats of pure dexterity, without apparatus, or, at least,
visible apparatus.
 PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT 177
In the later ’seventies London magicians heard some
mysterious rumours of a man named Charlier, who appeared
and disappeared in various parts of London. His forte was
card tricks, but he only appeared to show them to magicians
quite privately. He would knock at the door of a conjurer’s
house, introduce himself as Charlier, and forthwith begin
to show him some card tricks.
Bertram described him as an old man between 70 and
90. He gave Bertram many hints, but would never accept
anything for them—on the contrary, he brought little
presents to Mrs. Bertram each time he called. He was a
veritable mystery man. He died in abject poverty, accord­
ing to one report, but there was a persistent rumour that he
had been seen since his supposed death, and was on his way
to Naples to be married.
Bertram says : “That is the last I have heard of Charlier.
I have never set eyes on him since, and am still in doubt
whether he died or married—a remarkable exit to a truly
mysterious man.”
Among the many uninvited disciples of Robert Houdin
was one who was a complete mimic and who slavishly
copied Houdin’s tricks and advertisements. In 1851, at
21 years of age, this man, whose name was Heller (with the
real name of Palmer), actually hired the Strand Theatre in
London, where he attempted to duplicate Robert Houdin’s
programme. As the master had only just left London,
and his programme was fresh in the minds of the public,
Heller naturally found the giant’s robe would not fit. His
season in London was very short, and after a small tour,
chiefly in Kent, he went off to New York, where the public
had not seen Robert Houdin.
In 1852 he appeared at the Chinese Assembly Rooms
there, pretending to be French, wearing a dark wig and
speaking with a Parisian accent. Still he failed, and
became a teacher of music. He did not altogether give
up his magical ambition, and a fortunate meeting with
Edward Hingston, a clever manager who ran Anderson
and Artemus Ward through the States, led to the open­
ing in New York of Heller’s Salle Diabolique. This was in
1864.
M
178 MY MAGIC LIFE
Heller now appeared as himself with a good personality
and a different programme. He made an enormous
success, and became a celebrated entertainer in the U.S.A.
In 1868 he returned to London and appeared at the
Polygraphic Hall. He now made a speciality of second
sight and thought transference with his assistant Haidee
Heller, and worked it up to a great pitch of perfection.
They made world tours until 1878, when they returned to
America. He died at the early age of 48, and is reputed to
have left a fortune of between £60,000 and £70,000.
The London Times gives the following description of
Robert Heller when he was at his best in 1868 :

Mr. Woodin’s Hall in King William Street is at present occupied

by Mr. Robert Heller, an American professor of legerdemain, who
gives scenes, magical, musical, and humorous. These three epithets
are significant to a conjurer. In the popular sense of the word, he has,
indeed, few rivals. As a humorist and conjurer combined, he
certainly stands alone, shunning alike the pompous air which is
assumed by some of his competitors, and the extremer vanity which
is affected by others. He talks in a quiet, sarcastic tone, as if
intending to convince his spectators; much as he may desire them to
admire his feats, he is by no means astounded at his own proficiency.
His discourse abounds in jokes, good, bad, and indifferent, all
provocative of laughter, but all as free from any accompaniment of
laughter on the part of the joker as those of the late Artemus Ward,
whom Mr. Heller seems to have taken as a model. The new American
conjurer has a mechanical trick or two, including a peacock, like that
exhibited by Mr. Robin, but on the whole he may be said to belong
to that severe school of legerdemain in which Frikell and Hermann
are masters, and to rely rather on his own manual skill than on
ingeniously constructed apparatus. His tricks, too, lie out of the
ordinary routine, while at the same time they derive an entirely novel
character from the unpretending manner in which they are executed.
His most showy exploit is the evocation of a flock of live ducks
from a large tub in which two eggs have been deposited. The next
in rank comes the extraction from a borrowed hat of a lady’s gown,
which at first, folded up, gradually assumes a bulky appearance, and at
last, on being removed, discovers a damsel of no small dimensions.
But those who derive their chief gratification from the com­
bination of skill and humour will probably prefer Mr. Heller’s
revelation of an expedient to pay the Abyssinian war tax : pre­
tending that the air is charged with coins, English and American,
 PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT 179

and makes a clutch with the empty hand, in which he invariably

displays a dollar or a shilling, flinging every fresh acquisition into a hat,
sometimes through the crown or sides, without, of course, making a
hole. There is something in the performance of this feat, in this
industrious realization of something out of nothing, that belongs to
the spirit of true comedy.

Hartz was another clever conjurer, although he did not

shine brightly as an entertainer. On the advice of Henri
Hermann, a conjurer who was then, in 1858, performing
at the Cremorne Gardens, he had all his apparatus made in
glass, and called his entertainment “Crystal Magic”.
Some years afterwards he did a marvellous trick with a hat
which appeared to be inexhaustible, and smothered the
bare stage with its contents. He called this “The Devil
of a Hat”. He now began his entertainment with nothing
but a small glass-topped table. It was greatly admired
by conjurers, who appreciated the work, which no other
performer had ever approached. But, alack, he had no
stage personality. As the Americans say, “He could not
get it over.”
Here are a few of the things he took from a borrowed hat,
standing, it should be remembered, on a bare stage :
innumerable handkerchiefs, a wig, hundreds of tin cups, a
dozen coloured tumblers, a dozen champagne bottles, a
dozen reticules, cigar-boxes, lighted lanterns, several large
birdcages, each one far larger in appearance than the hat
itself, and a large sheet, which he would spread on the floor
and into which he would shake out enough feathers to make
a good-sized bed ; then cannon-balls, and a talking baby.
Leaving the hat carelessly on the glass table, he would busy
himself with the already crowded and littered stage, and
behold, a large skull would slowly arise, apparently unassisted,
from the hat. Removing this, he would then shake
hundreds, nay thousands, of cards until the stage would
be covered with them.
“It was indeed an ‘inexhaustible hat’!” writes Bertram
in his book called Isn’t it Wonderful ?
“The Sphinx Illusion”, invented by William Tobin, was
first offered to Anderson for the sum of £8o. He, however,
180 MY MAGIC LIFE
refused it. It was then acquired by a conjurer who called
himself Colonel Stodare. He performed under the name
of Jack English, sometimes alone, at others accompanied
by a man named Kerray. He was taken up by Mitchel,
who was Anderson’s manager, and, backed by him, he opened
at the Egyptian Hall on April 17th, 1865. He had two
new tricks—at least, new to London. These were the “Indian
Basket Trick” and a production of flowers. They were not,
however, performed in the Oriental fashion.
Tobin took his “Sphinx”, or “Talking Head”, to
Stodare, who immediately took it up. It was one of the
greatest successes ever made in conjuring. Stodare died
of consumption at the early age of 35.
For a short time the entertainment at the Egyptian
Hall was carried on by his widow, with the aid of Adalbert
Frikell and others. When Madame Stodare left the Egyp­
tian Hall in 1867 she was followed by Rubini. One of
his novelties was the old decapitation trick, under a some­
what new guise.
A young lady was seated in a luxurious easy-chair
covered with a shawl up to the neck. The conjurer then
proceeded to cut the head off. When the shawl was taken
away, a headless trunk was the gruesome occupant of the
chair.
Sylvester, the Fakir of Oolu, was originally a lecturer on
the marvels which were produced from time to time at the
Polytechnic. He acquired an aerial suspension apparatus,
which he staged well, and which was a great success. This
form of suspension was one that was originated in India.
A lady is standing on a high stool, when there is placed
under her elbows two poles about five feet in length.
When she is duly entranced, the stool is removed from her
feet, and leaves her suspended on the two poles. The
one under her left arm was removed altogether, and she
remains poised on the other pole, depending from her ex­
tended right arm. In this uncomfortable position she is
dressed up to represent a variety of popular figures, being
put into a different position for each one, and finally
stretched out at right angles to the pole, apparently
reclining in the air. Sylvester actually took the second
 PAST MASTERS OF THEIR CRAFT 181
pole away, which was an improvement on the original
Indian version.
Up to 1873 the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly had accommo­
dated conjurers and other entertainers; also freaks, such as
Tom Thumb, educated animals, etc. There were two or
three different rooms for these purposes.
Soon after Sylvester’s short stay, one floor was taken by
Maskelyne & Cooke’s entertainments. They had a rival
on the lower floor, namely the famous Dr. Lynn.
Lynn gave an imitation of Maskelyne’s famous box
trick. Another trick he did was cutting a man to pieces.
This was entitled “Palingenesia”, an invention of Tobin’s.
Much was made out of little by Lynn. He was a clever
showman. One newspaper called him the most accom­
plished master of the whole art of humbug ! His speciality
was his marvellous patter, with which he diverted the
spectators. His phrase, “That’s how it’s done”, became
the “catch” saying of London.
One of Lynn’s assistants became a conjurer under the
name of Dexter. He was an American from Philadelphia.
He left Lynn in 1879, and for some twenty years afterwards
performed in England and in the Colonies, and finally
became a music-hall manager.
A list of the performers of the ’seventies would not be
complete without the name of D’Alvini, the Jap of Japs,
who was a juggler as well as a conjurer.
Evanion had a long career, from 1850 to 1905. He
had a wonderful collection of posters of magical interest.
James Taylor was a resident conjurer at the Coliseum
in Regent’s Park, afterwards the Polytechnic. He claims to
have invented the lost watch which is found in a loaf of bread.
William S. Norris was another minor performer of the
time. The son of a conjuring-trick maker, he had a little
magical theatre and workshop at the Crystal Palace from
1868 to 1885, and gave short performances as often as he
could get an audience. He gave about 14,000 performances
in this way.
Professor Charles Field, another veteran, had a stall in
the Royal Aquarium. He was born in 1835, and continued
to conjure until he was 73 years of age.
182 MY MAGIC LIFE
Then there was De Caston, a Frenchman ; a couple
called the Stacey Brothers, who imitated the Davenport
Brothers ; and the two Duprez, one of whom appeared at the
Piccadilly Hall, London, in 1888. There were Courtois,
Philip Debar, and Heymann, also Nicholay—all competent
performers.
Cazeneauve, born in 1839, was a great performer, and
very entertaining. He had about seventy decorations given
to him by different monarchs and other notabilities. He
died in 1913.
Alexander Hermann, a brother of Carl, or Compars, gave
performances at the Egyptian Hall; in 1873 he was there
for a long season, and gave over a thousand performances.
In 1875 he went to the United States, where he made an
enormous success. He was a master of patter and a brilliant
actor, but he was not an inventor.
After her husband’s death, Madame Adelaide Hermann
continued the entertainment for a time, Leon Hermann
taking the part of Hermann the Great. They soon parted
company, and Madame Hermann gave a charming silent
act on the halls and vaudeville stage.
Hermann suffered from many imitators of his name.
Amongst these was a Carl Hermann who gave entertain­
ments in the suburbs of London in 1885, and Henri Her­
mann, a German performer who played at the Cremorne
Gardens.
It is not generally known that Trewey was a conjurer
as well as a juggler, though he was most celebrated for his
shadowgraphy and chapeaugraphy. At the age of 15
he ran away from home fired with the ambition to become a
conjurer. Not liking the hardships of an open-air life, he
obtained an engagement at a music-hall and bought a small
travelling theatre. When at last he reached Paris he was
hailed by Parisian audiences as a star of the first magnitude.
Sweden sent us a conjurer named Hartwig Seeman, who
also performed at the Egyptian Hall. He had a great
display of apparatus, including “Sphinx”, “The Gun Trick”,
and “Aerial Suspension”, all of which he billed in New York
as his own inventions.
 CHAPTER XVIII

MAGIC IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

T h e Egyptian Hall was originally known as Bullocks Museum,

and housed a collection of curiosities which were disposed
of in 1819. The building was then rearranged in three or
four distinct halls, and all kinds of shows were accommo­
dated there, including lecturers, humorists, and preachers.
After Stodare’s season it became associated with conjuring
performances and became the veritable headquarters of the
conjurer’s art, due principally to John Nevil Maskelyne.
The remarkable Davenport brothers were the two sons
of a police official at Buffalo, and were selling papers in the
streets in 1848, when the so-called spiritualistic manifesta­
tions of the Fox family began to be talked about, and gave
the boys a desire to share the profits which the Fox sisters
were reputed to be making from a credulous public.
Very soon those interested in spiritualism began to
hear rumours of strange happenings in the Davenport
manage : dancing furniture and ghosts and floatings in
the air. Soon the Davenports began to give seances, and
local people crowded to them and showered gold on the
brothers. Their method was to produce spiritualistic
manifestations while tied up in a helpless condition, the
inference being they could not possibly produce the
manifestations themselves. They, however, knew the trick
of releasing themselves, a trick performed by Pinetti
seventy years before.
From 1855 to 1864 the Davenports toured the States and
Canada, until the Civil War stopped their activities. Then
they made a journey to Britain with a Dr. J. B. Ferguson,
183
184 MY MAGIC LIFE
who was a Presbyterian preacher and a believer in spiritual­
ism. He used to act in place of their father as compere,
or lecturer. They also had with them William Marion Fay
as understudy to the younger Davenport.
They gave their first seance in London on September
28th, 1864, at the house of Dion Boucicault. Here is a
description of their performance from the Morning Post :

At the upper end of the apartment was placed what might be called
a skeleton wardrobe. The portion in which the drawers of a similar
piece of furniture are usually to be found was empty. A seat or
bench, perforated here and there with holes, was fitted to the back and
ends. The doors consisted of three panels, which shut inside with a
brass bolt ; thus when the middle door is open any person could put
his hand in and bolt the side doors; the bolt of the middle door was
shut by some invisible agency from the inside.
The brothers Davenport, having seated themselves vis-a-vis on the
end bench, their hands and feet were securely tied by those present
so as to prevent the possibility of them using those members. A
guitar, a tambourine, a violin and bow, a brass horn, and a couple of
bells were placed on the seat inside, and the doors were shut. At the
top of the panel of the centre door is a diamond-shape opening about
a foot square, with a curtain secured on the inside. Instantly
on the centre door being closed, the bolt was secured inside and
“hands” were clearly observed through the opening. A gentleman
present was invited to pass his hand through the opening, and it was
touched by the “hands” several times.
Musical instruments and the bells commenced making all sorts of
noises and knockings, snatches of airs were distinctly heard, when
suddenly the centre door was burst open, the trumpet was thrown out
into the room and fell heavily upon the carpet. The doors were
subsequently closed by persons who, when doing so, were touched by
invisible hands, and a noise of undoing the cords was distinctly heard.
A moment or two afterwards the brothers were found sitting
unbound with the ropes at their feet.
The next illustration was more curious still, for after an interval
of perhaps two minutes the brothers were found to be securely
bound with the same cords, the ends of the ropes being some distance
from their hands. One of the company present was then invited to
take a seat in the cabinet so as to assure himself that whatever might
be done it could not be accomplished by the brothers.
A gentleman having volunteered to be imprisoned in such
mysterious company, his hands were securely tied to the knees of the
 MAGIC IN THE 19th CENTURY 185
Davenports, whose hands were fastened behind their backs by cords
passed through holes in the bench. Their feet were also tied together
with a sailor’s knot. A tambourine was then laid on the gentleman’s
lap, on which a guitar and violin were placed, as also the trumpet and
a couple of hand bells. Any interference with these articles by the
gentleman on whose lap they were deposited was rendered impossible
by reason of his hands being tied. He states the instant the door was
closed hands were passed over his face, his hair was gently pulled, and
the whole of the musical instruments were played upon. The bells
were also violently rung close to his face, and the tambourine beat
time on his head.
Eventually the musical instruments were flung behind him and
rested between his shoulders and the back of the cabinet. During
these manifestations one of the gas burners of the chandelier was
lighted and two wax candles were burning in different parts of the
room, several other manifestations having taken place in connection
with the cabinet.
Dr. Ferguson explained that it would be desirable that the
company should clasp hands and the lights should be altogether
extinguished.
A small writing-table had been previously placed in the centre of
the room, with a chair at either side. The musical instruments, bells,
etc., were placed on the table. The brothers Davenport were
manacled by the hands and feet and securely bound to the chairs by
ropes. A chain of communication (though not a circular one) was
formed, and the instant the lights were extinguished the musical
instruments appeared to be carried about the room. The current
of air which they occasioned in their rapid transit was felt upon the
faces of all present.
The bells were loudly rung, the trumpet made knocks on the
floor, and the tambourine appeared running round the room
jingling with all its might. At the same time, tiny sparks were
observed as if passing from south to west. Several persons ex­
claimed that they were touched by the instruments, which on one
occasion became so demonstrative that one gentleman received a
knock on the nasal organ which broke the skin and caused a few drops
of blood to flow.
The manifestations having been repeated two or three times with
nearly similar results, the Davenport brothers joined the chair of
communication, and Mr. Fay was bound to the chair.
His hands were tied tightly behind his back and his feet were
firmly secured, as in the cabinet. A gentleman present was then
asked to desire him to take off his coat the instant the light was
extinguished. This was done. A whizzing noise was heard.
186 MY MAGIC LIFE
“It’s off !” exclaimed Mr. Fay. The candle was lighted, and the
coat was found lying in the middle of the room.
Astonishing though this appeared to be, what followed was more
extraordinary still.
Dr. Ferguson requested a gentleman present to take off his coat
and place it on the table. This was done. The light was ex­
tinguished, a repetition of the whizzing noise was heard, and the
strange coat was found on Mr. Fay, whose hands and feet were still
securely bound, and his body tied almost immovable. A gentleman
present then enquired whether, if he were to place two finger rings
on the table, they could be transferred to the hand of Mr. Fay.
Dr. Ferguson said that he could not undertake that this feat would
be accomplished, but that an essay would be made. The rings were
deposited on the table, the candle extinguished, and Mr. Fay
immediately exclaimed, “They are on my fingers!” and surely
enough they were. The owner of the rings then expressed a wish
that they might be restored to his fingers. As soon as the room was
darkened the musical instruments commenced their mysterious
concert, and after an interval of about thirty seconds a gentleman
(not the owner) exclaimed the rings had been placed on his fingers.
This was found to be the case.
A lady next expressed a desire that a gold watch which she held
in her hand might be conveyed to some distant portion of the room.
Immediately afterwards the concert was resumed, the bells, tam­
bourine, and horn became excited, and the lady exclaimed that the
watch had gone. On the candle being lighted it was found at the feet
of Dr. Ferguson. One of the bells was also found in the lap of a
gentleman sitting near him.
Some doubt having been expressed as to whether it was possible
for the brothers Davenport to have moved chair and all in the
darkness, so as to elevate the musical instruments in the air and make
them play, another illustration was volunteered by Dr. Ferguson.
Mr. Fay took his place among the visitors, holding a hand of each, as
before.
A gentleman present then sat between the Messrs. Davenport and
placed his hand upon the head of each, while he rested either foot on
the feet of the Davenports, which were placed close together in a
parallel direction to each other. The Davenports then clasped the
arms of the gentleman, and in this position it would have been
absolutely impossible for one of the group to have moved without
disturbing the others.
This pose having been arranged to the satisfaction of all present,
the light was extinguished, and the guitar was again heard as if
moving in the air close to the faces of all present. Mr. Fay, as
 MAGIC IN THE 19TH CENTURY 187
before stated, was seated in a row, clasping hands with the persons
right and left of him, while Dr. Ferguson was similarly placed in
another portion of the room.
With the last-named illustration the seance terminated. It
had lasted rather more than two hours, during which time the
cabinet was minutely inspected, the coats examined to ascertain
whether they were fashioned so as to favour a trick, and every possible
precaution taken to bind the hands and feet of the persons whose
presence appeared to be essential to the development of the
manifestations.

The Davenports and Fay were exposed and imitated

many times over by Anderson, Redmond, Dexter, and the
Brothers Nemo ; and by Mr. Maskelyne in this country,
and by Tolmaque Robin and the Brothers Stacey in France.
Their exposure by Maskelyne was the direct cause of
Maskelyne entering the profession of which he was to be
the leading light for fifty years.
Mr. Maskelyne was born in Cheltenham in 1839. As a
boy, he showed a taste for mechanics. His ambition was
fired by being taken to the Exhibition of 1851, where he
saw Droze’s wonderful “Piping Bullfinch”. Later on he
was apprenticed to a working watchmaker in Cheltenham.
His suspicion was aroused in regard to spiritualism, or
rather bogus manifestations thereof, having had a piece of
apparatus brought to him to repair. This was a little
machine for making raps on a table. Thereafter he became
a sceptic and a detective watching for tricks at the different
seances he attended.
He found his knowledge of conjuring a great help to
him during his enquiries.
Another hobby of his was music; he belonged to the
church choir, and played the cornet in the band of the local
volunteers.
In his spare time he invented and made new tricks. He
had no idea then of becoming a professional conjurer, and
did not in fact make his first public appearance as an amateur
until February 9th, 1865.
When the Davenports visited Cheltenham in the spring
of that year Maskelyne was one of the audience, and, having
acquired a reputation as a conjurer amongst his fellow
188 MY MAGIC LIFE
townsmen, was selected as one of the committee to watch
for tricking during the Davenports’ seance. It must be
remembered that the Davenports always claimed that they
had nothing to do with the performance, they being ren­
dered helpless by their bonds. They always posed as
mediums through which the spirits were able to manifest.
This happened at one afternoon’s performance at the
Town Hall, Cheltenham. The windows were covered with
dark cloth to keep the light out. Maskelyne, relating what
happened, says :

I was seated on one side of the stage with a row of darkened

windows at my back. While the centre was opening and the instru­
ments flying out of the cabinet, a small piece of drapery fell from one
of the windows behind me. A ray of sunshine shot into the cabinet,
lighting up Ira Davenport, whose actions thereby became visible
to me.
There sat Ira with one hand behind him and the other in the
act of throwing instruments out. In a trice both hands were behind
him. He gave a smart wriggle of his shoulders, and lo ! when his
bonds were examined, he was found to be thoroughly secured, so
firmly bound, in fact, that the ropes were cutting into the flesh of his
wrists. But I had discovered the secret. Ira Davenport’s move­
ment had taught me the trick, and I knew that with a little practice
I could do it.
The spokesman, the Rev. Dr. Ferguson, tried to get me away, but
with no success.
“Ladies and gentleman,” I said, addressing the audience, “by a
slight accident I have been able to discover this trick.” (This
statement was challenged by the gentleman who engaged the per­
formers.) I at once replied that it was a feat of dexterity and could
not, therefore, be performed without practice, adding that to prove
my statements I would there and then make a promise to put the
trick into practice, and at the earliest possible moment I would
undertake to present a replica of the entire performance at the
same hall.

This came about two months later. Maskelyne, having

obtained the assistance of his friend, George A. Cooke, who
was a member of the same volunteer band, was able to
redeem his promise. This exposition attracted so much
attention, and they received so many applications to repeat
the performance, that the watchmaker’s business was given
 MAGIC IN THE 19TH CENTURY 189

up, and on Monday, June 19th, 1855, Maskelyne and Cooke

made their first public appearance as professionals at Jessop’s
Aviary Gardens, Cheltenham. Bills announced them as:

Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke, the only successful rivals of the

Davenport Brothers, will give a grand exposition of the entire public
stance in open daylight, showing the possibility of accomplishing,
without the aid of spiritualism, not only all the Davenports’ tricks,
but many others, original and more astounding, including escaping
from a box.

The Birmingham Gazette gave a full description of this,

in which it will be seen how fully the brothers’ tricks were
duplicated, and even excelled. I quote a small portion
of this, which describes Maskelyne’s own addition of the
box trick :

But the most astonishing part of the programme had yet to be

accomplished. Mr. Maskelyne announced that he would be locked
in a box, three feet long, by two feet wide, and eighteen inches in
depth—the box should be corded according to the fancy of anyone
present—and that he would escape.
An ordinary-looking deal box of the dimensions stated, with a few
holes drilled in it at either end, was placed in the cabinet, and in this
Mr. Maskelyne voluntarily immured himself.
The box was locked and the key given to a gentleman called from
the audience, who corded up the box—an operation which occupied
fully six minutes. This having been done to his satisfaction, bells
were placed upon the box, and the doors of the cabinet were closed.
The click of the bolt had scarcely died away ere the bells began to be
tremulous and gradually increased to a clatter, till at length they were
pitched through the aperture on to the platform, and in less than ten
minutes from the closing of the doors they were again thrown open
and Mr. Maskelyne was coolly seated in the box, and smilingly bowing
his acknowledgments of the applause with which he was greeted.
This is a trick which the Davenports never attempted, and (as
Barnum somewhere has it) must be seen to be believed !
Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke were then bound by Mr. E.
Lawrence and Mr. Dallon, the first-named being, we believe, one of
the gentlemen whose knot-tying somewhat perplexed the Brothers
Davenport during their visit here, an operation which occupied
nearly twenty minutes, but the exhibitors managed to free them­
selves from their bonds in about fifteen minutes. Mr. Lawrence then
190 MY MAGIC LIFE
explained to the audience that he had seen the Davenport Brothers
tied, and had, indeed, assisted in that operation, but he could venture
to assert that those worthies were not tied nearly so securely as their
rivals had been.
The performance throughout was loudly applauded, and gave the
greatest satisfaction.

This report, incidentally, proves without doubt that

Maskelyne’s famous box trick was presented in public
before Dr. Lynn or any other performer in any other
country.
The performers now began to give entertainments all
over the country. In 1867 they were at the Crystal Palace.
Mr. Maskelyne made an improvement on Tobin's “Protean
Cabinet”, which had been exhibited by Pepper. The
entertainment had been elaborated, and floating in mid-air
was introduced, also plate-spinning and decapitation, as
has been described elsewhere.
In 1873 a return visit was made to the Crystal Palace,
and the same year the show was brought by William Morton
to St. James’s Great Hall in Piccadilly, where the season
lasted for a month. Then, after visiting Croydon and
Islington, on May 26th, 1873, Maskelyne took possession
for three months’ tenancy of the small hall of the Egyptian
Hall, never thinking that he was to perform there for over
thirty years.
Lynn, who was performing in another part of the hall,
tried to stop the little sketches Maskelyne was doing round
his illusions by putting in motion the law forbidding
dramatic performances in buildings not specially licensed.
At this time there appeared a Lincolnshire farmer
named John Algernon Clarke, who for some time had been
working on an idea for a machine which would play cards
and yet be quite isolated. After consultation with Mr.
Maskelyne over the rough plans, and after nearly two years’
work, the result was presented to the public in 1875, and was
known as the “Psycho Automaton Whist Player”.
In the same year Maskelyne and his company had the
honour of performing at Sandringham before the Prince
and Princess of Wales, afterwards King Edward VII and
Queen Alexandra.
 MAGIC IN THE 19TH CENTURY 191

Slade, the medium, was causing a sensation in 1876,

particularly with the writing feat, and Maskelyne gained
much publicity by exposing his method in court.
In 1885 Charles Bertram joined forces with Maskelyne,
and greatly strengthened the performance. He gave a
great many private entertainments as well, and appeared
twenty-two times before King Edward. It was greatly
due to him that Society learned that conjuring could be
a great success at private parties to grown-ups as well as
children. Sidney Oldridge, Edward Longstaffe, Douglas
Beaufort, Sydney Pridmore, James Stuart, Byrd Page, and
many others took up this sort of work.
Joseph Bautier, or Bautier de Kolta, as he called himself
in the later part of his life, was born at Lyons, France,
about 1845, and became a performer about 1867, giving
shows in Switzerland and Italy. In 1873 he introduced
the famous “Flying Birdcage”. In 1875 he appeared in
London at the Egyptian Hall, but not with Maskelyne. In
1876 he was at the Opera Comique. In 1886 he presented
at the Eden Theatre, Paris, his famous “Vanishing Lady”
illusion, already described. The same year he joined
Maskelyne and Cooke. This great conjurer died in New
Orleans on October 7th, 1903. His wife being an English­
woman, his body was brought to this country and he was
buried at Hendon Cemetery.
Verbeck, of whom I have already spoken, appeared upon
the conjuring scene in 1884. He performed at the Prince’s
Hall in 1885, and moved to Piccadilly Hall in 1886. In 1889
Charles Morritt, the Yorkshire conjurer, joined Maskelyne
and Cooke’s and was with them for about three years. Morritt,
with his sister Lilian, made his first appearance at the
Prince’s Hall in 1886, and for many years they performed at
various places in London and the provinces. In 1912
they came under Maskelyne and Devant’s management
again at St. George’s Hall, and were also members of the
provincial company. In the autumn of 1915 Morritt joined
forces with Carl Hertz, and they gave a joint performance
for a short season at the Polytechnic in Regent Street.
This was not a success, and had a very brief life.
Douglas Beaufort was chosen by the Foreign Office to
192 MY MAGIC LIFE
visit the Sultan of Morocco and impress him with his tricks,
demonstrating that he could outdo the marabouts.
He made the incidents of this visit into a magical sketch
and appeared at the Egyptian Hall with it in 1892. In
March 1893 Maskelyne introduced to the public Alban and
Stella, clever French performers. In the same year James
Stuart made a short appearance. It was in 1893 that I
myself joined Maskelyne.
 CHAPTER XIX

MAGICIANS ABROAD

T h e r e is little evidence of any remote history of conjuring

in America before the incursion of European conjurers.
This is not to say that magic was unknown. The destruction
of manuscripts and records by religious fanatics may account
for this lack of evidence. Indeed, as Central America,
Mexico, and Peru were centres of as high a civilization as
that of China, no doubt the peoples of these ancient
nations were acquainted with that magic, white or black,
which we now call conjuring. This deduction is supported
by the records made by the Spanish fathers who went as
missionaries to the newly discovered countries in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
Medicine-men of the Red Indian tribes were supposed
to be able to make themselves invisible. The Eskimo and
red men in the North, and the Indian tribes further
south, had been in the habit of using small tricks of con­
juring in the course of their weird ceremonies. They
swallowed or breathed fire, thrust swords and arrows down
their throats, and apparently swallowed small articles and
retrieved them from various parts of their persons. Some
were ventriloquists, and some were expert in producing
manifestations while apparently secured with ropes or
thongs, which last accomplishments may have given the
Davenport brothers their idea for their cabinet
rope tricks.
As far back as 1723 they invited persons to shoot at them
with marked bullets, really using balls made of earth and
N
194 MY MAGIC LIFE
rubbed over with lead, which were broken in the barrel of
the gun by the use of a ramrod.
On the whole, it may be said that the history of conjuring
in America did not commence until 1822, when a magician
named Wilson performed in Philadelphia. In 1840 Monsieur
and Madame Robert from London and the European
capitals gave entertainments in and around Cincinnati.
Then there was Wyman, W. H. Young, Joseph Pentland,
Henry Horley, Jonathan Harrington; also the Italians,
Signor Antonio and Signor Vivalla, who appeared in the
Eastern States.
John Wyman purchased his apparatus from Anderson,
and became somewhat prominent with such effects as “The
Aerial Suspension”, “The Gun Trick”, “The Magic Caul­
dron”, and “The Sphinx”. He also did “The Egg Bag”,
ventriloquism, and an exhibition of marionettes. He retired
after conjuring for some forty years, and died in New Jersey
in 1881.
But the above were not very prominent conjurers, and
until about 1875 conjuring in the States was mainly in the
hands of European visitors, such as Blitz, Anderson,
Alexandra, Heller, and Hermann.
Canaries, the Greek conjurer, was probably an American.
He was only a moderate performer. The first really
prominent American-born conjurer was Harry Kellar.
Kellar was born at Erie, Pennsylvania, on July 11th, 1849.
He was engaged by Harris Hughes, the Fakir of Ava, to
assist with his show, and it was he who taught him the
business. He remained with the Fakir for three or four
years, and in 1868 joined the Davenport brothers and Fay,
with whom he travelled until 1873. By this time he had
learned all there was to know of the rope-tying and cabinet
business. He toured South America, and in 1875 visited
England to purchase conjuring apparatus, and at the end
of that year became associated with two jugglers who were
disguised as Chinese, under the names of Ling Look, a
sword-swallower and fire-eater, and Yamadiva, a contortionist
and escape performer. With these he made up a troupe,
which he entitled “The Royal Illusionists”. Later on,
being joined by David Hayman, who performed as Kunard,
 MAGICIANS ABROAD 195
Kellar took a tour through the Southern States, Australia,
Java, China, India, and South Africa. Ling Look and
Yamadiva died at Hong Kong in 1877. Hayman, left in
Australia, died about 1900.
Kellar travelled alone until 1878, when he again came to
London and acquired an imitation of “Psycho”. He
opened again at Havana, and subsequently performed in
other cities in the States, with but small success. In
1879 he was again in England. He now added to his collec­
tion of automata “Echo”, a cornet player; “Phono”, another
mechanical musician; and “Clio”, the drawing figure. These
were somewhat palpable imitations of similar automata of
Maskelyne’s, namely “Fanfare”, the euphonium player,
“Labial”, and the artist “Zoe”. In 1880 he was joined by
Haidee Heller and Warren Wright, showing Robert Heller’s
system of second sight. He had the honour of appearing
before Queen Victoria during this tour. But on the whole
he had scant success in England, and was soon on his travels
again, Egypt, South Africa, India, Australia, China, Japan,
and Java being visited.
In March 1884 he again visited England and acquired
some more apparatus and appeared in New York after an
absence of about six years. For some twenty years his chief
rival was Alexander Hermann, but after the latter’s death
in 1896 Kellar reigned supreme as the most prominent
conjurer in America. Year by year Kellar presented in
America the novelties of Bautier de Kolta, Maskelyne and
myself, Morritt, and other European performers. Like
Hermann, he improved on some of the effects he utilized.
He was a good showman, and had a gift of artistic presenta­
tion, but his claims to have invented most of the things he
exhibited were unfounded.
America is the birthplace of specialists. There are the
Kings of Cards, Kings of Coins, and so on, the chief among
them being Howard Thurston and Nelson Downs. Howard
Thurston was born in Columbia, Ohio, in 1869. He
became a conjurer at an early age. He saw the great
possibilities of the then new sleight, back-palming, and
built up an act consisting entirely of card tricks. This
sleight appears to have originated in America, and can be
196 MY MAGIC LIFE
used for all sorts of small objects. Nelson Downs, for
instance, made great play with the same sleight in his act,
which consisted mostly of coin tricks.
In 1900 Thurston performed in London, and on his
return to the United States he amplified his act with big
illusions. In 1906 he made a prolonged tour in India and
the Far East, and on going back to the States joined forces
with Kellar, who made him a partner. When the latter
retired in 1908, Thurston took his place and became, as he
is now, the leading conjurer in the States.
Nate Leipzig is one of the cleverest sleight-of-hand
performers living. He was born in Stockholm, and went to
the States very early in life. He began conjuring about
1903, and quickly became famous. One of his first per­
formances in England in 1905 was given at St. George’s Hall
at the Magic Circle Grand Seance, and he gained high
praise from his fellow-conjurers.
One of the most successful performers that the States
has sent us was Carl Hertz, who started conjuring in the
mining districts of California. He was born in San Fran­
cisco in 1859, of Russian parents. For forty years he practised
in England and on the Continent. He was the first in
England to present Bautier de Kolta’s vanishing lady, “The
Flying Birdcage”, and the production of flowers from a paper
bag. No sooner had Bautier produced them in Paris
than the copyists were at work annexing them and selling
them to other conjurers.
Hertz had the novel experience of presenting a trick in a
room of the House of Commons to a committee who were
enquiring into the alleged cruelties of training performing
animals.
Another very successful conjurer who came from the
States was the famous Chung Ling Soo, who brought to this
country a Chinese act on the lines of that done by the real
Chinese conjurer Ching Ling Foo. Robinson, incidentally,
was the real name of Chung Ling Soo.
He was born of Scotch parents in America on April 2nd,
1861. He started life as a metal worker, and when he took
up conjuring he became chief assistant to Alexandra
Hermann. On one occasion he made up and performed
 MAGICIANS ABROAD 197
as Hermann when the latter was unable to appear. He
had a genius for making-up, and he so acted his own part of
a Chinaman that I am sure he began to think he really was
one. Certainly his audiences thought so. He did the old gun
trick under the title of “The Living Target”. This proved
as fatal to him as it has done to several others. He was
accidentally shot through a defect in the gun at the Wood
Green Empire, London, March 23rd, 1918, and died the
next day.
The Great Lafayette, born Sigmund Neuberger, in
Munich, in 1872, was also an American importation. He
made a great success by his fantastic show. “A great show”
was the only description for it; it could hardly be called a
magical show. He also had a sad end. He was trapped in
a fire which occurred at the Empire Theatre, Edinburgh,
on May 8th, 1911. Lafayette had escaped, but gallantly
went back to rescue an animal.
Horace Goldin was the fastest magician ever seen, and
boasted doing 45 tricks in 17 minutes, enough, in my
opinion, to give an audience chronic indigestion for magic.
He became known as a conjurer in America in 1895. He
visited the Palace Theatre, London, in July 1901, and has
since been to all parts of the world.
Arnold de Biere and Leon are other conjurers of the
same style from over the water.
Karl Germain, another visitor from the States, appeared
at St. George’s Hall with great success in 1907. He retired,
however, from the art of conjuring, and has taken up the
practice of the law in his native Cleveland.
Who has not heard of Harry Houdini, the Handcuff King
and escape artist—probably one of the greatest showmen
who ever lived in the world of conjurers ? His name became
a household word in most countries before he died at
Detroit in 1926 at the age of 52. He used to go to police
stations and prisons and escape from any cell or bond they
could devise. One of his most sensational feats was to
escape from a strait-jacket while suspended from a
crane at the top of a high building.
Frank van Hoven was an amusing importation from
America. He called himself “The Mad Conjurer”, and
198 MY MAGIC LIFE
everything he attempted went wrong. This was done
purposely, of course, and his mistakes caused roars of
laughter. It is said that he got the idea from his first
performance, which was so bad that it made good.
Morris F. Raymond, Alfred Benzon, Lawrence
Crane, and Claud Golden, were the other good performers
who came from America.
Among other conjurers who stayed in America and
performed there for many years were Harry and Mildred,
Rouclere, Elma P. Ransom, Roltare (who chiefly made side­
show illusions), Frank du Crot-Sargent (“the Merry
Wizard”), W. J. Hilliar (who was born in London), the
“Great Alexandra”, Hal Merton, and Frederick Eugene
Powell. Powell was the best known of these, and the first
to catch goldfish in the air with a rod and line, an illusion
said to have been invented by Mingus, one of the old-time
conjurers. It was first performed by Powell in New York
in October 1890, and brought over to England by Chung
Ling Soo.
A mysterious French magician of this time was L'Homme
Masque, or Le Marquis d’O. His real name was De Gago,
and he always wore a black mask at his performances. He
made a feature of the distribution of small gifts—cigars,
bouquets and sweets. He aroused curiosity wherever he
appeared by reason of the mask which he constantly wore.
Germany has not given us many good conjurers.
Auzinger, who first utilized the magical effects known as
“black art”, never visited this country.
We had Jacoby here in 1885 doing rope-tying and
two hours of ordinary entertainment of no very striking
characteristics. The best-known men in Germany seemed
to be F. W. Conradi of Berlin, and Carl Willman of
Hamburg. They are both dealers as well as performers.
The Svengalis were a German couple who did a thought-
reading act. In England and America M. B. Korarah was
also well known as a second-sight performer.
Austrian conjurers were represented by Chevalier
Ernst Thorn, a brilliant performer, born in 1856. He
travelled for forty years with his “Hour in Dreamland”.
Rolands was another Austrian conjurer ; he had nothing
 MAGICIANS ABROAD 199
original to show, for his performance was based upon those of
Lafayette and Goldin.
Italy has hardly kept pace with other countries in the
art of conjuring. The best performers sent here were
Capretta and Chefalo, who present a smart entertainment
assisted by a troupe of midgets.
Denmark has sent us Clement de Lion, who is recognized
as a leading manipulator of billiard balls.
Servais Le Roy came from Belgium in 1880, and has
proved to be one of the best conjurers of modern times.
He has also done some excellent illusions, usually presenting
a combination known as “Le Roy, Talma, and Bosco”.
Talma is his wife, who does a separate act with coins, while
Bosco, a clown, does a lot of comic business.
Ever since I can remember, we in Europe have heard
wonderful tales of Oriental magic, and to many the constant
repetition of these often fantastic tales has given them a
resemblance of authenticity.
The very first record of this magic comes from Marco
Polo, who travelled in Kashmir and Thibet and China
between 1270 and 1290. The following was dictated by
him on his return to Venice :

These people are necromancers, and by their infernal art perform

the most extraordinary and delusive enchantments that were ever
seen or heard of. They cause tempests to arise accompanied with
flashes of lightning and thunderbolts, and produce many other
marvellous effects.

Of the Socotraus he tells us they could change the direction

of the wind, cause the sea to become calm, raise tempests,
and occasion shipwrecks. Of the magic of Kashmir, which he
says had been derived from India, all he records is : “The
wizards could obscure the light of day.”
He tells a similar story of a Chinese magician, to whom he
also ascribes the power of preventing rain.
These sort of marvels have long been the “stock-in-trade”
of wizards and witches all the world over, probably the
result of weather forecasts and some knowledge of astrology.
Tales of similar marvels are very common. David
200 MY MAGIC LIFE
Wunderer, who travelled in Northern Europe in 1590, said
he encountered some Lapps who were much given to sorcery
and would sell a piece of knotted rope to a sailor wishing for a
favourable wind: untying one knot brought a breeze;
undoing two knots or three knots made the wind stronger ;
but to loose the fourth knot would raise a tempest and
bring destruction to ship and crew.
Three hundred years before, similar powers were credited
to the wise woman of the Isle of Man by Ranulph Higden,
a monk of Chester. In his account of that island he says:

Wommen there sellith schip men winde, as it were i-closed under

thre knottes of threde, so that the more winde he wol have he will
unknotte the mo knottes.

Marco Polo describes in the following words the marvels

he saw at the Court of the Khan of Tartary :

When the Grand Khan sits at meals in his hall of state, the table,
which is placed in the centre, is elevated to the height of about eight
cubits, and at a distance from it stands a large buffet where all the
drinking-vessels are arranged. Now, by means of their supernatural
art, they [i.e. the Bacsi or enchanters], cause the flagons of wine, milk
or any other beverage to fill the cups spontaneously without being
touched by the attendants, the cups to move through the air until
they reach the hand of the Grand Khan. As he empties them, they
return to the place from whence they came.

Marco Polo admits this marvel can be done by the sages

of our own country who understand necromancy.
We are indebted to the Arab Sheikh, Abdullah Mahmed,
known as Ibi Batuta (“the Traveller”) for the first account
of Indian and Chinese marvels. The following description
was written in an Arabic manuscript completed in 1355.
Early in the nineteenth century it was translated and
printed—it is the very earliest account we possess of the
“levitation” and “rope tricks”.

The following he witnessed at the palace of the Emperor

at Delhi:
 MAGICIANS ABROAD 201
The Emperor, pointing to me, said, “This is a stranger, show him
what he has never yet seen.”
One of them assumed the form of a cube and arose from the earth,
and in this cubic shape he occupied a place in the air over our heads.
I was so much astonished and terrified at this that I fainted and fell
to the earth. The Emperor then ordered me some medicine which
he had with him, and, upon taking this, I recovered and sat up. This
cubic figure still remained in the air, just as it had been. His
companion then took a sandal belonging to one of those who had come
out with him, and struck it upon the ground as if he had been angry.
The sandal then ascended until it became opposite in situation with
the cube. He then struck it upon the neck and the cube descended to
the earth and at last rested on the place which it had left.
The Emperor then told me that the man who took the form of a
cube was a disciple to the owner of the sandal. “And,” continued he,
“had I not entertained fears for the safety of thy intellect, I should
have ordered them to have shown thee greater things than these.”
With this, however, I took a palpitation of the heart, and the Emperor
ordered me medicine, which relieved me.

Which was perhaps just as well !

In 1700 Francis Valentin, a Dutch traveller, gives an
account of a similar levitation, or rather this was most
likely the actual occurrence that Batuta saw. The account
runs as follows:

A man will go and sit on three sticks put together so as to form a

tripod ; after which, first one stick, then a second, and then a third,
shall be removed from under him, and the man shall not fall but shall
still remain sitting in the air. Yet I have spoken with two friends who
had seen this at one and the same time, and one of them, I may add,
mistrusting his own eyes, had taken the trouble to feel about with a
long stick if there was anything on which the body rested, and yet, as
the gentleman told me, he could neither feel nor see any such thing.
Still, I could only say that I could not believe it, as a thing manifestly
contrary to reason.

It will be noted this is not described first-hand, and was

evidently a garbled account.
In the Saturday Magazine of 1832 there is the following
circumstantial account of a performance given at Tanjore by
a Brahmin named Sheshab :
 202 MY MAGIC LIFE
The performer had with him a stool eighteen inches high, a hollow
bamboo two feet long and two and a half inches in diameter, a roll of
antelope skin two feet long and four inches in circumference. He and
his apparatus were covered by a large shawl. Five minutes passed,
during which the performer was busily occupied, judging from the
agitation of the covering. He then ordered the shawl to be removed,
and when this was done he was seen to be sitting cross-legged in the
air, his right arm leaning on the roll of skin, which was connected with
the bamboo, which in turn rested over the inlaid brass stars with
which the stool was ornamented.

The narrator says that Sheshab remained half an hour

in this position, and that he saw him do the trick on four
occasions. He shrewdly guessed that iron rods passed
through the bamboo and cylinder and connected with
others under the performer’s clothing.
From another account we learn that when the performer
wished to come down he was again covered while he
disconnected the apparatus.
According to Houdini’s account, Alexandra Heim-
burgher, a German conjurer, was the first to produce this
levitation or suspension in Europe, and in support of this he
published a bill dated 1850, which hardly bears out the
German’s claim, since Robert Houdin was performing the
trick in Paris in 1847. I have also previously described the
trick as performed by Sylvester. This was the same
practically as presented by Houdin, Anderson, Hermann,
and Jacobs. Robert Houdin, though, undoubtedly gave the
trick the artistic setting, adapting it from the Indian version.
Sylvester’s so-called improvement was doubtful.
Another improvement was used by Dr. Lynn, which he
called a “double suspension”, i.e. suspending two persons
at once. This again was doubtful.
When John Nevil Maskelyne took it up the improvement
was marked. The levitated persons rose slowly in the air
without any support whatever. Furthermore, a solid steel
hoop was passed over the subject from head to foot.
There have been many descriptions of the mythical
“rope trick”' The first is by the same Batuta, and runs
as follows:
 MAGICIANS ABROAD 203
I was entertained by the Emir in his own house in a most splendid
manner. At the banquet were present the Khan’s jugglers, the
chief of whom was ordered to show some of his wonders. He then
took a wooden sphere, in which there were holes and in these long
straps, and threw it up into the air till it went out of sight, as I myself
witnessed, while the strap remained in his hand. He then com­
manded one of his disciples to take hold of and ascend by this strap,
which he did, until he also went out of sight.
His master then called him three times, and no answer came. He
then took a knife in his hand, apparently in anger, laid hold of the
strap and also went quite out of sight.
He then threw the hand of the boy upon the ground, then his
foot, then his other hand, then his other foot, then his body, then
his head.
He then came down panting for breath, and his clothes were
stained with blood. The juggler then took the limbs of the boy and
applied them one to another. He then stamped upon them, and it
stood up complete and erect.
I was astonished, and seized, in consequence, by a palpitation of
the heart, but they gave me some drink and I recovered.
The judge of the Mohammedans, sitting by my side, swore there
was neither ascent nor descent, nor cutting away of limbs, but the
whole was mere juggling.

Batuta was evidently a palpitating and thirsty soul, and

hardly a reliable witness.
In a manuscript purported to be written by the Emperor
Jahangier, who ruled at Delhi from 1605 to 1627, there is
another description of the trick as he was supposed to have
seen it:
They produced a chain fifty cubits in length and in my presence
threw one end of it towards the sky, where it remained as if fastened
to something in the air. A dog was then brought forward and,
being placed at the lower end of the chain, immediately ran up and,
reaching the other end, disappeared in the air. In the same manner a
hog, a panther, a lion, and a tiger were successfully sent up the chain,
and all disappeared at the other end.
At last they took down the chain and put it into a bag, no one
ever discerning in what way the animals were made to vanish into the
air in the mysterious manner described.

After reading this description one can but envy this

Emperor’s powers of imagination.
 CHAPTER XX

THE MAGIC OF THE EAST

A nother Oriental trick of which much was heard consisted

of a rope which, when thrown in the air, stiffens itself and in
that state is balanced by the performer on his head, shoulders,
etc. This is achieved by the use of jointed bamboo rods
of which the joints are made to lock, and the whole thing
is covered with rope. According to one witness of this, a
very small boy climbs up to the top, and the rope is so
placed that the sun blinds the onlookers, especially
Europeans, and while their attention is directed to the
top, the boy slides down the pole or rope and disappears in
the crowd.
This seems to me an unlikely explanation, but is the
nearest approach we ever could find to the solution, despite
our advertised offer of £5,000 a year to any juggler who
could perform the trick in London.
Another trick of this class is the “Mango Trick”, which
is presented by Indian jugglers, but which would not be
possible in Britain. It has been done here by the Indian
jugglers, and caused only a mild surprise—very different
from the stories and descriptions one hears of the trick.
According to travellers’ tales of this trick, Bengalee
conjurers, having been asked to produce a mulberry tree,
planted ten seeds, which in a few minutes produced trees
which grew and spread out branches and yielded excellent
fruit. In like manner, apple, fig, almond, walnut, and
mango trees were produced, and, to crown all, there
appeared among the foliage birds of such surprising beauty
and colour and shape and melody of song that the world
never saw before.
204
 THE MAGIC OF THE EAST 205
At the close of the operation the foliage, as in the
autumn, was seen to put on its varied tints, the trees
gradually disappearing into the earth from which they were
made to spring.
For the sake of comparison with this fantastic account,
here is a description given by Jacolliot, who, having seen the
trick performed several times, asked the Fakir Covindasamy
to perform it in the judge’s room, under what he fondly
imagined would be test conditions.
The judge ordered his servant to have a flower-pot filled
with earth taken from an ants’ hill and to bring some seeds
of different sorts.
In less than a quarter of an hour my servant had returned with
the articles required. I took them from his hands and dismissed him,
not wishing to leave him in communication with Covindasamy. To
the latter I handed the flower-pot, filled with a whitish earth which
must have been entirely saturated with that milky fluid which the
(caria) ants secrete and deposit upon every particle of earth, however
small, which they use for building purposes.
When the fakir deemed that it was in proper condition, he asked
me to give him the seed that I had selected, as well as about a foot and
a half of some white cloth. I chose at random a papaw seed from
among those which my servant had brought me. Before handing it
to him I asked him if he would allow me to mark it. Being answered
in the affirmative, I made a slight cut in its outer skin.
He then planted the seed in the earth, which was now in the
state of liquid mud, thrusting the seven-knotted stick—which, being
a sign of his initiation, he never laid aside—into one corner of the
vessel and using it as a prop to hold up the piece of muslin which I
had just given him.
After hiding from sight in this manner the object upon which he
was to operate, he sat down upon the floor, stretched both hands
horizontally above him, and gradually fell into a deep cataleptic sleep.
After two hours of this, during which Jacolliot took another seat,
alternately directing my attention to the course of the Ganges and to
the fakir, that I might not be exposed to too direct and steady an
influence from him, the fakir awoke. He made signs to me to
approach. Moving the muslin that hid the flower-pot, he then
pointed out to me a young stalk of papaw, fresh and green, nearly
eight inches high. Anticipating my thoughts, he thrust his fingers
into the ground, which meanwhile had parted with nearly all its
moisture, and, carefully taking up the young plant, he showed me on
206 MY MAGIC LIFE
one of the two cuticles, still adhering to the roots, the cut that I had
made two hours previously.

Jacolliot adds that at least fifteen days are required for

the ordinary germination of the papaw seed.
The Indian conjurers who have visited Western lands
have disclosed the secrets of this trick, and they invariably
carry it further than the above description, repeating the
process of covering up the plant until it grows in stages to a
full-grown size, bearing fruit.
The initiated know how simple the secrets of this trick
are, and how exaggerated the descriptions are that reach us
from travellers.
It must, however, be admitted that some of the effects
alleged to have been produced even in recent times by the
brahminic fakirs of India are quite beyond anything done
by the ordinary jugglers. They are difficult to explain by
any recognized principles of conjuring—provided, of course,
that we accept as strictly accurate the accounts given of the
performances by those who say they have witnessed them.
There is, for instance, a trick described at length by
Jacolliot in his book, under the title of “The Leaf Dance”,
in which fig leaves are impaled by the spectator upon the
bamboo rods stuck by him in a wood board and placed at a
distance of four yards. The leaves rose and fell on the rods
to spell out (presumably in French) the name and date and
place of death of a friend who had died in France twenty
years before.
One is forced to the conclusion that either Jacolliot
imagined the whole affair, or omitted some important
details in his description, or that there were spirits about,
although it is difficult to see how a spirit “familiar” of a
brahmin fakir could know anything of an unimportant
place in France.
Here is a description of tricks performed before his late
Majesty King Edward VII when, as Prince of Wales, he
visited India in 1875. Great efforts were made to show him
the best of the native tricks, and selected troupes of jugglers
twice performed before him, on November 11th at Bombay,
and at Madras, on December 17th.
 THE MAGIC OF THE EAST 207
At Bombay the juggler and the snake-charmer first
showed off all the orthodox tricks of the confraternity. They
made clever passes, swallowed and spat out fire, exhibited
an inexhaustible water-vessel, and walked on wooden
pattens held on by the feet making a vacuum with the sole.
Then a juggler suddenly produced two cobras from out of
one of the baskets, which had been turned over inside out.
In the meantime a mango seed which had been placed in
the earth was growing rapidly, and the old fellow, in the
interval of snake-charming, exposed a bright green tree,
some eight inches high, in the ground, where he had appar­
ently only put in a seed covered with a dirty cloth.
Then another of the famous legerdemain feats of the
Indian juggler was executed. A shallow basket about
eighteen inches high and three feet broad, with a cover, was
placed before the Prince. It was plain there was no deceit:
it was a basket and nothing more nor less. It was put on the
bare earth before the spectators’ eyes. A lad of twelve or so,
slight of figure and pleasant of face, with not an article of
dress on him save his loincloth and turban, then came out
from the group of natives near at hand. The juggler, chat­
tering the while, bound him up hand and foot with strong
twine. Then a sack of strong netting was slipped over the
lad, who was squeezed down on his haunches so that the
cords could be tied securely over his head. The fakir then
lifted him from the ground to show how securely the sack
was fastened. He put the boy into the basket with great
force as it seemed, and appeared to have some difficulty in
fitting the lid on the top. When that was done, the old
juggler began to talk to the basket. Presently the lid was
agitated, the cord and net were jerked out on to the ground.
The juggler ran at the basket, jumped on the top, stamped
on it in a fury, crashed the lid, took a stick and drove it
through the wickerwork. He lifted up the lid. The
basket was empty ! Then came a voice as of the lad who had
been inside it, and lo ! up in the branches of one of the
trees near by was just such a youth ! Certainly a very
clever trick, and done with the most simple adjuncts.
The performance at Madras was very similar. The
first juggler, Madhir Sahib, put down a small basket. He
208 MY MAGIC LIFE
chattered at it, and lo ! there was an egg on the carpet;
then he put the basket over the egg, chattered at it, turned
it over, and out walked a pretty pigeon. Next Madhir
placed another egg under the basket. After incantations,
out strutted the first pigeon and another exactly like it.
Madhir Sahib did other things, but none so striking,
though peas under a thimble have before now exercised the
finest intellects and baffled the greatest ingenuity.
Poolee, who came next, converted himself into a magazine
of horrors: took live scorpions out of his mouth, spat out
stones as large as plums and swallowed them. Then
reversed the process and produced from internal depths
large and small nails and string, until there was a pile of his
products before the Prince.
The basket trick was then performed by Ghoodoo. A
girl was forced into a shallow basket, and Ghoodoo proceeded
to inveigh against her as if he were counsel in a divorce case ;
finally he thrust a sword through the basket and pretended
to gloat over the blood on the blade ; but when the eyes of
the audience were turned on a child whom Ghoodoo seized
and’fpretended to behead, a sharp-eyed lady saw the girl
gliding like a shadow out of the basket. Both of these
descriptions are culled from the Prince of Wales’ Tour—a
Diary in India, by W. A. Russell, London, 1877, and can be
taken as authentic accounts of actual happenings.
Mr. Clarke gives it as his opinion that Egypt was
probably the real birthplace of magic art, and quotes Lane’s
description given in his book Manners and Customs of the
Modern Egyptians, published in 1836. The description is as
follows:

Performers of “sleight-of-hand tricks”, who are called Howah (in

the singular Hawee) are numerous in Cairo ; they generally perform
in public places, collecting a ring of spectators round them, from some
of whom they receive small voluntary contributions during and
after their performances. They are most frequently seen on the
occasions of public festivals, and often also at other times by indecent
jests and actions they attract as much applause as they do by other
means.
The Hawee performs a great variety of tricks and generally has two
boys to assist him. From a large leather bag he takes out four or
 THE MAGIC OF THE EAST 209
five snakes of a largish size. One of these he places on the ground,
and makes it erect its head and part of its body ; another he puts
round the head of one of the boys like a turban, and two more over
the boy’s neck. He takes them off, opens the boy’s mouth, and
apparently passes the bolt of a kind of padlock through his cheek
and locks it, and then, in appearance, forces an iron spike into the
boy’s throat—the spike being really pushed into a wooden handle.
He also performs another trick of the same kind by placing
the boy on the ground, putting the edge of a knife upon his nose and
knocking the blade until half of its width seems to have entered.
The tricks which the Hawee performs alone are, however, more
amusing. He draws great quantities of various coloured silks from
his mouth, and winds it on his arm ; puts cotton in his mouth and
blows out fire ; takes out of his mouth a great number of round
pieces of tin-like dollars; and, in appearance, an earthen pipe-bowl
from his nose.
Most of their “sleight of hand” performances are nearly similar
to those exhibited of the same class in our own and other countries.
Taking a silver finger-ring from one of the bystanders, he will put
it into a little box, blow his shell and say ‘Efreet !’ (change it). He
then opens the box and shows in it a different ring; shuts the box again
opens it and shows the first ring ; shuts it a third time ; opens it and
shows a melted lump of silver, which he declares to be the ring melted,
and offers it to the owner. The latter insists on having his ring in
its original state. The Hawee then asks for five or ten faddahs
(equivalent to a farthing or halfpenny) to recast it, and, having ob­
tained this, opens the box again and takes out the perfect ring.
He next takes a larger covered box, puts the skull-cap of one
of his boys in it, blows his shell, opens the box, and out comes a
rabbit—the cap seems to have gone. He puts the rabbit in again,
covers the box, removes it, and out run two little chickens. These
he puts in again, blows his shell, uncovers the box, and shows it full of
“fateerehs” (pancakes) and “kunajeh” (which resembles vermicelli).
He tells his boys to eat its contents. They refuse to do it without
honey, so he then takes a small jug, turns it upside down to show it is
empty and blows his shell, then hands the jug full of honey. The
boys, having eaten, ask for water to wash their hands. The Hawee
takes the same jug and hands it filled with water in the same manner.
He takes the box again and asks for the cup, blows his shell,
uncovers the box, and pours out from it into the boy’s lap (the lower
part of his shirt held up) four or five small snakes. The boy, in
apparent fright, throws them down and demands his cap. The Hawee
puts the snakes back into the box, blows his shell, uncovers the box,
and takes out the cap.
o
210 MY MAGIC LIFE
Another of his common tricks is to put a number of slips of white
paper into a tinned copper vessel, a “tisht” (or jar) of a seller of sherbet,
and take them out dyed various colours. He pours water into the
same vessel, puts in a piece of linen, then gives to the spectators to
drink some of the contents of the vessel changed to sherbet of sugar.
Sometimes he apparently cuts in two a muslin shawl, or burns it in
the middle, and then restores it whole. Often he strips himself of
all his clothes, except his drawers, and tells two persons to bind
him hand and feet and put him in a sack. This done, he asks for a
piastre (about 2 1/2d.), and someone tells him he shall have it if he puts
out his hand and takes it. He puts out his hand free, draws it back,
is then taken out of the sack, bound, as at first he is put in ; again
comes out unbound, handing to the spectators a small tray on which
are four or five little plates filled with various eatables. If the
performance be at night, several small lighted candles are placed
around, and the spectators eat the food.
There is another class of juggler in Cairo, called Keeyem (or in
the singular Keiyim). In most of his performances the Keiyim
has an assistant. In one, for instance, the latter places upon the ground
twenty-nine small pieces of stone. He sits upon the ground and these
are arranged before him, the Keiyim having gone a few yards distance
from him. This assistant desires one of the spectators to place a
piece of money under one of the bits of stone. This being done, he
calls back the Keiyim and informs him a piece of money has been
hidden and asks him to point out where it is; which the conjurer
immediately does. The secret of this trick is very simple.
The twenty-nine pieces of stone represent the letters of the Arabic
alphabet, and the person who desires the Keiyim to show where the
money is concealed commences his address to the latter with the letter
represented by the stone which covers the coin. In the same manner,
or by means of signs made by the assistant, the Keiyim is enabled to
tell the name of any person present, or the words of a song that has
been repeated in his absence, the name of the song having been
whispered to his assistant.

Linga-Singh, an Indian conjurer who has been per­

forming in England for some years, presents illusions and
tricks mostly of Western origin. He gives a far better
performance, to my mind, than any other Indian conjurer
I have seen.
Narck Shah also gives a splendid performance under the
name of Yoga. He has a novel version of the basket trick,
using a huge brass bowl instead of the usual bucket.
 CHAPTER XXI

MAGIC TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

T h e foregoing peeps into the past history, which I have had

the privilege of culling from Mr. Sidney Clarke’s investi­
gations of the subject, seem to me to prove one thing very
clearly : that magicians are not a very inventive race. It
appears that they have used almost the same material since
the beginning, and that conjurer after conjurer has rung the
changes upon the basic tricks of his predecessors.
What, then, of the present position of conjuring ? It
seems to me to lack one thing that the forerunners had in
abundance : the “atmosphere” of mystery, without which no
conjuring is really convincing.
The old-time conjurers were all personalities—either
personalities built up with sheer artistry, or personalities due
to the character of the individual. Nowadays we have a
great many more conjurers and few outstanding leaders.
One advantage undoubtedly conjuring has gained is that it is
now recognized as an intellectual amusement or recreation,
and has made immense strides in social recognition.
This, no doubt, is due in great measure to the literature
on the subject, which has increased enormously of late years.
There are cheap textbooks which broadcast magical
methods and secrets; there are regular monthly magazines,
such as the Sphinx, the Magician, and quarterly magazines,
such as the Magic Wand, which perform a similar service.
Also in most countries there are societies of conjurers, such
as the Magic Circle and the Magicians’ Club in England,
the Society of American Magicians, with headquarters in
New York and affiliated societies in many of the other
211
212 MY MAGIC LIFE
States; and the Magic Circle also has numerous prominent
societies affiliated with it.
The members of these societies all have some interest in
conjuring—they help to elevate the art—but I am afraid
they disseminate its secrets too quickly. They are so
constantly showing them to each other and talking about
them that the secret is apt to become valueless in too short
a time.
The cumulative effect of this is to rob a trick or
illusion of its mystery. Perhaps the modern performer is
under the false impression that there is no time to create
an “atmosphere” of mystery nowadays. At all events
some of them present their tricks in such rapid succession
as to simply bewilder the spectator ; while others do very
few tricks, being content to fill up with a lot of “patter”.
In either case this is disappointing to the public. In the
first place the spectator is disappointed because he cannot
assimilate what is put before him, and therefore gets no
magic, only a bewildered sense of having seen a lot of
puzzles so quickly presented that he could not describe one
of them. In the second instance he feels cheated because
he expected to see “magic”, and is obliged to witness a long
performance by a comedian.
Again, it may be that the scientific achievements of the
age have become superior to magic. I refer to such modern
miracles as the wireless, X-rays, aviation, and the cinema.
In my opinion, however, magic will hold its own with any
scientific marvel if properly presented with the necessary
atmosphere of mystery.
Even the greatest scientists have been puzzled by magic
properly presented, because it is an entirely new field to
them, and cannot be approached from the angle to which
they are accustomed.
Only the other day I noticed an article in an evening
paper describing a gathering of magicians, in which the
critic described the performers as “leg-pullers” and de­
plored that the air of “mystery” was lacking. There seems
to me to be too much of this sort of performance. Per­
formances that only give that impression to the public are
regrettable.
 MAGIC TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 213
There appears, too, to be a tendency nowadays to
commercialize tricks. Anyone can walk into a big store and
see tricks and their secrets freely displayed by an assistant
who may be demonstrating to a customer. He takes no
care to conceal the secret from other onlookers, who are
simply, perhaps, passing through the department without
any intention of buying tricks, or any thought of
them.
This inevitably tends to give the public the impression
that conjuring tricks are like puzzles which can be bought
at tea-time and presented with great success after dinner.
They take them home, and, of course, make a hopeless mess
of them. As a matter of fact, there is nothing in the
entertainment line that requires more careful rehearsal than
a conjuring trick. Even the most self-contained mechanical
tricks require well-planned presentation.
First it has to be rehearsed in detail to know how to
handle the apparatus to the best advantage. Having done
that, one has to sit down and write the words of the play as
it were ; even if it is to be performed in silence there is a
certain amount of acting to be arranged for. Unless
certain “business” is arranged a trick will always fall
flat.
Having arranged or written the “business”, or patter, the
conjurer has to learn his part as an actor. The action must
suit the words in every detail, and the whole thing has to be
carefully rehearsed. Only by this means, in my opinion,
can you give the perfect performance which appears both
spontaneous and easy.
We can see by reading the past history of conjuring how
rare a new trick is. In the old days when such a trick was
discovered the secret was jealously guarded by a few ; now
it is seized upon by some dealer and advertised like some­
body’s pills, bought by amateur conjurers all the world over,
and performed here, there, and everywhere in an incomplete
way without any attempt at proper dramatic setting. Even
if a professional conjurer does produce it and give it its due
value, it is so hackneyed by the untrained performers that it
too becomes stale and voted “old”.
The amateur is too apt to think when he buys a trick that
214 MY MAGIC LIFE
he can pull the string and the figure will work. This does
not happen in the case of a book which instructs him how to
do a trick. He has to practise more or less to understand the
method, which is good discipline and saves him from being
a mere exhibitor of tricks which appear to the audience like
puzzles and make no lasting impression upon their minds.
Perhaps the most beautiful thing in the universe is
harmony, or unity. A perfect work of art is one harmonious
whole. This perfect result cannot be obtained in any
haphazard method; it must all be arranged. Once complete,
it cannot be broken in any part without destroying the whole
structure ; one part must support another and must dove­
tail in so perfectly that it is impossible to tell them apart.
The plan must be perfectly conceived and carried out.
It is a popular mistake to think that the mere manipula­
tion is conjuring; conjuring is a little play in itself, and
the actor playing the part of the conjurer must be suited
to the part exactly. It must not be presented too quickly,
which is bewildering ; or too slowly, which is boring. The
performer must choose the middle course, and then both he
and his audience will be in harmony.
I should like it to be clearly understood, however, that
I welcome the amateur. Amateurs are a great blessing to
any art, but the very nature of magic makes it an art to be
practised in secret, not broadcast and discussed with all one’s
friends. The air of “mystery” must be maintained or
surely magic will die.
I would plead with magical societies to pay more
attention to producing the entertainments they allow their
members to give, and especially to veto repetition of one
trick by different performers on the same programme.
For much the same reason I do not think that conjuring
can be reproduced by “Talkies” with any satisfactory effect.
The public know too well that almost any effect can be
produced by camera tricks.
Nor can conjuring, as an entertainment, be reproduced
on the wireless with satisfactory results, unless television is
called into play later on. Even then I doubt whether it
will carry a sense of reality with it. Certainly conjuring
cannot be produced by the gramophone. These means
 MAGIC TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 215
will give satisfactory reproductions of almost any other forms
of entertainment, but conjuring can only be produced
properly by living performers—and long may the performers
live !
Looking forward, I have no fear for the future of con­
juring, but, alas, I am a magician and not a prophet.
 CHAPTER XXII

a magician ’ s curtain

To return, in conclusion, to the incidents of my own

lifetime devoted to the beloved art of magic, there are many
happy memories which shine as beacon lights in a pleasant
past.
I have had, I suppose, my share of compliments—enough,
at least, for my liking and deserts—but the praise I prized
most perhaps was the recognition of my fellow-conjurers on
February 22nd, 1913, when they presented me with an
illuminated address with the following words :

St. George’s Hall,

London.
Those whose names are written below ask you to accept from us
this tribute to your work as a magician. Your career has been
honourable, alike to yourself and to the cause of magic. It is worthy
of the praise of the magicians of the world, and, as representing them,
we give it that praise. Throughout it you have aimed high;
throughout it you have striven consistently for artistic perfection ;
throughout it you have attained that perfection ; throughout it you
have been an influence for good in the matter of the public taste as
regards amusements; throughout it, in a phrase, you have been a
magician without fear and without reproach. The art of magic is
the richer and the fuller for your work. The effects of that work are
apparent, too, and are fully appreciated by all of us. We realize that
much of the present great popularity of magic, much of the public
esteem now enjoyed by magicians, is due to you. You were one of
the company of artists who appeared at the recent Music Hall
Royal Command Performance at the Palace Theatre, London. Your
inclusion in that small but distinguished company was a compliment
to yourself. It was also a compliment to your fellow magicians.
216
 A MAGICIAN’S CURTAIN 217
Their work was recognized as well as yours. They shared with you
the applause of the King and Queen at the conclusion of your turn.
Among the subscribers to this address are British magicians,
American magicians, French magicians, German magicians, and
magicians of other nationalities; so far as our art is concerned, however,
we can on occasion be one people without regard to geographical
boundaries. This is such an occasion.
We join together to-day to express our appreciation of your work
and our admiration of your achievements.
As representing the magicians of the world, we congratulate you
on your past triumphs, we prophesy for you triumphs as great in the
years to come, and we assure you a permanent place in the hierarchy
of Magic.

This was signed by most of the principal conjurers all

over the world. The presentation included a handsome
service of silver plate, and was given at St. George’s Hall
during a reception at which four hundred friends attended—
a never-to-be-forgotten night.
I have had, too, my experience of the reverse side of the
picture of life. Troubles seemed to commence for me, as
for so many others, with the Great War. I began to show
signs of a nervous breakdown, and I decided, on the advice of
doctors, to give up the anxiety of the St. George’s Flail. I
reached an amicable settlement at which the other partners
bought out my share, and the Maskelynes once more became
the sole owners of the property. My dear old Chief passed
away in 1918, and his grandsons are still carrying on the
business. Long may it flourish!
In spite of the war, I was still carrying on a triumphant
tour through the provinces, though my career as an actual
performer was nearing its end. A nervous disease called
paralysis agitans overcame me at last, and has incapacitated
me from giving any performances since 1920.
To-day I am still giving lessons and producing effects,
my love of magic as real and as unquenchable as it was fifty
years ago, when, as a boy, I first bought my shilling trick. I
fear I shall never tread the stage again, but if I have upheld
the great traditions of our beloved art, then, at least, I
am content.
APPENDICES
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