Henry Ridgely Evans

“Stay illusion!

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,

Speak to me.”—SHAKESPEARE:Hamlet.

I.

The French Revolution drew crowds of adventurers to Paris, their brains buzzing with the wildest schemes—political, social, and scientific—which they endeavored to exploit. Among the inventors was a Belgian optician, Etienne-Gaspard Robertson, born at LiÈge, in 1763, where for many years he had been a professor of physics. He addressed a memorial in the year 1794 to the Government proposing to construct gigantic burning glasses À la Archimedes, to set fire to the English fleets, at that period blockading the French seaports. A commission composed of Monge, Lefevre, Gineau and Guyton de Morveau was appointed to investigate the matter, but nothing came of it.

Failing to accomplish his scheme, Robertson turned his attention to other methods of money-making. Four years passed away. Having a decided penchant for magic illusions, etc., he set about constructing a ghost-making apparatus. The “Red Terror” was a thing of the past, and people had begun to pluck up courage and seek amusements. Rid to a great extent, of his rival, La Guillotine—the most famous of “ghost-making machines”—Robertson set up his phan­tas­ma­goria at the Pavilion de l’Echiquier, and flooded the city with circulars describing his exhibition. Poultier, a journalist and one of the Representatives of the People, wrote an amusing account of the entertainment in the L’Ami des Lois, 1798.17 He says: {88}

ROBERTSON’S GHOST SHOW.

“A decemvir of the Republic has said that the dead return no more, but go to Robertson’s exhibition and you will soon be convinced of the contrary, for you will see the dead returning to life in crowds. Robertson calls forth phantoms, and commands legions of spectres. In a well-lighted apartment in the Pavilion l’Echiquier I found myself seated a few evenings since, with sixty or seventy people. At seven o’clock a pale, thin man entered the room where we were sitting, and having extinguished the candles he said: ‘Citizens, I am not one of those adventurers and impudent swindlers who promise more than they can perform. I have assured the public in the Journal de Paris that I can bring the dead to life, and I shall do so. Those of the company who desire to see the apparitions of those who were dear to them, but who have passed away from this life by sickness or otherwise, have only to speak; and I shall obey their commands.’ There was a moment’s silence, and a haggard-looking man, with dishevelled hair and sorrowful eyes, rose in the midst of the assemblage and exclaimed, ‘As I have been unable in an official journal to re-establish the worship of Marat, I should at least be glad to see his shadow.’ Robertson immediately threw upon {89} a brazier containing lighted coals, two glasses of blood, a bottle of vitriol, a few drops of aquafortis, and two numbers of the Journal des Hommes Libres, and there instantly appeared in the midst of the smoke caused by the burning of these substances, a hideous livid phantom armed with a dagger and wearing a red cap of liberty. The man at whose wish the phantom had been evoked seemed to recognize Marat, and rushed forward to embrace the vision, but the ghost made a frightful grimace and disappeared. A young man next asked to see the phantom of a young lady whom he had tenderly loved, and whose portrait he {90} showed to the worker of all these marvels. Robertson threw upon the brazier a few sparrow’s feathers, a grain or two of phosphorus, and a dozen butterflies. A beautiful woman with her bosom uncovered and her hair floating about her, soon appeared, and smiled on the young man with most tender regard and sorrow. A grave looking individual sitting close by me suddenly exclaimed, ‘Heavens! it’s my wife come to life again,’ and he rushed from the room, apparently fearing that what he saw was not a phantom.”

ROBERTSON’S ILLUSION ON A SMALL SCALE.

(From a French Print.)

17 Du 8 germinal au VI—28 Mars, 1798.

One evening one of the audience, avowing himself to be a Royalist, called for the shade of the martyred king, Louis XVI. Here was a dilemma for citizen Robertson. Had he complied with the request and evoked the royal ghost, prison and possibly the guillotine would have been his fate.

But the magician was foxy. He suspected a trap on the part of a police agent in disguise, who had a spite against him. He replied as follows: “Citizens, I once had a recipe for bringing dead kings to life, but that was before the 18th Fructidor, when the Republic declared royalty abolished forever. On that glorious day I lost my magic formula, and fear that I shall never recover it again.”

In spite of Robertson’s clever retort, the affair created such a sensation that on the following day, the police prohibited the exhibitions, and placed seals on the optician’s boxes and papers. However, the ban was soon lifted, and the performances allowed to continue. Lucky Robertson! The advertisement filled his coffers to overflowing. People struggled to gain admission to the wonderful phan­tas­ma­goria.

Finding the Pavilion too small to accommodate the crowds, the magician moved his show to an abandoned chapel of the Capuchin Convent, near the Place VendÔme. This ancient place of worship was located in the middle of a vast cloister crowded with tombs and funeral tablets.

A more gruesome spot could not have been selected. The Chapel was draped in black. From the ceiling was suspended a sepulchral lamp, in which alcohol and salt were burned, giving forth a ghastly light which made the faces of the spectators {91} resemble those of corpses. Robertson, habited in black, made his appearance, and harangued his audience on ghosts, witches, sorcery, and magic. Finally the lamp was extinguished and the apartment plunged in Plutonian darkness. A storm of wind and rain, thunder and lightning, interspersed with the tolling of a church bell, followed, and after this the solemn strains of a far-off organ were heard. At the evocation of the conjurer, phantoms of Voltaire, Mirabeau, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Robespierre, Danton, and Marat appeared and faded away again “into thin air.” The ghost of Robespierre was shown rising from a tomb. A flash of lightning, vivid and terrible, would strike the phantom, whereupon it would sink down into the ground and vanish.

People were often carried away fainting from the exhibition. It was truly awe inspiring and perfect in mise en scÈne.

At the conclusion of the sÉance, Robertson used to remark: “I have shown you, citizens, every species of phantom, and there is but one more truly terrible spectre—the fate which is reserved for us all. Behold!” In an instant there stood in the center of the room a skeleton armed with a scythe. It grew to a colossal height and gradually faded away.18

18 For a romance embracing the subject of phan­tas­ma­goria see the poet Schiller’s Ghost-Seer. (Bohn Library.)

Sir David Brewster, in his work on natural magic, has the following to say about concave mirrors and the art of phan­tas­ma­goria: “Concave mirrors are distinguished by their property of forming in front of them, and in the air, inverted images of erect objects, or erect images of inverted objects, placed at some distance beyond their principal focus. If a fine transparent cloud of blue smoke is raised, by means of a chafing dish, around the focus of a large concave mirror, the image of any highly illuminated object will be depicted in the middle of it, with great beauty. A skull concealed from the observer is sometimes used to surprise the ignorant; and when a dish of fruit has been depicted in a similar manner, a spectator, stretching out his hand to seize it, is met with the image of a drawn dagger which has been quickly substituted for the fruit at the other conjugate focus of the mirror.” {92}

Thoroughly conversant with the science of optics, it is more than probable that Robertson made use of large concave mirrors to project inverted phantoms of living persons in the air, with convex lenses to restore the ghosts to an upright position. If he merely used painted images, which is the more likely, then he had resort to the phantasmagoric magic lantern, rolling upon a small track. Pushing this contrivance backwards and forwards caused the images to lessen or increase, to recede or advance.

Robertson realized quite a snug fortune out of his ghost exhibition and other inventions. His automaton speaking figure, called le phonorganon, uttered two hundred words of the French language. Another interesting piece of mechanism was his Trumpeter. These two machines formed part of a beautiful Cabinet de Physique in his house, the Hotel d’ Yorck, Boulevard Montmartre, No. 12 Paris. He has left some entertaining memoirs, entitled MÉmoires rÉcrÉatifs et anecdotifs (1830–1834), copies of which are exceedingly rare. He was a great aeronaut and invented the parachute which has been wrongly attributed to Garnerin.

Robertson, as Commandant des Aerostiers, served in the French army, and rendered valuable service with his balloons in observing the movements of the enemy in the campaigns in Belgium and Holland, under General Jourdain. In the year 1804 he wrote a treatise on ballooning, entitled, La Minerve, vaisseau AÉrien destinÉ aux dÉcouvertes, et proposÉ, À toutes les AcadÉmies de l’Europe, published at Vienna. He died at Batignolles (Paris) in 1837.

In his memoirs, Robertson describes a species of optical toy called the Phantascope, for producing illusions on a small scale. This may give a clue to his spectres of the Capuchin Convent. He also offers an explanation of Nostradamus’ famous feat of conjuring up the likeness of Francis I. in a magic mirror, for the edification of the beautiful Marie de MÉdici.

We now come to the greatest of all ghost-shows, that of the Polytechnic Institute, London. In the year 1863 letters patent {93} were granted to Professor John Henry Pepper, professor of chemistry in the London Polytechnic Institute, and Henry Dircks, civil engineer, for a device “for projecting images of living persons in the air.” Here were no concave mirrors, no magic lanterns, simply a large sheet of unsilvered glass. The effect is founded on a well-known optical illusion. “In the evening carry a lighted candle to the window and you will see reflected in the pane, not only the image of the candle, but that of your hand and face as well. A sheet of glass, inclined at a certain angle, is placed on a stage between the actors and spectators. Beneath the stage and just in front of the glass, is a person robed in a white shroud, and illuminated by the brilliant rays of the electric or the oxy-hydrogen light. The image of the actor who plays the part of spectre, being reflected by the glass, becomes visible to the spectators, and stands, apparently, just as far behind the glass as its prototype is placed in front of it. This image is only visible to the audience. The actor who is on the stage sees nothing of it, and in order that he may not strike at random in his attacks on the spectre, it is necessary to mark beforehand on the boards the particular spot at which, to the eyes of the audience, the phantom will appear. Care must be taken to have the theatre darkened and the stage very dimly lighted.”

At the Polytechnic Institute the ghost was admirably produced. The stage represented the room of a mediaeval student who was engaged in burning the midnight oil. Looking up from his black-letter tome he beheld the apparition of a skeleton. Resenting the intrusion he arose from his chair, seized a sword which was ready to his hand, and aimed a blow at the figure, which vanished, only to return again and again.

The assistant who manipulated the spectre wore a cover of black velvet. He held the real skeleton in his arms, and made the fleshless bones assume the most grotesque attitudes. He had evidently studied Holbein’s “Dance of Death.” The lower part of the skeleton, from the pelvis downward, was dressed in white linen, presumably a shroud. To the audience the figure seemed to vanish and reappear through the floor. {94}

This ghost-making apparatus has been used with splendid success in the dramatizations of Dickens’ Christmas Carol and Haunted Man; Bulwer’s Strange Story; and Alexander Dumas’ Corsican Brothers.

“In the course of the same year (1863),” says Robert-Houdin in his Les Secrets de la pre­sti­di­gi­ta­tion et de la magie, “M. Hostein, manager of the Imperial ChÂtelet Theatre, purchased19 from M. Pepper the secret of the ‘Ghost,’ in order to introduce it into a drama entitled Le Secret de Miss Aurore [a French adaptation of “Aurora Floyd”]. M. Hostein spared no expense in order to ensure the success of the illusion. Three enormous sheets of unsilvered glass, each five yards square, were placed side by side, and presented an ample surface for the reflection of the ghost-actor and his movements. Two Drummond lights (oxy-hydrogen) were used for the purpose of the trick.

“But before the trick was in working order at its new destination, several of the Parisian theatres, in the face of letters patent duly granted to M. Pepper, had already advertised performances wherein it was included.

“M. Hostein had no means of preventing the piracy; unluckily for himself, and still more so for the inventor, the plagiarists had discovered among the French official records a patent taken out, ten years before, by a person named SÉguin for a toy called the Polyoscope, which was founded on the same principle as the ghost illusion.”

Professor Pepper claims to have been totally unaware of the existence of M. SÉguin’s Polyoscope. In his True History of the Ghost, Pepper describes the toy as follows:

“It consisted of a box with a small sheet of glass placed at an angle of forty-five degrees, and it reflected a concealed table, with plastic figures, the spectres of which appeared behind the glass, and which young people who possessed the toy invited their companions to take out of the box, when they melted away, as it were, in their hands and disappeared.”

In France, at that time, all improvements on a patent fell to the original patentee, and Pepper found himself out-of-court. {95}

The conjurer Robin claims, on very good authority, to have been the original inventor of the ghost illusion. He writes as follows:

“I first had the idea of producing the apparitions in 1845. Meeting innumerable difficulties in carrying out my invention I was obliged to wait until 1847 before reaching a satisfactory result. In that year I was able to exhibit the ‘spectres’ to the public in the theatres of Lyons and Saint Etienne under the name of ‘The living phan­tas­ma­goria.’ To my great astonishment I produced little effect. The apparitions still were in want of certain improvements which I have since added. After succeeding in perfecting them I met with great success in exhibiting them in Venice, Rome, Munich, Vienna and Brussels, but as my experiments were very costly I was obliged to lay them aside for some time.”

He further declares that M. SÉguin, who had been employed by him to paint phantasmagoric figures, had based his toy, the Polyoscope, upon the principle of his (Robin’s) spectres. Robin was one of the managers who brought out the illusion in Paris, despite the protests of M. Hostein. He opposed Hostein with the patent of the Polyoscope and some of his old theatre posters of the year 1847, advertising the “living phan­tas­ma­goria.”

Houdin is rather severe on M. Robin when he classes him among the plagiarists and pirates. But the two conjurers were great rivals. M. Caroly, editor of the Illusioniste, in an article on Robin, suggests that perhaps Pepper had seen and examined a Polyoscope, and built upon it the theatrical illusion of the ghost. My personal belief is that Professor Pepper was ignorant of the existence of the toy as well as of Robin’s former exhibitions of phan­tas­ma­goria, and independently thought out the ghost illusion. This frequently happens among inventors, as every one knows, who has dealings with the U. S. Patent Office.

In the year 1868, there was exhibited in Paris, at the Ambigu Theatre, the melodrama of “La Czarine,” founded on Robert-Houdin’s story of Kempelen’s Automaton Chess Player. In this play was a remarkable use of the “ghost illusion,” arranged by Houdin, as well as a chess-playing automaton. I quote as {96} follows from Houdin’s Les Secrets de la pre­sti­di­gi­ta­tion et de la magie, Chapter VI: “My collaborators, Messrs. Adenis and Gastineau, had asked me to arrange a ‘ghost effect’ for the last act. I had recourse to the ‘ghost illusion’, but I presented it in such guise as to give it a completely novel character, as the reader will be enabled to judge from the following description: The scene is laid in Russia, in the reign of Catherine II. In the last act, an individual named Pougatcheff, who, on the strength of a personal likeness to Peter III, attempts to pass himself off as the deceased monarch, is endeavoring to incite the Russian populace to dethrone Catherine. A learned man, M. de Kempelen, who is devoted to the Czarina, succeeds, by the aid of scientific expedients, in neutralizing the villainous designs of the sham prince.

“The scene is a savage glen, behind which is seen a background of rugged rocks. Pougatcheff appears, surrounded by a crowd of noisy adherents. M. de Kempelen comes forward, denounces the impostor, and declares that, to complete his confusion, he will call up the spirit of the genuine Peter III. At his command a sarcophagus appears from the solid rock; it stands upright on end. The lid opens, and exhibits a corpse covered with a winding sheet. The tomb falls to the ground, but the phantom remains erect. The sham Czar, though a good deal frightened, makes a pretence of defying the apparition, which he treats as a mere illusion. But the upper part of the winding sheet falls aside, and reveals the livid and moulding features of the late sovereign. Pougatcheff, thinking that he can hardly be worsted in a fight with a corpse, draws his sword, and with one blow cuts off its head, which falls noisily to the ground; but at the very same moment the living head of Peter III appears on the ghostly shoulders. Pougatcheff, driven to frenzy by these successive apparitions, makes at the figure, seizes it by its garments, and thrusts it violently back into the tomb. But the head remains suspended in space, rolling its eyes in a threatening manner, and appearing to offer defiance to its persecutor. The frenzy of Pougatcheff reaches its culminating point. Grasping his sword with both hands, he tries to cleave in twain the {97} head of his mysterious adversary; but his blade only passes through a shadowy being, who laughs to scorn his impotent rage. Again he raises his sword, but at the same moment the body of Peter III, in full imperial costume, and adorned with all the insignia of his rank, becomes visible beneath the head. The re-animate Czar hurls the impostor violently back, exclaiming, in a voice of thunder. ‘Hold sacrilegious wretch!’ Pougatcheff, terror-stricken, and overwhelmed with confusion, confesses his imposture, and the phantom vanishes.

“The stage arrangements to produce these effects are as follows: An actor, robed in the brilliant costume of Peter III, reclines against the sloped support beneath the stage. His body is covered with a wrapper of black velvet, which is designed to prevent, until the proper moment, any reflection in the glass. His head alone is uncovered, and ready to be reflected in the glass so soon as the rays of the electric light shall be directed upon it.

“The phantom which originally comes out of the sarcophagus is a dummy, whose head is modeled from that of the actor who plays the part of Czar. This head is made readily detachable from the body.

“Everything is placed and arranged in such manner that the dummy image of Peter III shall precisely correspond in position with the person of the actor who plays the part of ghost.

“At the same moment that the head of the former falls to the ground, the electric light is gradually made to shine on the head of the actor who plays the part of Peter III, which being reflected in the glass, appears to shape itself on the body of the dummy ghost. After this latter is hurled to the ground, the veil which hides the body of the actor Czar is quickly and completely drawn away, and the sudden flood of the electric light reflects his whole body where his head alone was previously visible.”

As a clever producer of the living and impalpable spectres, Robin had no equal. I will describe two of his effects. The curtain rose, showing a cemetery with tombstones and cenotaphs. It was midnight. A lover entered and stood weeping over the tomb of his dead fiancÉe. Suddenly she appeared before him {98} arrayed in a winding sheet which she threw aside, revealing herself in the dress of a bride. He endeavored to embrace her. His arms passed unimpeded through the spectre. Gradually the vision melted away, leaving him grieving and desolate.

The impression produced by this illusion was profound and terrifying. Amid cries of astonishment and fright resounding through the hall, many women fainted or made their escape.

Robin devised another scene which he called “The Demon of Paganini.” An actor made up to resemble the famous violin virtuoso, Paganini, tall, gaunt, with flowing locks, and dressed in shabby black, was seen reclining upon a couch. A devil, habited in green and red, and armed with a violin, made its appearance and clambered upon the sleeper, installing himself comfortably on the violinist’s stomach. Then the demon gave himself up to a violin solo which was not in the least interrupted by the frantic gestures of the nightmare ridden sufferer, whose hands attempted in vain to seize the weird violin and bow. The demon, {99} sometimes sitting, sometimes kneeling on the body of his victim, continued his musical selection.

The Demon of Paganini was mounted on a special support by which he could be elevated and depressed at pleasure. The violinist, who was the real player, stood below the stage, but in the shade, at one side of the electric lamp which illuminated the demon. The sound issued from the opening in front of the glass. The glass used by Robin measured 5 by 4 meters, in a single piece. It was placed with great care, for the least deviation would be followed by a displacement of the image.

It should be remarked that Robin’s auditorium comprised only a sloping parterre surrounded by a range of small boxes. There was no gallery. The spectators, consequently, were not elevated sufficiently to perceive the opening in the stage.

When, in 1866, Robin’s Spectres were taken to a large theatre in Paris, the ChÂtelet, he was obliged to devise a different arrangement, for the spectators in the galleries above were able {100} to see, at the same time, both the actor and his reflection. Robin had been obliged to place his actor on a lower level because he had no room at the side of his little stage. At the ChÂtelet, however, space permitted a much more convenient arrangement, for it allowed the actor, who furnished the reflection, to move about freely on a horizontal plane. The glass was placed vertically and formed, on the plane, an angle of about 45° with the longitudinal axis of the theatre. The actor was hidden behind a wing; his reflection appeared in the center of the stage toward the back-drop; visible, nevertheless, to all the spectators. His field of movement, necessarily restricted, was marked out in advance upon the floor.

Robin was able to preserve for a considerable time the secret of the ghost illusion; just enough to pique the curiosity of the public. It was guessed at last that he made use of unsilvered glass. The fact became known and several wags proved the presence of the glass by throwing inoffensive paper balls which struck the obstacle and fell, arrested in their flight. Robin was greatly vexed at these occurrences but the trick was none the less exposed.