{280}V.William G. Robinson for years acted as Alexander Herrmann’s stage manager and machinist. He is a devotee of the magic art, a collector of rare books on legerdemain, and the inventor of many ingenious sleights, tricks, and illusions. When not employed at the theatre, he spends his time haunting the second-hand book stores, searching for literature on his favorite hobby. He has found time to write a profoundly interesting brochure calledSpirit Slate-Writing, published by the Scientific American Company. After reading this work, I cannot see how any sane person can credit the reality of “independent slate-writing.” It is a mere juggling trick.CHUNGLINGSOO.(Mr. Wm. G. Robinson.)Robinson was born in New York City, April 2, 1861, and received a common school education. He started life as “a worker in brass and other metals,” but he abandoned the profession of Tubal Cain for conjuring. After the death of Herrmann, Robinson went as assistant to Leon Herrmann for several seasons, and then started out to astonish the natives on his own account, but without any appreciable success. Just about this time there came to the United States a Chinese conjurer named Ching Ling Foo, with a repertoire of Oriental tricks. One of them was the production of a huge bowl of water from a table-cloth, followed by live pigeons and ducks, and last but not least a little almond-eyed Celestial, his son. This was but a replica of the trick which Phillippe learned from the Chinese many years ago. Foo’s performances drew crowds to the theatres. It was the novelty of the thing that caught the public fancy. In reality, the Mongolian’s magic was not to be compared with that of Herrmann, Kellar, or Goldin. Beneath the folds of a Chinese robe one may conceal almost anything, ranging in size from a bedpost to a cannon ball. When Foo’s manager boastfully advertised to forfeit $500 if any American could fathom or duplicate any of the Celestial’s tricks, “Billy” Robinson came forward and accepted the challenge. But nothing came of it. Foo’s impressario “backed water,” to use a boating phrase. Robinson was so taken with Ching Ling Foo’s act that he decided to give similar séances, disguising himself as a Chinaman. Under the name of Chung Ling Soo he went to England,{281}accompanied by his wife and a genuine Chinese acrobat. He opened at the Empire Theatre, and not only reproduced Foo’s best tricks but added others of his own, equally as marvelous. His success was instantaneous. Theatrical London went wild over the celebrated Chinese wizard, and gold began to flow into the coffers of the Robinson ménage. So well was the secret kept that for months no one, except the attachés of the theatre, knew that Chung Ling Soo was a Yankee and not a genuine Chinaman. The make-up of himself and wife was perfect. Robinson{282}even had the audacity to grant interviews to newspaper reporters. He usually held these receptions at his lodgings, where he had an apartment fitted upà la Chinois; the walls hung with silken drapery embroidered with grotesque dragons. The place was dimly lit by Chinese lanterns. Propped up on silken cushions, the “Yankee Celestial” with his face made up like a finely painted mask, sipped his real oolong, and laughed in his capacious sleeves at the credulity of the journalistic hacks. He gave his opinion on the “Boxer” trouble, speaking a kind of gibberish which the previously tutored Chinese acrobat pretended to interpret into English. Gradually it leaked out in theatrical circles that Chung Ling Soo was a Yankee, but this information never came to the public ear generally.At the close of the “Boxer” uprising the real Ching Ling Foo had returned to his beloved Flowery Kingdom, loaded down with bags full of dollars extracted from the pockets of the “Foreign Devils,” yclept Americans. Under his own vine and bamboo tree he proceeded to enjoy life like a regular Chinese gentleman; to burn joss sticks to the memory of his ancestors, and study the maxims of Confucius. But the longing for other worlds to conquer with his magic overcame him, and so in the year 1904 he went to England. Great was his astonishment to find that a pretended Mongolian had preceded him and stolen all of his thunder. In January, 1905, Robinson was playing at the Hippodrome, London, and Ching Ling Foo at the Empire. There was great rivalry between them. The result was that Foo challenged Soo to a grand trial of strength, the articles of which appeared in theWeekly Despatch. “I offer £1,000 if Chung Ling Soo, now appearing at the Hippodrome, can do ten out of the twenty of my tricks, or if I fail to do any one of his feats.”A meeting was arranged to take place at theDespatchoffice, on January 7, 1905, at 11 a. m. The challenged man, “Billy” Robinson alias Chung Ling Soo, rode up to the newspaper office in his big red automobile, accompanied by his manager and assistants. He was dressed like a mandarin. The acrobat held over his master’s head a gorgeous Chinese umbrella. Robinson gave an exhibition of his skill before a committee of newspaper{283}men and theatrical managers. Foo came not. The next day arrived a letter from Ching Ling Foo’s impressario saying that the Mongolian magician would only consent to compete against his rival on the following condition: “That Chung Ling Soo first prove before members of the Chinese Legation that he is a Chinaman.” This was whipping the Devil (or shall I say dragon?) around the stump. The original challenge had made no condition as to the nationality of the performers.TheDespatchsaid: “The destination of the challenge money remains in abeyance, and the questions arise: ‘Did Foo fool Soo? And can Soo sue Foo?’ ”{284}The merits of this interesting mix-up are thus summed up by Mr. John N. Hilliard, in an editorial published in theSphinx, Kansas City, Mo., March 15, 1905:“While we do not take the controversy with undue seriousness, there is an ethical aspect in the case, however, that invites discussion. In commenting disparagingly on the professional ability of the Chinese conjurer, in belittling his originality and his achievements in the magic arts, Mr. Robinson (Chung Ling Soo) is really throwing stones at his own crystal dwelling place. Despite the glowing presentments of his press agent, one single naked truth shines out as clearly as a frosty star in a turquoise sky. It is violating no confidence to assert that had it not been for Ching Ling Foo, the professional status of Mr. William E. Robinson, masquerading as a Chinaman, and adopting the sobriquet of ‘Chung Ling Soo,’ would be more or less of a negative quantity to-day. Ching Ling Foo, the genuine Chinaman, is indisputably the originator, so far as the Western hemisphere is concerned, at least, of this peculiar act, and Robinson is merely an imitator. Robinson is shrewd and has a ‘head for business.’ He doubtless realizes, as well as his critics, that in the dress of the modern magician he would not be unqualifiedly successful, despite his skill with cards and coins and his knowledge of the art. The success of Ching Ling Foo in this country was his opportunity. Adopting the dress and make-up of a Mongolian, and appropriating the leading features of Ching’s act, he went to Europe, where the act was a novelty, and scored a great success. Of course, from a utilitarian point of view, this success is legitimate; but in the light of what the American magician really owes to the great Chinese conjurer, it is ridiculous for Robinson to pose as ‘the original Chinese magician,’ and for him to say that Ching Ling Foo is ‘a performer of the streets,’ while he is the ‘court magician to the Empress Dowager.’ This may be good showmanship, but it is not fair play. The devil himself is entitled to his due; and, the question of merit aside, the indubitable fact remains that it is Ching Ling Foo who is the ‘original Chinese magician,’ while ‘Chung Ling Soo’ is an imitator of his act and a usurper in the Oriental kingdom.{285}But outside of the ethical nature of the controversy, we refuse to take it seriously.”ALONDONSIGNBOARDOFCHUNGLINGSOO.Robinson calls himself “Chung Ling Soo, he of the One Button [mandarin], Royal Chinese Conjurer.” Chung Ling Soo, in the vernacular of Confucius, means Double Luck, or extra good luck. Wherever he goes he puts on exhibition in the lobby of the theatre the resplendent robes of his ancestors—“a piece of sacrilege,” says an English paper, “no Chinaman the world has ever known has been guilty of before. Some of the exhibits are from the Imperial palace at Pekin.” These gorgeous garments were doubtless purchased in some Chinese bazaar in London. According to a Holloway journal, Robinson is the possessor of a wonderful collection of Oriental embroideries, carvings, armor, and swords, and last but not least, “a splendid{286}palanquin which cost the Chinese equivalent of 1,000 guineas. It was presented to him by the late Dowager Empress of China, and is constructed of solid ebony inlaid with gold and precious stones.” In this palanquin, Robinson comes on the stage to perform his bullet-catching feat, supposed to be a replica of a similar adventure when he was attacked by “Boxers” in China. This is Herrmann’s old trick, with an Oriental setting. Some years ago, a German-American wizard, Prof. Mingus, invented a method of catching live gold fish on the end of a line fixed to an ordinary bamboo fishing rod. The line being cast in the air, a gold fish appeared dangling upon the hook. The fish was then thrown into a bowl of water and shown to the audience. Several fish were caught in this manner. Robinson adopted this trick with great success. Pestered to death for an explanation of the mystery by his journalistic friends, he finally condescended to explain (?) it. He thus described it in theNews of the World, Holloway, England, April 9, 1905:“Anyone may know how Chung does the goldfish trick, but it does not follow that having been told one can do it. When Chung Ling Soo makes casts in the air with his rod and line, little Suce Seen, the Celestial handmaiden, stands meekly some yards away, holding a glass bowl of water. The hook is a powerful magnet, and if one could examine the goldfish caught, one would detect pieces of metal attached to the bodies of the finny captures. The live goldfish repose in little Suce Seen’s sleeve, and when a more than usually skillful cast brings the magnetic bait for a second into the interior of the girl’s sleeve, a ‘catch’ has at once been effected, and the fish is seen dangling and wriggling in the air at the end of the line.”It is needless to remark that this is afish story. Chung Ling Soo is romancing. The gold fish are concealed in the handle of the rod. The fish that appears on the hook at each cast of the line is an imitation affair of silk, which is hidden in the hollow lead sinker. A substitution is made, and the real fish thrown into the bowl by the conjurer. The dainty little Chinese maiden (Mrs. Robinson) has nothing more to do with the trick than the people in the audience. She merely holds the bowl and looks cute.The following is a sample of some of the nonsense published{287}about Robinson, taken from theWeekly Despatch, April 9, 1905:“Chung Ling Soo rose from the ranks, and his fame as a sorcerer penetrated to the Chinese Empress Dowager, who commanded him to court, where, after years of service, he was promoted to many Celestial honors, and ultimately the rank of Mandarin was bestowed upon him. His skin is yellow, his eyes are black and oblique, and his teeth are absolutely inky, as all true Celestials of rank should be.” Any one acquainted with the art of stage “make-up” knows how easily these facial effects can be produced. There is even a black paste for the teeth. I don’t doubt this much of the journalist’s story—but the “Celestial honors” and the “rank of Mandarin”—shade of the illustrious Münchausen preserve us! Poor old Ching Ling Foo, the original Chinaman, has doubtless devoted his ingenious rival and “foreign devil” to the innumerable hells of the Chinese Buddhists.So much for the Oriental ancestry of my old friend, Billy Robinson, the “One Button Man” of the Celestial Empire (Theatre of London, England).Robinson is the inventor of the clever stage illusion “Gone,” which Herrmann exhibited, and which still forms one of the principal specialties of Kellar. I am indebted to my friend, Henry V. A. Parsell, for an accurate description of the trick, as at present worked by Mr. Kellar.“At the rise of the curtain the stage is seen to have its rear part concealed by a second curtain and drapery, which, being drawn up, discloses a substantial framework. This framework, at the first glance, gives one the impression that it is that horrible instrument of death, the guillotine. As will be seen, it consists simply of two uprights, with a bar across the top and another a little below the middle. Just below the centre bar is a windlass, the two ropes of which pass through two pulleys fixed to the top bar. The machine stands out boldly against a black background, the distance from which is indeterminate.“After the introduction of the fair maiden ‘who is to be gone,’ an ordinary looking bent wood chair is shown. The chair is then placed on the stage behind the framework, and by means of snap hooks the two ropes from the windlass are attached{288}to the side of the chair. The maiden is now seated in the chair and her skirt adjusted that it may not hang too low.“GONE,”ROBINSON’SILLUSION.“A couple of assistants now work the windlass and elevate the chair and its occupant until they are well above the middle cross bar. One assistant then retires, the other remains with one hand resting against the side of the framework. The performer fires his pistol thrice, upon which the maiden vanishes and the{289}fragments of the chair fall to the ground. The illusion is produced by a black curtain which lies concealed behind the middle cross bar. When the pistol is fired, the assistant, whose hand is on the frame, presses a spring which releases this black curtain which is instantly drawn up in front of the suspended girl. At this same moment the girl undoes a couple of catches which allow the main part of the chair to drop. She, meanwhile, being seated on a false chair-bottom to which the ropes are attached.”As originally devised by Mr. Robinson, the illusion was based upon the Pepper ghost-show. Between the cross-bars of a slanting frame was a sheet of plate glass which, being invisible, left the lady on the chair in full view as long as the light fell upon her. A screen of the same color as the background was concealed above the curtain and placed at such an angle as to allow its reflection to pass out to the audience. The firing of the pistol was the signal for the assistant to turn a switch. The lady was then veiled in relative darkness while the screen was illuminated and its reflection on the plate glass concealed her from sight. Carrying around the country a big sheet of plate glass is not only an expensive luxury but a risky one, so the illusion was simplified in the manner described by Mr. Parsell.
{280}
William G. Robinson for years acted as Alexander Herrmann’s stage manager and machinist. He is a devotee of the magic art, a collector of rare books on legerdemain, and the inventor of many ingenious sleights, tricks, and illusions. When not employed at the theatre, he spends his time haunting the second-hand book stores, searching for literature on his favorite hobby. He has found time to write a profoundly interesting brochure calledSpirit Slate-Writing, published by the Scientific American Company. After reading this work, I cannot see how any sane person can credit the reality of “independent slate-writing.” It is a mere juggling trick.
CHUNGLINGSOO.(Mr. Wm. G. Robinson.)
CHUNGLINGSOO.(Mr. Wm. G. Robinson.)
(Mr. Wm. G. Robinson.)
Robinson was born in New York City, April 2, 1861, and received a common school education. He started life as “a worker in brass and other metals,” but he abandoned the profession of Tubal Cain for conjuring. After the death of Herrmann, Robinson went as assistant to Leon Herrmann for several seasons, and then started out to astonish the natives on his own account, but without any appreciable success. Just about this time there came to the United States a Chinese conjurer named Ching Ling Foo, with a repertoire of Oriental tricks. One of them was the production of a huge bowl of water from a table-cloth, followed by live pigeons and ducks, and last but not least a little almond-eyed Celestial, his son. This was but a replica of the trick which Phillippe learned from the Chinese many years ago. Foo’s performances drew crowds to the theatres. It was the novelty of the thing that caught the public fancy. In reality, the Mongolian’s magic was not to be compared with that of Herrmann, Kellar, or Goldin. Beneath the folds of a Chinese robe one may conceal almost anything, ranging in size from a bedpost to a cannon ball. When Foo’s manager boastfully advertised to forfeit $500 if any American could fathom or duplicate any of the Celestial’s tricks, “Billy” Robinson came forward and accepted the challenge. But nothing came of it. Foo’s impressario “backed water,” to use a boating phrase. Robinson was so taken with Ching Ling Foo’s act that he decided to give similar séances, disguising himself as a Chinaman. Under the name of Chung Ling Soo he went to England,{281}accompanied by his wife and a genuine Chinese acrobat. He opened at the Empire Theatre, and not only reproduced Foo’s best tricks but added others of his own, equally as marvelous. His success was instantaneous. Theatrical London went wild over the celebrated Chinese wizard, and gold began to flow into the coffers of the Robinson ménage. So well was the secret kept that for months no one, except the attachés of the theatre, knew that Chung Ling Soo was a Yankee and not a genuine Chinaman. The make-up of himself and wife was perfect. Robinson{282}even had the audacity to grant interviews to newspaper reporters. He usually held these receptions at his lodgings, where he had an apartment fitted upà la Chinois; the walls hung with silken drapery embroidered with grotesque dragons. The place was dimly lit by Chinese lanterns. Propped up on silken cushions, the “Yankee Celestial” with his face made up like a finely painted mask, sipped his real oolong, and laughed in his capacious sleeves at the credulity of the journalistic hacks. He gave his opinion on the “Boxer” trouble, speaking a kind of gibberish which the previously tutored Chinese acrobat pretended to interpret into English. Gradually it leaked out in theatrical circles that Chung Ling Soo was a Yankee, but this information never came to the public ear generally.
At the close of the “Boxer” uprising the real Ching Ling Foo had returned to his beloved Flowery Kingdom, loaded down with bags full of dollars extracted from the pockets of the “Foreign Devils,” yclept Americans. Under his own vine and bamboo tree he proceeded to enjoy life like a regular Chinese gentleman; to burn joss sticks to the memory of his ancestors, and study the maxims of Confucius. But the longing for other worlds to conquer with his magic overcame him, and so in the year 1904 he went to England. Great was his astonishment to find that a pretended Mongolian had preceded him and stolen all of his thunder. In January, 1905, Robinson was playing at the Hippodrome, London, and Ching Ling Foo at the Empire. There was great rivalry between them. The result was that Foo challenged Soo to a grand trial of strength, the articles of which appeared in theWeekly Despatch. “I offer £1,000 if Chung Ling Soo, now appearing at the Hippodrome, can do ten out of the twenty of my tricks, or if I fail to do any one of his feats.”
A meeting was arranged to take place at theDespatchoffice, on January 7, 1905, at 11 a. m. The challenged man, “Billy” Robinson alias Chung Ling Soo, rode up to the newspaper office in his big red automobile, accompanied by his manager and assistants. He was dressed like a mandarin. The acrobat held over his master’s head a gorgeous Chinese umbrella. Robinson gave an exhibition of his skill before a committee of newspaper{283}men and theatrical managers. Foo came not. The next day arrived a letter from Ching Ling Foo’s impressario saying that the Mongolian magician would only consent to compete against his rival on the following condition: “That Chung Ling Soo first prove before members of the Chinese Legation that he is a Chinaman.” This was whipping the Devil (or shall I say dragon?) around the stump. The original challenge had made no condition as to the nationality of the performers.
TheDespatchsaid: “The destination of the challenge money remains in abeyance, and the questions arise: ‘Did Foo fool Soo? And can Soo sue Foo?’ ”{284}
The merits of this interesting mix-up are thus summed up by Mr. John N. Hilliard, in an editorial published in theSphinx, Kansas City, Mo., March 15, 1905:
“While we do not take the controversy with undue seriousness, there is an ethical aspect in the case, however, that invites discussion. In commenting disparagingly on the professional ability of the Chinese conjurer, in belittling his originality and his achievements in the magic arts, Mr. Robinson (Chung Ling Soo) is really throwing stones at his own crystal dwelling place. Despite the glowing presentments of his press agent, one single naked truth shines out as clearly as a frosty star in a turquoise sky. It is violating no confidence to assert that had it not been for Ching Ling Foo, the professional status of Mr. William E. Robinson, masquerading as a Chinaman, and adopting the sobriquet of ‘Chung Ling Soo,’ would be more or less of a negative quantity to-day. Ching Ling Foo, the genuine Chinaman, is indisputably the originator, so far as the Western hemisphere is concerned, at least, of this peculiar act, and Robinson is merely an imitator. Robinson is shrewd and has a ‘head for business.’ He doubtless realizes, as well as his critics, that in the dress of the modern magician he would not be unqualifiedly successful, despite his skill with cards and coins and his knowledge of the art. The success of Ching Ling Foo in this country was his opportunity. Adopting the dress and make-up of a Mongolian, and appropriating the leading features of Ching’s act, he went to Europe, where the act was a novelty, and scored a great success. Of course, from a utilitarian point of view, this success is legitimate; but in the light of what the American magician really owes to the great Chinese conjurer, it is ridiculous for Robinson to pose as ‘the original Chinese magician,’ and for him to say that Ching Ling Foo is ‘a performer of the streets,’ while he is the ‘court magician to the Empress Dowager.’ This may be good showmanship, but it is not fair play. The devil himself is entitled to his due; and, the question of merit aside, the indubitable fact remains that it is Ching Ling Foo who is the ‘original Chinese magician,’ while ‘Chung Ling Soo’ is an imitator of his act and a usurper in the Oriental kingdom.{285}But outside of the ethical nature of the controversy, we refuse to take it seriously.”
ALONDONSIGNBOARDOFCHUNGLINGSOO.
ALONDONSIGNBOARDOFCHUNGLINGSOO.
Robinson calls himself “Chung Ling Soo, he of the One Button [mandarin], Royal Chinese Conjurer.” Chung Ling Soo, in the vernacular of Confucius, means Double Luck, or extra good luck. Wherever he goes he puts on exhibition in the lobby of the theatre the resplendent robes of his ancestors—“a piece of sacrilege,” says an English paper, “no Chinaman the world has ever known has been guilty of before. Some of the exhibits are from the Imperial palace at Pekin.” These gorgeous garments were doubtless purchased in some Chinese bazaar in London. According to a Holloway journal, Robinson is the possessor of a wonderful collection of Oriental embroideries, carvings, armor, and swords, and last but not least, “a splendid{286}palanquin which cost the Chinese equivalent of 1,000 guineas. It was presented to him by the late Dowager Empress of China, and is constructed of solid ebony inlaid with gold and precious stones.” In this palanquin, Robinson comes on the stage to perform his bullet-catching feat, supposed to be a replica of a similar adventure when he was attacked by “Boxers” in China. This is Herrmann’s old trick, with an Oriental setting. Some years ago, a German-American wizard, Prof. Mingus, invented a method of catching live gold fish on the end of a line fixed to an ordinary bamboo fishing rod. The line being cast in the air, a gold fish appeared dangling upon the hook. The fish was then thrown into a bowl of water and shown to the audience. Several fish were caught in this manner. Robinson adopted this trick with great success. Pestered to death for an explanation of the mystery by his journalistic friends, he finally condescended to explain (?) it. He thus described it in theNews of the World, Holloway, England, April 9, 1905:
“Anyone may know how Chung does the goldfish trick, but it does not follow that having been told one can do it. When Chung Ling Soo makes casts in the air with his rod and line, little Suce Seen, the Celestial handmaiden, stands meekly some yards away, holding a glass bowl of water. The hook is a powerful magnet, and if one could examine the goldfish caught, one would detect pieces of metal attached to the bodies of the finny captures. The live goldfish repose in little Suce Seen’s sleeve, and when a more than usually skillful cast brings the magnetic bait for a second into the interior of the girl’s sleeve, a ‘catch’ has at once been effected, and the fish is seen dangling and wriggling in the air at the end of the line.”
It is needless to remark that this is afish story. Chung Ling Soo is romancing. The gold fish are concealed in the handle of the rod. The fish that appears on the hook at each cast of the line is an imitation affair of silk, which is hidden in the hollow lead sinker. A substitution is made, and the real fish thrown into the bowl by the conjurer. The dainty little Chinese maiden (Mrs. Robinson) has nothing more to do with the trick than the people in the audience. She merely holds the bowl and looks cute.
The following is a sample of some of the nonsense published{287}about Robinson, taken from theWeekly Despatch, April 9, 1905:
“Chung Ling Soo rose from the ranks, and his fame as a sorcerer penetrated to the Chinese Empress Dowager, who commanded him to court, where, after years of service, he was promoted to many Celestial honors, and ultimately the rank of Mandarin was bestowed upon him. His skin is yellow, his eyes are black and oblique, and his teeth are absolutely inky, as all true Celestials of rank should be.” Any one acquainted with the art of stage “make-up” knows how easily these facial effects can be produced. There is even a black paste for the teeth. I don’t doubt this much of the journalist’s story—but the “Celestial honors” and the “rank of Mandarin”—shade of the illustrious Münchausen preserve us! Poor old Ching Ling Foo, the original Chinaman, has doubtless devoted his ingenious rival and “foreign devil” to the innumerable hells of the Chinese Buddhists.
So much for the Oriental ancestry of my old friend, Billy Robinson, the “One Button Man” of the Celestial Empire (Theatre of London, England).
Robinson is the inventor of the clever stage illusion “Gone,” which Herrmann exhibited, and which still forms one of the principal specialties of Kellar. I am indebted to my friend, Henry V. A. Parsell, for an accurate description of the trick, as at present worked by Mr. Kellar.
“At the rise of the curtain the stage is seen to have its rear part concealed by a second curtain and drapery, which, being drawn up, discloses a substantial framework. This framework, at the first glance, gives one the impression that it is that horrible instrument of death, the guillotine. As will be seen, it consists simply of two uprights, with a bar across the top and another a little below the middle. Just below the centre bar is a windlass, the two ropes of which pass through two pulleys fixed to the top bar. The machine stands out boldly against a black background, the distance from which is indeterminate.
“After the introduction of the fair maiden ‘who is to be gone,’ an ordinary looking bent wood chair is shown. The chair is then placed on the stage behind the framework, and by means of snap hooks the two ropes from the windlass are attached{288}to the side of the chair. The maiden is now seated in the chair and her skirt adjusted that it may not hang too low.
“GONE,”ROBINSON’SILLUSION.
“GONE,”ROBINSON’SILLUSION.
“A couple of assistants now work the windlass and elevate the chair and its occupant until they are well above the middle cross bar. One assistant then retires, the other remains with one hand resting against the side of the framework. The performer fires his pistol thrice, upon which the maiden vanishes and the{289}fragments of the chair fall to the ground. The illusion is produced by a black curtain which lies concealed behind the middle cross bar. When the pistol is fired, the assistant, whose hand is on the frame, presses a spring which releases this black curtain which is instantly drawn up in front of the suspended girl. At this same moment the girl undoes a couple of catches which allow the main part of the chair to drop. She, meanwhile, being seated on a false chair-bottom to which the ropes are attached.”
As originally devised by Mr. Robinson, the illusion was based upon the Pepper ghost-show. Between the cross-bars of a slanting frame was a sheet of plate glass which, being invisible, left the lady on the chair in full view as long as the light fell upon her. A screen of the same color as the background was concealed above the curtain and placed at such an angle as to allow its reflection to pass out to the audience. The firing of the pistol was the signal for the assistant to turn a switch. The lady was then veiled in relative darkness while the screen was illuminated and its reflection on the plate glass concealed her from sight. Carrying around the country a big sheet of plate glass is not only an expensive luxury but a risky one, so the illusion was simplified in the manner described by Mr. Parsell.