II.

II.On a certain day in the year 1843, the Count de l’Escalopier, a scion of the old régime of France, and a great lover of curios, was strolling along the Rue de Vendôme, in the Marais Quarter, of Paris. He stopped to look at some mechanical toys displayed in the window of a dark little shop, over the door of which was painted the following modest sign: “M. Robert-Houdin, Pendules de Précision.” This sign noted the fact that the proprietor was a watchmaker, and that his wares were distinguished for precise running. What particularly attracted the nobleman’s attention was a peculiar looking clock of clearest crystal that ran apparently without works, the invention of M. Robert-Houdin. The Count, who was a great lover ofscience amusante, or science wedded to recreation, purchased the magic clock, and better than that, made the acquaintance of the inventor, the obscure watchmaker, who was destined to become a great prestidigitateur, author, and ambassador. The Count became a frequent visitor at Houdin’s shop, to watch the construction of various automata, which the inventor intended some day to use in public performances. Says Houdin: “A kind of intimacy having thus become established between M. de l’Escalopier and myself, I was naturally led to talk to him of my projects of appearing in public; and, in order to justify them, I had given him, on more than one occasion, specimens of my skill in sleight of hand. Prompted doubtless by his friendly feelings, my spectator steadily applauded me, and gave me the warmest encouragement to put my schemes into actual practice. Count de l’Escalopier, who was the{126}possessor of a considerable fortune, lived in one of those splendid houses which surround the square which has been calledRoyale, ordes Vosges, according to the color of the flag of our masters of the time being. I myself lived in a humble lodging in the Rue de Vendôme, in the Marais, but the wide disproportion in the style of our respective dwelling-places did not prevent the nobleman and the artist from addressing each other as ‘my dear neighbor,’ or sometimes even as ‘my dear friend.’Houdin’s Magic Clock.2121“The cut represents the magic clock invented by Robert-Houdin about sixty years ago. This very remarkable time-piece consists of a dial composed of two juxtaposed disks of glass, one of which is stationary and carries the hours, while the other is movable and serves for the motion of the hands. This latter disk is provided with a wheel or rather a toothed ring concealed within the metallic ring forming a dial. The glass column which constitutes the body of the piece is formed of two tubes which operate according to the principle of the dial, that is to say, one is stationary and the other movable. To each of the extremities of the latter is fixed a wheel. These wheels gear with transmission pinions which communicate, one of them at the top with the movable plate of glass of the dial, and the other at the bottom with the movement placed in the wooden base which supports the glass shade covering the clock. All these concealed transmissions are arranged in a most skillful manner, and complete the illusion. The movable glass of the dial, carried along by the column, actuates a small dial-train mounted in the thickness of the stationary glass, and within an extremely narrow space in the center of the dial. It is covered by the small hand and is consequently invisible. The hands are very easily actuated by it on account of their extreme lightness and perfect equilibrium.”—Scientific American, N. Y.{127}“My neighbor then being, as I have just stated, warmly interested in my projects, was constantly talking of them; and in order to give me opportunities of practice in my future profession, and to enable me to acquire that confidence in which I was then wanting, he frequently invited me to pass the evening in the company of a few friends of his own, whom I was delighted to amuse with my feats of dexterity. It was after a dinner given by M. de l’Escalopier to the Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Affre, with whom he was on intimate terms, that I had the honor of being presented to the reverend prelate as a mechanician and future magician, and that I performed before him a selection of the best of my experiments.“At that period—I don’t say it in order to gratify a retrospective vanity—my skill in sleight of hand was of a high order. I am warranted in this belief by the fact that my numerous audiences exhibited the greatest wonderment at my performance, and that the Archbishop himself paid me, in his own handwriting, a compliment which I can not refrain from here relating.“I had reserved for the last item of my programme a trick which, to use a familiar expression, I had at my fingers’ ends. In effect it was shortly as follows:—After having requested the spectators carefully to examine a large envelope sealed on all sides, I handed it to the Archbishop’s Grand Vicar, begging him to keep it in his own possession. Next, handing to the prelate himself a small slip of paper, I requested him to write thereon, secretly, a sentence, or whatever he might choose to think of; the paper was then folded in four, and (apparently) burnt. But scarcely was it consumed and the ashes scattered to the winds, than, handing the envelope to the Archbishop, I requested him to open it. The first envelope being removed a second was found, sealed in like manner; then another, until a dozen envelopes, one inside another, had been opened, the last containing the scrap of paper restored intact. It was passed from hand to hand, and each read asfollows:—“ ‘Though I do not claim to be a prophet, I venture to predict, sir, that you will achieve brilliant success in your future career.’{128}“I begged Monseigneur Affre’s permission to keep the autograph in question, which he very graciously gave me.”Poor Archbishop Affre; he was killed at the barricades in the Revolution of 1848. Though he confessed that he was no prophet, yet his prediction was fulfilled to the letter. Houdin became the foremost conjurer of his age, of any age in fact, and has left to posterity more than a name:—his fascinating memoirs, and several works in which the psychology of deception is treated in a masterly manner. The slip of paper given to him by the Archbishop he preserved as a religious relic. “I kept it,” he said, “in a secret corner of my pocket-book which I always carried about my person. During my travels in Algeria I had the misfortune to lose both this pocket-book and the precious object it contained.”After the séance recorded above, the Count de l’Escalopier urged Houdin continually to abandon the watchmaking and mechanical-toy trade and go on the stage as a prestidigitateur. Finally Houdin confessed his inability to do so, owing to lack of means, whereupon the kind-hearted nobleman exclaimed: “Mon cher ami, I have at home, at this very moment, ten thousand francs or so, which I really don’t know what to do with. Do me the favor to borrow them for an indefinite period: you will be doing me an actual service.”But Houdin would not accept the offer, for he was loth to risk a friend’s money in a theatrical speculation. The Count in a state of pique left the shop and did not return for many days. Then he rushed excitedly into the workroom, sank upon a chair, and exclaimed:“My dear neighbor, since you are determined not to accept a favor from me, I have now come to beg one of you. This is the status of the case. For the last year my desk has been robbed from time to time of very considerable sums of money. In vain have I endeavored to ascertain the thief. I have sent away my servants, one after another. I have had the place watched, changed the locks, and placed secret fastenings on the doors, but none of these safeguards and precautions have foiled the cunning of the miscreant. This very morning a couple of thousand{129}franc-notes disappeared. Think of the frightful position the entire family is placed in. Can you not come to my assistance?”“Count,” replied Houdin, “I fail to see how I can help you in the present instance. My magic power, unfortunately, extends only to my finger tips.”“That is true,” said the Count, “but you have a mighty aid in mechanics.”“Mechanics,” exclaimed the magician. “Stop a bit! I remember when I was a boy at school that I invented a primitive piece of apparatus to apprehend a rascal who was in the habit of stealing my boyish possessions. I will improve upon that idea. Come to see me in a few days.”Houdin put on his thinking-cap and shut himself up in his workshop.From his inner consciousness he evolved a singularly ingenious contrivance, designed not only to discover a thief, but to brand him indelibly for his crime. In brief let me describe it. It was an apparatus to be fastened to the inside of a desk. When the desk was unlocked, and the lid raised ever so little, a pistol was discharged; at the same time a claw-like arrangement, attached to a light rod and impelled by a spring, came sharply down on the back of the hand which held the key. This claw was a tatooing instrument. It consisted of “a number of very short but sharp points, so arranged as to form the wordRobber. These points were brought through a pad impregnated with nitrate of silver, a portion of which was forced by the blow into the punctures, and made the scars indelible for life.”When the Count saw this apparatus at work, the inventor using a heavily-padded glove to prevent being wounded by the claw, he objected to it strenuously, remarking that he had no right to brand a criminal. That was the province of Justice. He also argued that it would be wrong from a humanitarian standpoint. A poor wretch thus branded could only get rid of it by a horrible self-mutilation. If he failed in his endeavor, it might close the door of repentance forever against him, and class him permanently among the enemies of the social order. “Worse than that,” said the Count, “suppose some member of{130}my family by inadvertence, or through some fatal mistake, should fall a victim to our stern precautions; andthen——”“You are quite right!” said Houdin. “I had not thought of those objections. I was carried away by my enthusiasm as an inventor. You are quite right! I will alter the apparatus at once.”In the place of the branding contrivance, he inserted a kind of cat’s-claw, which would make a slight scratch on the hand—a mere superficial wound, readily healed. The Count was satisfied with the alteration, and the apparatus was secretly fixed to the desk in the nobleman’s bed-room.In order to stimulate the cupidity of the robber, the Count drew considerable money from his bankers. He even made a pretence of leaving Paris on a trip to a short distance. But the bait did not take. Sixteen days passed away. The Count had almost despaired of catching the culprit, when one morning while reading in his library, which was some little distance from the bed-room, he heard the report of a pistol.“Ah,” he exclaimed, excitedly. “The robber at last.” Picking up the first weapon to hand, a battle axe from a stand of ancestral armor near by, he ran quickly to the bed-room. There stood his trusted valet, Bernard, who had been in his household for many years.“What are you doing here?” asked the Count.With great coolness and audacity, Bernard explained that he had been brought thither by the noise of the explosion, and had just seen a man making his escape down the back stairs. The Count rushed down the stairs only to find the door locked. A frightful thought overcame him: “Could Bernard be the thief?” He returned to the bed-room. The valet, he noticed, kept his right hand behind him. The Count dragged it forcibly in sight, and saw that it was covered with blood.“Infamous scoundrel!” said the nobleman, as he flung the man from him in disgust.“Mercy, mercy!” cried the criminal, falling upon his knees.{131}“How long have you been robbing me?” asked the Count, sternly.“For nearly two years.”“And how much have you taken?”“I cannot tell exactly. Perhaps 15,000 francs, or thereabouts.”“We will call it 15,000 francs. You may keep the rest. What have you done with the money?”“I have invested it in Government stock. The scrip is in my desk.”The thief yielded up the securities to the amount of fifteen thousand francs, and wrote a confession of his guilt, which he signed in the presence of a witness. The kind-hearted nobleman, bidding the valet repent of his crime, forthwith dismissed him from his employ, agreeing not to prosecute him provided he led an honest life. One year from that date, the wretched Bernard died. Remorse hastened his end.M. de l’Escalopier took the money thus recovered to Houdin, saying: “I do hope, my dear friend, that you will no longer refuse me the pleasure of lending you this sum, which I owe entirely to your ingenuity and mechanical skill. Take it, return it to me just when you like, with the understanding that it is to be repaid only out of the profits of your theatre.”Overcome by emotion at the generosity of his benefactor, Houdin embraced the Count. “This embrace,” he says, “was the only security which M. de l’Escalopier would accept from me.”This was the turning point of the conjurer’s life. “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.”With this money Houdin without further delay built in the Palais Royal a little theatre. “The galleries which surround the garden of the Palais Royal are divided,” says Houdin, “into successive arches, occupied by shops. Above these arches there are, on the first floor, spacious suites of apartments, used as public assembly rooms, clubs, cafés, etc. It was in the space occupied by one of these suites, at No. 164 of the Rue de Valois,{132}that I built my theatre, which extended, in width, over three of the above-mentioned arches; and in length the distance between the garden of the Palais Royal and the Rue de Valois, or, in other words, the whole depth of the building.” The dimensions of this miniature theatre were very limited. It would not seat over two hundred people. Though the seats were few in number, their prices were tolerably high. Children were paid for as grown persons.The Palais Royal was formerly the residence of Cardinal Richelieu, the “Red Duke,” and afterwards became the home of the Orléans family. The Regent d’Orléans, in the reign of Louis XV, experimented with magic mirrors in this building. It was in the Palais Royal that the French Revolution was hatched. Could a more favorable place have been selected in which to start a revolution in conjuring? I think not.The following is the announcement of Houdin’s first performance, which appeared on the bill-boards of Paris:Aujourd’hui Jeudi, 3 Juillet 1845.Première ReprésentationdesSoirées FantastiquesdeRobert-Houdin.“On this day,” says Houdin, “by a strange coincidence, the Hippodrome and the ‘Fantastic Soirées’ of Robert-Houdin, the largest and smallest stage in Paris, were opened to the public. The 3d of July, 1845, saw two bills placarded on the walls of Paris; one enormous belonging to the Hippodrome, while the other of far more modest proportions, announced my performances. Still as in the fable of the reed and the oak, the large theatre, in spite of the skill of the managers, has undergone many changes of fortune; while the smaller one has continually enjoyed the public favor. I have sacredly kept a proof of my first bill, the form and color of which have always remained the same since that date. I copy it word for word here, both to{133}furnish an idea of its simplicity, and to display the programme of the experiments I then offered to thepublic:”—

On a certain day in the year 1843, the Count de l’Escalopier, a scion of the old régime of France, and a great lover of curios, was strolling along the Rue de Vendôme, in the Marais Quarter, of Paris. He stopped to look at some mechanical toys displayed in the window of a dark little shop, over the door of which was painted the following modest sign: “M. Robert-Houdin, Pendules de Précision.” This sign noted the fact that the proprietor was a watchmaker, and that his wares were distinguished for precise running. What particularly attracted the nobleman’s attention was a peculiar looking clock of clearest crystal that ran apparently without works, the invention of M. Robert-Houdin. The Count, who was a great lover ofscience amusante, or science wedded to recreation, purchased the magic clock, and better than that, made the acquaintance of the inventor, the obscure watchmaker, who was destined to become a great prestidigitateur, author, and ambassador. The Count became a frequent visitor at Houdin’s shop, to watch the construction of various automata, which the inventor intended some day to use in public performances. Says Houdin: “A kind of intimacy having thus become established between M. de l’Escalopier and myself, I was naturally led to talk to him of my projects of appearing in public; and, in order to justify them, I had given him, on more than one occasion, specimens of my skill in sleight of hand. Prompted doubtless by his friendly feelings, my spectator steadily applauded me, and gave me the warmest encouragement to put my schemes into actual practice. Count de l’Escalopier, who was the{126}possessor of a considerable fortune, lived in one of those splendid houses which surround the square which has been calledRoyale, ordes Vosges, according to the color of the flag of our masters of the time being. I myself lived in a humble lodging in the Rue de Vendôme, in the Marais, but the wide disproportion in the style of our respective dwelling-places did not prevent the nobleman and the artist from addressing each other as ‘my dear neighbor,’ or sometimes even as ‘my dear friend.’

Houdin’s Magic Clock.21

21“The cut represents the magic clock invented by Robert-Houdin about sixty years ago. This very remarkable time-piece consists of a dial composed of two juxtaposed disks of glass, one of which is stationary and carries the hours, while the other is movable and serves for the motion of the hands. This latter disk is provided with a wheel or rather a toothed ring concealed within the metallic ring forming a dial. The glass column which constitutes the body of the piece is formed of two tubes which operate according to the principle of the dial, that is to say, one is stationary and the other movable. To each of the extremities of the latter is fixed a wheel. These wheels gear with transmission pinions which communicate, one of them at the top with the movable plate of glass of the dial, and the other at the bottom with the movement placed in the wooden base which supports the glass shade covering the clock. All these concealed transmissions are arranged in a most skillful manner, and complete the illusion. The movable glass of the dial, carried along by the column, actuates a small dial-train mounted in the thickness of the stationary glass, and within an extremely narrow space in the center of the dial. It is covered by the small hand and is consequently invisible. The hands are very easily actuated by it on account of their extreme lightness and perfect equilibrium.”—Scientific American, N. Y.

{127}

“My neighbor then being, as I have just stated, warmly interested in my projects, was constantly talking of them; and in order to give me opportunities of practice in my future profession, and to enable me to acquire that confidence in which I was then wanting, he frequently invited me to pass the evening in the company of a few friends of his own, whom I was delighted to amuse with my feats of dexterity. It was after a dinner given by M. de l’Escalopier to the Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Affre, with whom he was on intimate terms, that I had the honor of being presented to the reverend prelate as a mechanician and future magician, and that I performed before him a selection of the best of my experiments.

“At that period—I don’t say it in order to gratify a retrospective vanity—my skill in sleight of hand was of a high order. I am warranted in this belief by the fact that my numerous audiences exhibited the greatest wonderment at my performance, and that the Archbishop himself paid me, in his own handwriting, a compliment which I can not refrain from here relating.

“I had reserved for the last item of my programme a trick which, to use a familiar expression, I had at my fingers’ ends. In effect it was shortly as follows:—After having requested the spectators carefully to examine a large envelope sealed on all sides, I handed it to the Archbishop’s Grand Vicar, begging him to keep it in his own possession. Next, handing to the prelate himself a small slip of paper, I requested him to write thereon, secretly, a sentence, or whatever he might choose to think of; the paper was then folded in four, and (apparently) burnt. But scarcely was it consumed and the ashes scattered to the winds, than, handing the envelope to the Archbishop, I requested him to open it. The first envelope being removed a second was found, sealed in like manner; then another, until a dozen envelopes, one inside another, had been opened, the last containing the scrap of paper restored intact. It was passed from hand to hand, and each read asfollows:—

“ ‘Though I do not claim to be a prophet, I venture to predict, sir, that you will achieve brilliant success in your future career.’{128}

“I begged Monseigneur Affre’s permission to keep the autograph in question, which he very graciously gave me.”

Poor Archbishop Affre; he was killed at the barricades in the Revolution of 1848. Though he confessed that he was no prophet, yet his prediction was fulfilled to the letter. Houdin became the foremost conjurer of his age, of any age in fact, and has left to posterity more than a name:—his fascinating memoirs, and several works in which the psychology of deception is treated in a masterly manner. The slip of paper given to him by the Archbishop he preserved as a religious relic. “I kept it,” he said, “in a secret corner of my pocket-book which I always carried about my person. During my travels in Algeria I had the misfortune to lose both this pocket-book and the precious object it contained.”

After the séance recorded above, the Count de l’Escalopier urged Houdin continually to abandon the watchmaking and mechanical-toy trade and go on the stage as a prestidigitateur. Finally Houdin confessed his inability to do so, owing to lack of means, whereupon the kind-hearted nobleman exclaimed: “Mon cher ami, I have at home, at this very moment, ten thousand francs or so, which I really don’t know what to do with. Do me the favor to borrow them for an indefinite period: you will be doing me an actual service.”

But Houdin would not accept the offer, for he was loth to risk a friend’s money in a theatrical speculation. The Count in a state of pique left the shop and did not return for many days. Then he rushed excitedly into the workroom, sank upon a chair, and exclaimed:

“My dear neighbor, since you are determined not to accept a favor from me, I have now come to beg one of you. This is the status of the case. For the last year my desk has been robbed from time to time of very considerable sums of money. In vain have I endeavored to ascertain the thief. I have sent away my servants, one after another. I have had the place watched, changed the locks, and placed secret fastenings on the doors, but none of these safeguards and precautions have foiled the cunning of the miscreant. This very morning a couple of thousand{129}franc-notes disappeared. Think of the frightful position the entire family is placed in. Can you not come to my assistance?”

“Count,” replied Houdin, “I fail to see how I can help you in the present instance. My magic power, unfortunately, extends only to my finger tips.”

“That is true,” said the Count, “but you have a mighty aid in mechanics.”

“Mechanics,” exclaimed the magician. “Stop a bit! I remember when I was a boy at school that I invented a primitive piece of apparatus to apprehend a rascal who was in the habit of stealing my boyish possessions. I will improve upon that idea. Come to see me in a few days.”

Houdin put on his thinking-cap and shut himself up in his workshop.

From his inner consciousness he evolved a singularly ingenious contrivance, designed not only to discover a thief, but to brand him indelibly for his crime. In brief let me describe it. It was an apparatus to be fastened to the inside of a desk. When the desk was unlocked, and the lid raised ever so little, a pistol was discharged; at the same time a claw-like arrangement, attached to a light rod and impelled by a spring, came sharply down on the back of the hand which held the key. This claw was a tatooing instrument. It consisted of “a number of very short but sharp points, so arranged as to form the wordRobber. These points were brought through a pad impregnated with nitrate of silver, a portion of which was forced by the blow into the punctures, and made the scars indelible for life.”

When the Count saw this apparatus at work, the inventor using a heavily-padded glove to prevent being wounded by the claw, he objected to it strenuously, remarking that he had no right to brand a criminal. That was the province of Justice. He also argued that it would be wrong from a humanitarian standpoint. A poor wretch thus branded could only get rid of it by a horrible self-mutilation. If he failed in his endeavor, it might close the door of repentance forever against him, and class him permanently among the enemies of the social order. “Worse than that,” said the Count, “suppose some member of{130}my family by inadvertence, or through some fatal mistake, should fall a victim to our stern precautions; andthen——”

“You are quite right!” said Houdin. “I had not thought of those objections. I was carried away by my enthusiasm as an inventor. You are quite right! I will alter the apparatus at once.”

In the place of the branding contrivance, he inserted a kind of cat’s-claw, which would make a slight scratch on the hand—a mere superficial wound, readily healed. The Count was satisfied with the alteration, and the apparatus was secretly fixed to the desk in the nobleman’s bed-room.

In order to stimulate the cupidity of the robber, the Count drew considerable money from his bankers. He even made a pretence of leaving Paris on a trip to a short distance. But the bait did not take. Sixteen days passed away. The Count had almost despaired of catching the culprit, when one morning while reading in his library, which was some little distance from the bed-room, he heard the report of a pistol.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, excitedly. “The robber at last.” Picking up the first weapon to hand, a battle axe from a stand of ancestral armor near by, he ran quickly to the bed-room. There stood his trusted valet, Bernard, who had been in his household for many years.

“What are you doing here?” asked the Count.

With great coolness and audacity, Bernard explained that he had been brought thither by the noise of the explosion, and had just seen a man making his escape down the back stairs. The Count rushed down the stairs only to find the door locked. A frightful thought overcame him: “Could Bernard be the thief?” He returned to the bed-room. The valet, he noticed, kept his right hand behind him. The Count dragged it forcibly in sight, and saw that it was covered with blood.

“Infamous scoundrel!” said the nobleman, as he flung the man from him in disgust.

“Mercy, mercy!” cried the criminal, falling upon his knees.{131}

“How long have you been robbing me?” asked the Count, sternly.

“For nearly two years.”

“And how much have you taken?”

“I cannot tell exactly. Perhaps 15,000 francs, or thereabouts.”

“We will call it 15,000 francs. You may keep the rest. What have you done with the money?”

“I have invested it in Government stock. The scrip is in my desk.”

The thief yielded up the securities to the amount of fifteen thousand francs, and wrote a confession of his guilt, which he signed in the presence of a witness. The kind-hearted nobleman, bidding the valet repent of his crime, forthwith dismissed him from his employ, agreeing not to prosecute him provided he led an honest life. One year from that date, the wretched Bernard died. Remorse hastened his end.

M. de l’Escalopier took the money thus recovered to Houdin, saying: “I do hope, my dear friend, that you will no longer refuse me the pleasure of lending you this sum, which I owe entirely to your ingenuity and mechanical skill. Take it, return it to me just when you like, with the understanding that it is to be repaid only out of the profits of your theatre.”

Overcome by emotion at the generosity of his benefactor, Houdin embraced the Count. “This embrace,” he says, “was the only security which M. de l’Escalopier would accept from me.”

This was the turning point of the conjurer’s life. “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.”

With this money Houdin without further delay built in the Palais Royal a little theatre. “The galleries which surround the garden of the Palais Royal are divided,” says Houdin, “into successive arches, occupied by shops. Above these arches there are, on the first floor, spacious suites of apartments, used as public assembly rooms, clubs, cafés, etc. It was in the space occupied by one of these suites, at No. 164 of the Rue de Valois,{132}that I built my theatre, which extended, in width, over three of the above-mentioned arches; and in length the distance between the garden of the Palais Royal and the Rue de Valois, or, in other words, the whole depth of the building.” The dimensions of this miniature theatre were very limited. It would not seat over two hundred people. Though the seats were few in number, their prices were tolerably high. Children were paid for as grown persons.

The Palais Royal was formerly the residence of Cardinal Richelieu, the “Red Duke,” and afterwards became the home of the Orléans family. The Regent d’Orléans, in the reign of Louis XV, experimented with magic mirrors in this building. It was in the Palais Royal that the French Revolution was hatched. Could a more favorable place have been selected in which to start a revolution in conjuring? I think not.

The following is the announcement of Houdin’s first performance, which appeared on the bill-boards of Paris:

Aujourd’hui Jeudi, 3 Juillet 1845.Première ReprésentationdesSoirées FantastiquesdeRobert-Houdin.

Aujourd’hui Jeudi, 3 Juillet 1845.

Première Représentation

des

Soirées Fantastiques

Robert-Houdin.

“On this day,” says Houdin, “by a strange coincidence, the Hippodrome and the ‘Fantastic Soirées’ of Robert-Houdin, the largest and smallest stage in Paris, were opened to the public. The 3d of July, 1845, saw two bills placarded on the walls of Paris; one enormous belonging to the Hippodrome, while the other of far more modest proportions, announced my performances. Still as in the fable of the reed and the oak, the large theatre, in spite of the skill of the managers, has undergone many changes of fortune; while the smaller one has continually enjoyed the public favor. I have sacredly kept a proof of my first bill, the form and color of which have always remained the same since that date. I copy it word for word here, both to{133}furnish an idea of its simplicity, and to display the programme of the experiments I then offered to thepublic:”—

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