A TWENTIETH CENTURY THAUMATURGIST.“I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art, and yet not damnable.”—SHAKESPEARE;As You Like It—V. 2, 68.I.The leading exponent of the magic art in the United States today is the famous Harry Kellar. He makes a specialty of pseudo-clairvoyance, second sight, feats of levitation, spirit cabinets, and mechanical illusions. Seizing upon the craze for Hindoo necromancy, mahatma miracles and the like, he presents many of his tricks and illusions as examples of Eastern thaumaturgy. Unlike Herrmann, who bubbled over with wit and humor and acted the comedian, Kellar assumes a Sphinx-like demeanor and envelopes himself in a mantle of mystery. Herrmann was the tricksy Mephistopheles of Goethe’sFaust. Kellar is the Arbaces of Bulwer’sLast Days of Pompeii—the Egyptian sorcerer and initiate into the rites of Isis and Osiris; or, better still, the Brahmin adept of Crawford’sMr. Isaacs. Kellar’s entertainments appeal to the scholarly inclined. To see him at work, one is transported in imagination to a Hindoo temple where mahatmas exhibit their miracles. His patter is more or less based on Oriental ideas. For example, “The Yoge’s Lamp,” which is a very fine trick, invented by a German conjurer, Herr Conradi, of Berlin. The effect is as follows: On a pedestal stands a lighted lamp. Enveloping this lamp with a foulard, the magician carries it across the stage and places it upon a small gueridon with a glass top. A portion of the chimney of the lamp is in view all the time, and within the silken folds of the foulard the light may be seen shining through with subdued effect. Kellar now fires a pistol. The foulard drops upon{238}the table, and the big lamp vanishes with lightning rapidity. It seems to melt away. It is a seemingly impossible feat, because the glass-topped table has no possible place of concealment about it. The foulard is afterwards passed to the spectators for examination. I am not at liberty to reveal the secret of this surprising trick. I must preserve a discreet silence, in deference to the wishes of Mr. Kellar. As originally invented by Herr Conradi, the lamp reappears in a frame hanging in the center of the stage. But Kellar’s method I consider more artistic, and in better keeping with themise en scène. Without patter this feat of magic would fall comparatively flat. In Kellar’s hands it is invested with a halo of supernaturalism which is very effective. The following is a brief résumé of the story of the lamp: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have here on this pedestal a copper lamp of antique pattern which was loaned to me by a celebrated Brahmin who presides over a shrine in the Holy City of Benares, India. I have his permission to use it in my thaumaturgic séances, but I must return it to him at a certain hour every evening, as it is needed in the ceremonial rites of the temple at Benares. That hour has now arrived. (A bell strikes the hour, slowly and solemnly. He wraps the foulard about the lamp, which he places on the table.) I shall count three—the mystic number of Brahmin theosophy—and fire this pistol. Instantaneously the atoms composing the lamp will be disintegrated by the force of my will and fly through the fourth dimension of space to India, where they will reassemble and materialize in their former shape, and the lamp will appear upon the altar of the temple as of old.”Of course no one credits this rhodomontade, but the conjurer’s purpose is accomplished. The trick is given a mystical setting and a certain kind of pseudo-scientific explanation. And all things are possible in nature, for have we not the x-rays, radio-activity, wireless telegraphy, and forces undreamed of a few years ago by the physicists?
“I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art, and yet not damnable.”—SHAKESPEARE;As You Like It—V. 2, 68.
“I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art, and yet not damnable.”—SHAKESPEARE;As You Like It—V. 2, 68.
The leading exponent of the magic art in the United States today is the famous Harry Kellar. He makes a specialty of pseudo-clairvoyance, second sight, feats of levitation, spirit cabinets, and mechanical illusions. Seizing upon the craze for Hindoo necromancy, mahatma miracles and the like, he presents many of his tricks and illusions as examples of Eastern thaumaturgy. Unlike Herrmann, who bubbled over with wit and humor and acted the comedian, Kellar assumes a Sphinx-like demeanor and envelopes himself in a mantle of mystery. Herrmann was the tricksy Mephistopheles of Goethe’sFaust. Kellar is the Arbaces of Bulwer’sLast Days of Pompeii—the Egyptian sorcerer and initiate into the rites of Isis and Osiris; or, better still, the Brahmin adept of Crawford’sMr. Isaacs. Kellar’s entertainments appeal to the scholarly inclined. To see him at work, one is transported in imagination to a Hindoo temple where mahatmas exhibit their miracles. His patter is more or less based on Oriental ideas. For example, “The Yoge’s Lamp,” which is a very fine trick, invented by a German conjurer, Herr Conradi, of Berlin. The effect is as follows: On a pedestal stands a lighted lamp. Enveloping this lamp with a foulard, the magician carries it across the stage and places it upon a small gueridon with a glass top. A portion of the chimney of the lamp is in view all the time, and within the silken folds of the foulard the light may be seen shining through with subdued effect. Kellar now fires a pistol. The foulard drops upon{238}the table, and the big lamp vanishes with lightning rapidity. It seems to melt away. It is a seemingly impossible feat, because the glass-topped table has no possible place of concealment about it. The foulard is afterwards passed to the spectators for examination. I am not at liberty to reveal the secret of this surprising trick. I must preserve a discreet silence, in deference to the wishes of Mr. Kellar. As originally invented by Herr Conradi, the lamp reappears in a frame hanging in the center of the stage. But Kellar’s method I consider more artistic, and in better keeping with themise en scène. Without patter this feat of magic would fall comparatively flat. In Kellar’s hands it is invested with a halo of supernaturalism which is very effective. The following is a brief résumé of the story of the lamp: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have here on this pedestal a copper lamp of antique pattern which was loaned to me by a celebrated Brahmin who presides over a shrine in the Holy City of Benares, India. I have his permission to use it in my thaumaturgic séances, but I must return it to him at a certain hour every evening, as it is needed in the ceremonial rites of the temple at Benares. That hour has now arrived. (A bell strikes the hour, slowly and solemnly. He wraps the foulard about the lamp, which he places on the table.) I shall count three—the mystic number of Brahmin theosophy—and fire this pistol. Instantaneously the atoms composing the lamp will be disintegrated by the force of my will and fly through the fourth dimension of space to India, where they will reassemble and materialize in their former shape, and the lamp will appear upon the altar of the temple as of old.”
Of course no one credits this rhodomontade, but the conjurer’s purpose is accomplished. The trick is given a mystical setting and a certain kind of pseudo-scientific explanation. And all things are possible in nature, for have we not the x-rays, radio-activity, wireless telegraphy, and forces undreamed of a few years ago by the physicists?