APPENDIX.
CONTAINING
EXPLANATIONS OF SOME OF THE BEST KNOWN SPECIALTIES OF MESSRS. MASKELYNE AND COOKE.
BYARPREY VERE.
Thewonder excited by the marvellous automatons of Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke has caused many inquiries into the art of mechanical conjuring. Although the productions of those gentleman at the Egyptian Hall have been thought by the general public to be unprecedented, we shall see that their marvels have been produced in ages long gone by, and that the art of conjuring, or producing apparently unaccountable and magical results by means of mechanism, was an art brought to great perfection hundreds of years ago, and long before “Psycho” astonished the metropolis.
My readers will perceive that the automatic figures of these caterers of wonders are neither original nor novel. I hope that, as the art of magic is so very popular, a brief exposition of the subject will be found interesting to many readers.
It is my intention in this and the following chapters to give a brief summary of the history of mechanical magic in ancient and modern times, and then to furnish a full explanation of how the apparently marvellous results of sleight of hand, second sight, and the mysterious movements of automata of the present day, are attained; and my readers will no doubt reap a harvest of information on the subject, and will be able not only to perform many of the numerous tricks at which they have before been astonished, but will also be in a position to explain to the uninitiated “How it is done.”
Passing over the ancient oracles which have been shown so frequently as being worked by the simple law of mechanics, I would merelymention that Plato and Aristotle both speak of certain statues made by Dædalus which could not only walk, but which it was necessary to bind in order to prevent them from moving. The latter speaks of a wonderful Venus of this kind, and all we are told of the motive power is that Dædalus made it move by means of quicksilver. Aulus Gellius mentions a wooden pigeon which possessed the power of flying, but the only fault of this piece of mechanism was that when the pigeon once settled, it could not renew its aërial flight. Cassiodorus, who lived in the sixth century, gives a concise and graphic description of certain machines invented by Bœthius. He says “the birds of Diomedes (a mechanician of that date) trumpet in brass, the brazen serpent hisses, counterfeit swallows chatter, and such as have no proper note send forth from brass harmonious music.” Accounts of the heads said to have been constructed by Roger Bacon and Albertus Magnus, are so mixed up with fables that we cannot rely upon their veracity; and yet our experience has shown us that they could have been produced. They are said not only to have moved, but spoken, and their heads were used as oracles. Perhaps it will be remembered that some years ago a similar head, with the same power of imitating the human voice, was exhibited at the Egyptian Hall, London.
John Muller, known as Regiomontanus, was one of the cleverest mechanicians of the fifteenth century—that is, if we can rely on the testimony of Peter Ramus, who did not flourish until a hundred years afterward. We must take Peter’s accountcum grano salis. Regiomontanus is stated to have constructed an eagle which, upon the approach of the Emperor Maximilian to Nuremberg, in June, 1470, perched upon the town gate, stretched forth its wings, and saluted him by an inclination of the body. He is also said to have manufactured an iron fly. At dinner one day, when surrounded by his friends, he produced it for their amusement, and caused the insect to fly from his hand, take a circle round the room, and return again to its maker. Charles V. after his abdication entered with zest into the study of mechanism. He engaged the services of Torriano, said to be a very eminent artist, who accompanied him to the Monastery of Juste. Here they worked together. Strada tells us that his Majesty frequently introduced puppets upon the table, some of which beatdrums, some blew trumpets, others charged each other with couched spears, and with a ferocity almost human. He made wooden sparrows, which, by their flight, terrified and scared the superstitious monks, who thought him a magician and an accomplice of his infernal majesty. He is said to have made a mill which moved of itself, and which was so small that a monk could put it up his sleeve, and yet we are told that it was powerful enough to grind in a single day grain sufficient for the consumption of eight men!
Hans Bullman, a padlock-maker of Nuremberg, who lived in the middle of the sixteenth century, made figures of men and women which promenaded backward and forward, beat drums, and played upon the lute. The motive power in this case was known to be clockwork.
In the volume of “Mémoires de l’Académie des Sciences,” of 1729, we find an account of a most extraordinary piece of mechanism invented by one Père Truchet, made solely for the amusement of Louis XIV. when a child. It consisted of a number of moving pictures, representing an opera in five acts, which the little figures enacted—of course, in pantomime.
Camus constructed with the same object a small carriage, drawn by two horses, which contained a little lady, with her coachman driving, and a footman and page holding on behind. When placed upon the floor of the table, the horses galloped along, and the coachman smacked his whip in quite a professional manner. When the carriage stopped, the page got down, opened the door, the lady stepped out, and with a curtsey bowed and presented a petition to the young king. She again bowed, entered the carriage, the page mounted, the coachman flogged his horses, the carriage glided on, while the footman ran behind, and at last jumped upon the box.
In 1738, there were exhibited in Paris, by M. Vaucanson, three automata, which have been reproduced in modern times: one represented a flute player in a sitting posture, which performed twelve distinct tunes; the second was a standing figure, which discoursed harmony on a shepherd’s flute, held in his left hand, while with his right he beat on a tabor; the third was a life-size duck, which flapped its wings, quacked, drank water, ate corn, and even performed other functions of nature that made it more closely resemble its natural prototype.Some idea may be formed of themodus operandiof the cornet player of Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke, by the information afforded by Vaucanson himself, which was published in 1738, and which purports to give a full explanation of the method of working the automaton flute player. The figure was five feet and a half high; it was seated upon a rock, which was supported by a pedestal four feet high, by three and a half broad. Within the pedestal were eight pair of bellows, which were set in motion by clockwork. The wind was forced into these tubes, which ascended through its trunk, and terminated in a single reservoir connected with the cavity of the mouth. Another piece of clockwork within the pedestal was applied to execute the necessary motions of the fingers, lips, and tongue. A revolving cylinder, with various pegs inserted in it, raised or depressed several levers, on the principle of a barrel organ and in this manner, it was said, music was produced very little inferior, if not equal, to the performance of a skilful flute player of flesh and blood.
One of the most ingenious inventors of mechanical figures was Mons. Maillardet, a Swiss. He exhibited in London a beautiful figure which performed eighteen tunes on the piano, while imitating at the same time all the motions of the human player. From a description given we learn that the bosom heaved, the eyes followed the motions of the fingers, and at the commencement and conclusion of an air the figure turned to the audience and made a graceful salute. Mons. Maillardet also constructed the figure of a boy kneeling that held in the right hand a pencil with which he executed some capital drawings and pieces of writing.
Another marvel produced by the Swiss was a magician, who answered any question put to him from twenty different medals. The medal was placed in a drawer, and, after much cogitation and reference to his books, he, with a solemn wave of his wand, touched the drawer, which opened and displayed the required answer.
The celebrated automaton Chess Player will be well remembered. The history of this wonderful piece of mechanism is as follows: M. Wolfgang de Kempelen, a Hungarian gentleman, devoted himself from an early age to the study of mechanics. In 1769 he paid a visit to Vienna on business of his office of Aulic Counsellor to the Royal Chamber of the domains of the Emperor of Germany in Hungary.He received an invitation from the Empress Maria Theresa to be present at certain magnetical experiments exhibited by a French gentleman of the name of Pelletier. While in conversation with the Empress during its exhibition, Mons. Kempelen asserted that he felt himself competent to construct a piece of mechanism far more surprising than those which they were witnessing. The Empress took him at his word, and bound him to keep or attempt to keep his promise. He kept it, and in six months he produced the famous Chess Player. When shown in Vienna, it caused the greatest excitement and admiration. It was the talk of society. The inventor, in spite of its success, persistently refused to exhibit it in public. He put it aside, and even took it to pieces, and for several years it was not used.
It was not until the visit of the Grand Duke Paul of Russia, and his consort, to the Court of Vienna, that the chess player was again brought to light, and exhibited by the wish of the Empress. The royal visitors were so delighted with its marvellous performance that they urged Kempelen to permit its public exhibition. He complied, and it was shown in various parts of Germany and France, and in 1785 it was brought to England. When Kempelen died, about 1803, the figure was sold by his son to Mons. Marlzel, and in 1819 that gentleman brought it again to the metropolis. That figure, exhibited some time ago in the Crystal Palace, was an improvement upon Kempelen’s Chess Player.
The following is a description of the original Chess Player: The room in which it was exhibited had an inner apartment, within which appeared the figure of a Turk of the natural size, sitting behind a chest 3½ ft. 2 in. breadth and 2½ ft. in height. To this was attached the wooden shelf on which the figure sat. The chest was movable on casters, and could be moved to any part of the room. On its top, in the centre of the chest, was an immovable chessboard, upon which the eyes of the figure were always fixed. Its right hand and arm were extended on the chest, while the left, slightly raised, held a long pipe. Two doors in front and two doors in the back of the chest were opened, and a drawer in the bottom of it, containing the chess-men and a cushion whereon to place the arm of the automaton, was pulled out. Two smaller doors were also openedin the body of the figure, and a lighted candle was held within the openings thus displayed. This was repeated at the conclusion of the game, if the spectators so wished. The chest appeared divided by a partition into two unequal chambers, that on the right being the narrowest, and occupying one third of the whole. It was full of small wheels, and cylinders and levers. That to the left contained wheels, barrels with springs, and two quadrants placed horizontally. The door and drawer having been closed, the exhibitor wound up the works with a key inserted in a small opening in the side of the chest, placed a cushion beneath the arm of the figure, and then challenged any one of the company present to play a game with it. It was observed that in playing the automaton always selected the white pieces, and had the first move. Owing to a curious mistake of the inventor, the figure moved the men with his left hand. The error, when found out, could not afterward be rectified. Its hands and fingers opened, and then grasped a piece, which it conveyed to the proper square. In taking a piece, the same motion was made by the arm and hand as before; it, however, conveyed the piece off the board, and then placed its own piece upon the vacant square. While and after his opponent made a move, the figure paused for a few moments as though contemplating its own. It intimated with a nod of the head when it gave check to the king. During the time the arm was in motion, a low sound of clockwork running down was distinctly heard. The works were wound up at intervals by the exhibitor, who otherwise did nothing but walk up and down the room. As we find that the automaton both lost and won—in Kempelen’s time it very seldom lost—and that each game was different to the others, it necessarily follows that these phenomena are inconsistent with the sole effects of mechanism. Various conjectures have been offered as to the mode of communication between the figure and the intelligence which directed it. A plausible and probable explanation was given in 1821 in a pamphlet called, “An Attempt to Analyze the Automaton Chess Player.” In this brochure it is shown that in spite of the apparent display of the interior of the chest and the figure, there yet was ample space left unopened for the concealment of a person of ordinary size behind a false back to the narrowest division only. This is shown in the accompanying illustrations.
The basis for this elucidation of what was a profound mystery to the many was as follows:
The machinery was ostentatiously displayed when at rest; but carefully secluded from view while in motion. By this means the spectator could not form any judgment as to whether the machinery was in any way connected with the automaton. There never was any variation in the method of opening the several doors. When winding up the clockwork, the key always made a certain number of revolutions, whether the motions of the figure, owing to the exigencies of the game, were more varied or protracted than usual. It was noticed that sixty-three moves were at one time made without the machinery being wound up, while at another time the machinery was wound up with the intervention of a single move. Whether or not the action of the automaton was produced by the agency of a concealed person I do not care to pronounce, but the illustration given proves clearly, I think, that it might have been so produced. Mons. Kempelen is said to have invented a still more extraordinary exhibition of his great mechanical genius—namely, a speaking automaton. How this figure became possessed of a voice, I will show in another chapter.