Henry Ridgely Evans

“Thus they placed Sphinxes before the gates of their temples, meaning by that to say that their theology contained all the secrets of wisdom under an enigmatic form.”—MARIETTE: Voyage dans la Haute-Egypt, Vol. II, p. 9.

I.

What is the meaning of this Egyptian Temple, transplanted from the banks of the Nile to prosaic London? The smoke and grime have attacked it and played sad havoc with its sandstone walls, painted with many hieroglyphics. The fog envelops it with a spectral embrace. No Sphinxes guard its portal. Alas, its glories have departed! But stop a bit! There is a gentleman in evening dress, with a tall hat pushed well back from his forehead, sitting in a small box-like receptacle on one side of the colossal entrance, his face framed in by a small window; and another man, similarly attired, standing at an iron wicket leading into the sanctum sanctorum. The temple, then, is guarded by two up-to-date, flesh-and-blood Sphinxes in swallow-tail coats and opera hats. Ah me, what a travesty on the human-headed monsters of the land of Mizraim. See the long line of worshipers waiting to obtain admission to the Mysteries. Has the cult of Isis and Osiris been revived? The devotees deposit coins with Sphinx No. 1 and receive from him yellow tickets in exchange, the presentation of which to Sphinx No. 2 permits their entrance into the temple.

What does it all mean?

Dear reader, this is Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, London, and the people are crowding to see a conjuring exhibition by Colonel Stodare. His Sphinx trick is the great attraction.

Stodare is dust long ago, and the Sphinx no longer a mystery. Its riddle has been solved. {319}

THE SPHINX ILLUSION.

(From the English edition of Hoffmann’s Magic. London, 1877.)

{320}

But let us rehearse its history.

The Sphinx illusion, which has formed the basis of nearly all tricks performed by the aid of looking-glasses, was invented by Thomas Tobin, of the Polytechnic Institution, London. Colonel Stodare, the conjurer, had the honor of first introducing it to the world. The “London Times” (October 19, 1865) describes it as follows:

“Most intricate is the problem proposed by Colonel Stodare, when, in addition to his admirable feats of ventriloquism and legerdemain, he presents to his patrons a novel illusion called the ‘Sphinx.’ Placing upon an uncovered table a chest similar in size to the cases commonly occupied by stuffed dogs or foxes, he removes the side facing the spectators, and reveals a head attired after the fashion of an Egyptian Sphinx. To avoid the suspicion of ventriloquism, he retires to a distance from the figure, supposed to be too great for the practice of that art, taking his position on the border-line of the stalls and the area, while the chest is on the stage. Thus stationed, he calls upon the Sphinx to open its eyes, which it does—to smile, which it does also, though the habitual expression of its countenance is most melancholy, and to make a speech, which it does also, this being the miraculous part of the exhibition. Not only with perspicuity, but with something like eloquence, does it utter some twenty lines of verse; and while its countenance is animated and expressive, the movement of the lips, in which there is nothing mechanical, exactly corresponds to the sounds articulated.

“This certainly is one of the most extraordinary illusions ever presented to the public. That the speech is spoken by a human voice there is no doubt, but how is a head to be contrived which, being detached from anything like a body, confined in a case, which it completely fills, and placed on a bare-legged table, will accompany a speech, that apparently proceeds from its lips, with a strictly appropriate movement of the mouth, and a play of the countenance that is the reverse of mechanical? Eels, as we all know, can wriggle about after they have been chopped into half a dozen pieces; but a head that, like that of the Physician Douban, in the Arabian tales, pursues its eloquence after it has been severed from the body, scarcely comes within the reach of possibilities; unless, indeed, the old-fashioned assertion that ‘King Charles walked and talked half an hour after his head was cut off,’ is to be received, not as an illustration of defective punctuation, but as a positive historical statement.

“Davus might have solved the ‘Anthropoglossus,’ but Colonel Stodare presents us with a Sphinx that is really worthy of an Oedipus.”

Mr. Alfred Thompson, the well known theatrical manager, attended one of Stodare’s performances at the Egyptian Hall, and was lucky enough to penetrate the secret of the Sphinx. In {321} an article contributed to the New York Journal, some twenty years ago, he writes:

“I happened to rise in my seat. In a moment the whole illusion was swept away, and all because of the lack of a silk handkerchief. As I stood up my eye caught, hovering between two of the table legs, the marks of two fingers, such marks as may often be seen on a mirror when the light falls at a certain angle upon it.

COLONEL STODARE.

“Those two finger marks, though close to the carpet, gave me the key to the riddle of the Sphinx. In my mental photograph I saw the confederate kneeling behind the table, his head passing through superposed apertures, one in the top of the table, the other in the bottom of the box. The figure was concealed from view by two mirrors of pure silver-plated glass, set at such an angle as to reflect either side of the room (on the stage) in such a way that what to the eye was evidently the back of the same room seen beneath and beyond the table, was really only a reproduction of those sides visible in the mirrors between the legs of the table. {322}

“This Sphinx was the sensation of London for weeks following, and having occasion to go to Paris a few days later, I offered the secret to Robert-Houdin’s successor, Hamilton, who, however, refused my terms until he knew the trick. This delay of his was much regretted by him, for some other speculator produced the secret some three months later and made a colossal sensation in Paris with his ‘Decapite Parlant.’

“In the same year I introduced the illusion for the first time on the stage in the celebrated spectacle of ‘Babil and Bijou’ at Covent Garden Theatre. In the ballet of ‘The Seasons’ Mlle. Henriette Dor, one of the most poetical dancers ever seen, appeared as the White Rose, and I designed a large rose bud on its stalk, which, coming up through the bed of summer flowers, blossomed wide until from its open petals the beautiful Dor rose up, apparently materializing as she issued from the calix on the stalk. The ballet girls were so arranged in groups around three sides (not in front) as to aid the deception by their adjusted reflections in the mirrors.

“Practically it was the same trick—two mirrors at a right angle and a trap door. This curious trick was never improved on. It was added to and altered at the Polytechnic, where, among other adaptations of the same principle, was shown an animated tableau of Sir Joshua Reynolds’ famous cherubs. Three cherubs’ heads appeared in a moonlit sky, floating, and sang in sweet child voices the verses of an anthem.

“Curiously enough I met the original Sphinx not three years ago in the person of a business manager who had been Stodare’s agent, and only three months back one of those very cherubs in Mr. Fred Solomon, the comedian, who was then a chorister at the Chapel Royal, and who was threatened with all sorts of tortures if he let the cat or the cherub out of the bag.”

One of the best explanations of the Sphinx is given by Professor Hoffmann in his work on magic. I quote as follows from him:

“For the benefit of those who have never seen this illusion presented upon the stage, we will describe its effect a little more minutely. The Sphinx is always made a separate portion of the entertainment, as it is necessary to lower the curtain for a few moments before and after its appearance, in order to arrange and remove the necessary preparations. The curtain rises, and reveals a round or oval table, supported upon three slender legs, and utterly devoid of drapery. This stands in a curtained recess of ten or twelve feet square, open on the side towards the audience. The performer comes forward bearing a cloth covered box, fifteen to twenty inches square, and places it upon the table already mentioned. He then unlocks the box, the front of which drops down, so as to give a perfect view of the interior, in which is seen a head of Egyptian fashion, and colored in perfect imitation of life. The performer now retires to a position in the very midst of the audience, and raising his wand, says in a tone of command, ‘Sphinx, awake!’ The Sphinx slowly opens its eyes, looking first to the front with a strong {323} gaze; then, as if gradually gaining consciousness, to the one side and the other, the head moving slightly with the eyes. Questions are put by the performer to the head, and are answered by it, the play of the mouth and features being in perfect harmony with the sounds uttered. Finally, in answer to a query of the operator, the Sphinx declaims a neatly turned oracle in verse. This concludes the exhibition, and the performer closes the box. Should the audience call for an encore, the performer addresses them to the following or some similar effect:

“‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am glad that the Sphinx has afforded you satisfaction, and I should be only too pleased to be able to indulge the desire which you kindly testify of seeing it again. Unfortunately, this is not possible. The charm by which I am enabled, as you have seen, to revivify for a space the ashes of an ancient Egyptian, who lived and died some centuries ago, lasts but for fifteen minutes. That time has now expired, and the head which has astonished you with its mysterious eloquence has again returned to its original dust.’ As he speaks the last words, he again opens the box, and the head is found to have disappeared, leaving in its place a handful of ashes.

FIG. 1. FIG. 2.

“This singular illusion depends upon the well-known principle, common to optics as to mechanics, that the ‘angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence.’ Thus, if a person standing at the point a, in Fig. 1, look into a mirror placed in the position indicated by the line bc, he will see reflected, not himself, but whatever object may be placed at the point d. By an ingenious application of this principle a looking-glass may be used to conceal a given object behind it, while at the same time an image reflected in the glass may be made to represent what would be presumably seen if no glass were there, and thus prevent the presence of the mirror from being suspected. This is the secret of the Sphinx. The table, as already mentioned, has three legs, one in front, and one at each side. Between these legs the spectator sees apparently the curtains at the back of the recess, but really a reflection of the curtains at the sides. The space between the middle leg and that on either side is occupied by pieces of looking-glass (see Fig. 2, which represents a ground plan of the arrangements), extending from a to b, and a to c. The glass extends quite down to the floor, which is covered with cloth of the same material and color as the surrounding curtains. The {324} spectators, therefore, looking towards the table, see above it the curtains at the back, and below it the reflection of the curtains at the sides; which, however, if the relative angles are properly arranged, appears to be simply the continuation or lower portion of the curtains at the back. The illusion is perfect, and the spectator, from the position assigned to him, cannot possibly discover, by the evidence of his senses, that he is looking at any other than an ordinary bare-legged table, with the background visible in the usual way.

“The rest is a very simple matter. The person who is to represent the Sphinx is beforehand placed, duly attired, underneath the table. There is a trap in the table through which he can pass his head at the proper moment. This trap is a round piece of wood, covered to match the surface of the table, and working on a hinge on the side nearest to the audience. It has no spring, but is kept closed by means of a button on the opposite side, and when released hangs down perpendicularly. It must be large enough to allow the passage of the somewhat elaborate headpiece of the Sphinx, and would therefore leave an open space visible round the neck. This difficulty is met by the expedient of having a wooden collar, the upper surface of which is a facsimile in size and pattern of the trap. This collar is fastened round the neck of the representative of the Sphinx. When he lifts his head up through the trap, the collar exactly fills the opening, and thus shows no break in the surface of the table. The box is bottomless, and when brought forward by the performer is empty. A little caution has to be observed in placing it upon the table, for, if the performer were to approach the table from the side, his legs would be reflected in the glass, and would thereby betray the secret. He must therefore make his appearance from some quarter outside of the curtained recess, and advance to a position well in front of, and at some little distance from the table, when, by moving in a straight line from the audience towards the middle leg a, he prevents this inconvenient reflection. The placing the box upon the table, and the unlocking it, allow time for the representative of the Sphinx to get his head into position within it. This done, the box is opened, and the rest depends on the dramatic talent of the performer and his assistant. The performance being concluded, the box is again locked, and the head withdrawn, a handful of ashes being introduced on the trap in its stead.

“The angle at which the two mirrors should be set cannot be determined absolutely, but will vary according to the distance and position of the surrounding drapery.”

The above method is generally employed in working the Sphinx illusion, but it differs in one respect from that used by Colonel Stodare. In the Colonel’s presentation of the trick, the box was not bottomless. It had a trap in it corresponding with a similar trap in the top of the table. Stodare carried the mystic chest to the “run down” after the lid was closed, and then, by his ventriloquial power, caused a muffled voice to issue from the receptacle, presumably that of the Sphinx. Thus the spectators were led to believe that the head was still in the {325} box, and that the table had nothing whatever to do with the trick. On opening the chest great was the surprise of everyone to behold the head completely vanished, the heap of ashes having taken its place. This was a very clever bit of mise en scÈne, and showed what an artist Stodare was.

And now for a word or two concerning the career of the clever producer of the Sphinx. Colonel Stodare never smelt powder nor directed the manoeuvres of a regiment of red coats. His title was self-assumed, to bedazzle the English public. He never wielded any weapon save a wooden wand tipped with ivory. But he did that to perfection. His real name was Alfred Inglis. Little or nothing is known of his early life and education. His first appearance was at the Egyptian Hall, London, on Easter Monday, April 17, 1865, when he introduced, for the first time in England, those celebrated illusions of Hindostan, the “Mango Tree” and the “Indian Basket.” It was on the occasion of his two-hundredth consecutive representation at the aforesaid hall that Stodare introduced the “Sphinx” trick, which at once attracted crowds. On Tuesday evening, November 21, 1865, he had the honor to appear before Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, on the occasion of the birthday of H. R. H. the Princess Royal, afterwards the Empress Frederick of Germany. Stodare died of consumption in 1866. He wrote two small treatises on magic: The Art of Magic (1865) and Stodare’s Fly-notes (1866).

The inventor of the Sphinx, Mr. Tobin, sold the secret to M. Talrich, of Paris, the proprietor of a wax-works exhibition on the Boulevard de la Madeline. Talrich called his collection of figures the MusÉe FranÇais. Impressed with the success of Madame Tussaud’s “Chamber of Horrors,” in connection with her wax-works exhibition in London, Talrich transformed the “Talking Head” into the “Decapitated Speaker.” His presentation of the illusion was calculated to strike terror in the mind of the observer. Underneath his museum was a damp and mouldy cellar, which he fitted up for the exhibition. The visitor was conducted down a stairway, dimly lighted by a couple of antique {326} lamps suspended from the vaulted roof. When he reached the bottom he was suddenly confronted with a group of wax figures representing a scene under the Inquisition. Every detail of a torture chamber was given, such as is described by Victor Hugo in his Notre Dame de Paris. The cowled emissaries of the Holy Office were depicted in the act of putting a wretched victim to the torture. The light from a flambeau, held by one of the figures, illumined the ghastly scene. In this uncertain light everything was horribly majestic. Pushing onward and turning to the right, “the spectator passed through a dimly-lighted corridor, and found himself in front of a balustrade, breast-high, which extended across the entrance of a narrow recess. In the middle of this gloomy cellar, the floor of which was carpeted with musty straw, was seen a table, on which rested a human head, leaning slightly to one side and apparently asleep. On being addressed by the exhibitor the head raised itself, opened its eyes, and related its own history, including the details of its decapitation, after which it replied, in various languages, to questions put by those present.”

One day a party of young students, out for a lark, began shooting bread pellets at the head, in order to test whether it had entirely lost all sensation. The Decapitated One, in his wrath, abused them soundly, in language that savored more of modern Paris than the days of the Inquisition. This affair got noised abroad, and gay young boulevardiers made up regular parties to go and shoot pellets at the head; this amusement they called “pop-gun practice.” Some of these pellets, not so well “bred” (pardon the pun) as others, struck certain portions of the table which were apparently open, but from which they rebounded, clearly indicating that the supposed vacant space was really a sheet of looking-glass. M. Talrich then put a close-meshed wire grating between the spectators and their victim, but alas! the secret of the Inquisition was disclosed, and the palmy days of the MusÉe Francais were over. Says Houdin: “The cause of M. Talrich’s failure was the same that brought disaster to the Brothers Davenport. Too great confidence in the Parisian public led both parties to offer what, after all, were but ingenious conjuring tricks as supernatural phenomena.” {327}

A few years ago, the eminent English novelist, H. Rider-Haggard, evolved from his elastic imag­i­na­tion a weird and wonderful romance of Darkest Africa, called “She, who must be obeyed.” It was redolent of magic and mystery. The beautiful sorceress, “She,” a damsel of Greek descent, had lived for centuries in the heart of Africa, ruling over generations of black subjects with an iron despotism, and subduing them by her necromantic power. She was worshiped as a goddess. Her immortality upon earth was due to the rejuvenating effects of the mystic fire of Kor, into which she plunged and renewed her youth at certain periods. Balling in love with a young English explorer, who had succeeded in penetrating into her realm, the Rosicrucian spell was broken, and the beautiful “She” shriveled up and expired in agony while attempting to bathe in the flames of Kor. The scene, as depicted by the novelist, is very awe-inspiring. The book had a great vogue in its day, and was dramatized with fine effect.

“Have you seen ‘She’?” was the apparently ungrammatical question asked by theatre-goers.

Finally, the conjurer, always ready to seize upon the fads and fancies of the day to make capital out of them, took the chief motif of Rider-Haggard’s romance, and built upon it one {328} of the very best illusions in the domain of magic, called “She.” I have understood that the inventor of “She” was the Chevalier Thorne. In this act, a young lady, garbed as the witch of the Dark Continent, was cremated in full view of the audience. It was the Sphinx trick over again, but in a more ingenious shape. The lady mounted a bare-legged table, whereupon an asbestos canopy was lowered over her, so that she was completely concealed from the audience. Suddenly flames and smoke poured forth from beneath the canopy. The shrieks of the victim were heard. When the cover was raised, nothing was to be seen except a blackened skull and some charred bones—the lady was presumably cremated. In another version of the trick, the skull and bones were dispensed with, and the lady reappeared in a private box or came running down the center aisle of the theatre, after the canopy was lifted.

Now for an explanation of the illusion.

The spectators saw an innocent-looking table with four legs, and beneath it, supported by a central rod, four supports holding lighted candles, very much on the order of a chandelier. This latter effect seemed to preclude the idea of mirrors being used. “But things are seldom what they seem,” in magic at least. In reality the table had but two legs, and there were but two candles burning, the remaining legs and tapers being reflections. How was the deception accomplished? In the following manner: Converging at the central standard (Fig. 1) were two plane mirrors, fixed at an angle of ninety degrees with each other and forty-five degrees with the side panels of the screen which boxed in the table from the rest of the stage. These mirrors reflected the side panels, which were of the same color as the panel at the back, and made the spectators believe that they saw underneath the table the rear of the screen. They also reflected the two legs of the table and the two supports with their lighted candles. The triangular wooden box, upon the sides of which the mirrors were fastened, extended to the back panel of the screen. It was covered with cloth of the same color as that of the screen. This box was on a level with the top of the table.

The lady got away through a trap, after having placed the skull and bones in position and ignited a lot of red fire (Fig 2). {329}

Another illusion in which the looking-glass plays a part is that of the Decapitated Princess. Instead of a table, a chair is used. The head stands upright upon two swords, which rest on the arms of the chair. A mirror, placed at an angle of forty-five degrees, reaching from the front part of the arms to the back edge of the seat, reflects the bottom of the chair, thereby inducing the spectators to believe that they see the back of the chair; ergo, the seat is empty. Of course, this seat is covered with like material as that of the back of the elaborately carved throne chair. The glass conceals the trap at the back, through which the lady sticks her head and part of her body. She wears about her neck a lace collar, so arranged as to rest nicely on the two Swords.

I first saw this interesting illusion exhibited in a cafÉ chantant in Paris. The fat, thick-necked, little Frenchman, who presented the trick to the audience, reminded me of one of those human-headed bulls carved upon the walls of Assyrian palaces and temples. His hair and beard were oiled and curled. He bellowed out the marvels of his decapitated Princess, and flirted the skirts of his long Prince Albert coat like an animal lashing flies off its flanks with its tail. According to this Chevalier d’Ananias, the Princess lost her charming little powdered head during the reign of Robespierre I; it “sneezed into the basket” of the guillotine one fine morning while the knitting women sat around the scaffold and plied their needles and tongues. “Down with the Aristocrats!” Thanks to an eminent surgeon, who begged the head from the executioner, it was restored to life by hypnotic power. The surgeon handed it down to his descendants. Finally it came into possession of the showman, by what means the gentleman did not relate.

A few days after the above exhibition, I saw the poor little Princess eating cabbage soup in a second-class cabaret. Her manager was with her. Her head was on her body at the time.