SUPREME egotism and utter disregard for the truth may be traced in all of Robert-Houdin’s writings, but they reached a veritable climax when he indited chapter XVI. of his “Memoirs.” During the course of this chapter he described the so-called invention and first production of the disappearing-handkerchief trick.

According to the American edition of his “Memoirs,” page 303, he received a command to appear before Louis Philippe and his family at St. Cloud in November, 1846. During the six days intervening between the official invitation and his appearance before the royal family, he arranged a trick from which, he states, he had every reason to expect excellent results. On page 305 he goes even further in his claims and announces:

“All my tricks were favorably received, and the one I had invented for the occasion gained me unbounded applause.”

He then gives the following description of the trick and its performance:

“I borrowed from my noble spectators several handkerchiefs, which I made into a parcel, and laid on the table. Then, at my request, different persons wrote on the cards the names of places whither they desired their handkerchiefs to be invisibly transported.

“When this had been done, I begged the King to take three of the cards at hazard, and choose from them the place he might consider most suitable.

“‘Let us see,’ Louis Philippe said, ‘what this one says: “I desire the handkerchiefs to be found beneath one of the candelabra on the mantelpiece.” That is too easy for a sorcerer; so we will pass to the next card: “The handkerchiefs are to be transported to the dome of the Invalides.” That would suit me, but it is much too far, not for the handkerchiefs, but for us. Ah, ah!’ the King added, looking at the last card, ‘I am afraid, M. Robert-Houdin, I am about to embarrass you. Do you know what this card proposes?’

“‘Will your Majesty deign to inform me?’

“‘It is desired that you should send the handkerchiefs into the chest of the last orange-tree on the right of the avenue.’

“‘Only that, Sire? Deign to order, and I shall obey.’

“‘Very good, then; I should like to see such a magic act: I, therefore, choose the orange-tree chest.’

“The King gave some orders in a low voice, and I directly saw several persons run to the orange-tree, in order to watch it and prevent any fraud.

“I was delighted at this precaution, which must add to the effect of my experiment, for the trick was already arranged, and the precaution hence too late.

“I had now to send the handkerchiefs on their travels, so I placed them beneath a bell of opaque glass, and, taking my wand, I ordered my invisible travellers to proceed to the spot the King had chosen.

“I raised the bell; the little parcel was no longer there, and a white turtle-dove had taken its place.

“The King then walked quickly to the door, whence he looked in the direction of the orange-tree, to assure himself that the guards were at their post; when this was done, he began to smile and shrug his shoulders.

“‘Ah! M. Robert-Houdin,’ he said, somewhat ironically, ‘I much fear for the virtue of your magic staff.’ Then he added, as he returned to the end of the room, where several servants were standing, ‘Tell William to open immediately the last chest at the end of the avenue, and bring me carefully what he finds there—if he does find anything.’

“William soon proceeded to the orange-tree, and, though much astonished at the orders given him, he began to carry them out.

“He carefully removed one of the sides of the chest, thrust his hand in, and almost touched the roots of the tree before he found anything. All at once he uttered a cry of surprise as he drew out a small iron coffer eaten by the rust.

“This curious find, after having been cleaned from the mould, was brought in and placed on a small ottoman by the King’s side.

“‘Well, M. Robert-Houdin,’ Louis Philippe said to me, with a movement of impatient curiosity, ‘here is a box; am I to conclude it contains the handkerchiefs?’

“‘Yes, Sire,’ I replied with assurance, ‘and they have been there, too, for a long period.’

“‘How can that be? The handkerchiefs were lent you scarce a quarter of an hour ago.’

“‘I cannot deny it, Sire; but what would my magic powers avail me if I could not perform incomprehensible tricks? Your Majesty will doubtless be still more surprised when I prove to your satisfaction that this coffer as well as its contents was deposited in the chest of the orange-tree sixty years ago.’

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Reproduction of a very rare pastel portrait of Cagliostro. From the Harry Houdini Collection.
Reproduction of a very rare pastel portrait of Cagliostro. From the Harry Houdini Collection.

“‘I should like to believe your statement,’ the King replied with a smile; ‘but that is impossible, and I must, therefore, ask for proofs of your assertion.’

“‘If your Majesty will be kind enough to open this casket they will be supplied.’

“‘Certainly; but I shall require a key for that.’

“‘It only depends on yourself, Sire, to have one. Deign to remove it from the neck of this turtle dove, which has just brought it to you.’

“Louis Philippe unfastened a ribbon that held a small rusty key with which he hastened to unlock the coffer. The first thing that caught the King’s eye was a parchment, on which he read the following statements:

“‘This day, the sixth of June, 1786, this iron box, containing six handkerchiefs, was placed among the roots of an orange tree by me, Balsamo, Count of Cagliostro, to serve in performing an act of magic which will be executed on the same day sixty years hence before Louis Philippe of OrlÉans and his family.’

“‘There is, decidedly, witchcraft about this,’ the King said, more and more amazed. ‘Nothing is wanting, for the seal and signature of the celebrated sorcerer are placed at the foot of this statement, which, Heaven pardon me, smells strongly of sulphur.’

“At this jest the audience began to laugh.

“‘But,’ the King added, taking out of the box a carefully sealed packet, ‘can the handkerchiefs, by possibility, be in this?’

“‘Indeed, Sire, they are; but, before opening the parcel, I would request your Majesty to notice that it, also, bears the impression of Cagliostro’s seal.’

“This seal, once rendered so famous by being placed on the celebrated alchemist’s bottles of elixir and liquid gold, I had obtained from Torrini, who had been an old friend of Cagliostro’s.

“‘It is certainly the same,’ my royal spectator answered, after comparing the two seals. Still, in his impatience to learn the contents of the parcel, the King quickly tore open the envelope, and soon displayed before the astonished spectators the six handkerchiefs, which, a few moments before, were still on my table.”

While the use of the Cagliostro seal really formed no part of the trick, its possession by Robert-Houdin goes to show how indefatigably he collected conjuring curios and how quick he was to utilize any part of his collection, and score thereby a brilliant showing.

Cagliostro seals were by no means rare. This prince of charlatans had seals, like adventures, in great variety; and in this connection, it is not out of place to tell something of Cagliostro and thus explain why the parchment bearing his seal created such a sensation at St. Cloud.

Cagliostro has no match in the annals of magic. Not a conjurer in the sense of being a public entertainer, he yet mystified and bewitched his thousands. Something of a physician, more of an alchemist, and altogether a charlatan, he left behind him a trail of brilliant chicanery, daring adventure, and ignominious failure and undoing unequalled in the history of Europe.

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Reproduction of a rare portrait of Seraphinia Feliciani, Comtesse de Cagliostro, wrongfully called Lorenzo in the EncyclopÆdia Britannica. From the Harry Houdini Collection.
Reproduction of a rare portrait of Seraphinia Feliciani, Comtesse de Cagliostro, wrongfully called Lorenzo in the EncyclopÆdia Britannica. From the Harry Houdini Collection.

Cagliostro was born Joseph Balsamo, in Palermo, Italy, June 8th, 1743. His parents were in humble circumstances and he started his career as a novice in the Convent of Benfratelli, from which he was expelled for incorrigibility. Then he plunged into a life of dissipation and cleverly planned, ofttimes brilliantly executed crimes. He fled Palermo after forging theatre tickets and a will, and duping a goldsmith out of sixty pieces of gold. At Messina he fell in with an alchemist named Althotas, a man of some learning who spoke a variety of languages. These two adventurers travelled in Egypt, and when Althotas died Cagliostro went to Naples and Rome, where he married a beautiful girdle-maker named Seraphinia Feliciani. This woman shared both his triumphs and his disgrace. In 1776 they arrived in London, where he announced himself as the Count di Cagliostro. The title was assumed, the name was borrowed from his mother’s side of the house. Here for the first time Cagliostro announced himself also a worker of miracles or wonders.

He exhibited two mysterious substances, “Materia Prima,” with which he transmuted all baser metals into gold, and “Egyptian Wine,” with which he claimed to prolong life. His wife, who was just past twenty, he declared was more than sixty, her youthful appearance being due to the use of his elixir. He founded a spurious Egyptian rite in connection with the Masonic order which has been recognized as a blot upon Masonic history, and he claimed thousands of Masonic dupes. All over the Continent he and his beautiful wife travelled, now healing the poor for nothing, now duping the rich, but always living in a most picturesque, voluptuous fashion. He dipped into spiritualism and mesmerism, but wherever he went his converts followed after.

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Very rare Testot handbill printed about 1800, presented by Testot to Henry Evanion. From the Harry Houdini Collection.
Very rare Testot handbill printed about 1800, presented by Testot to Henry Evanion. From the Harry Houdini Collection.

In 1789, while in Rome, he was seized by that invincible power, the Holy Inquisition, and was condemned to death. Later Pope Pius VI. changed the sentence to life imprisonment. Confinement made him more daring than ever. He asked for a confessor, and when a Capuchin monk was permitted to enter his cell in this capacity Cagliostro endeavored to choke him and escape in his robes. The monk fought for his life so effectually that it was he, and not Cagliostro, who escaped. Cagliostro was literally buried alive in a subterranean dungeon, as punishment for his final offence, and his wife immured herself in a Roman convent, where she died in 1794.

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Testot programme, featuring “Cabalistic Art” in 1826. From the Harry Houdini Collection.
Testot programme, featuring “Cabalistic Art” in 1826. From the Harry Houdini Collection.

In Paris, perhaps, Cagliostro enjoyed his greatest triumphs of charlatanism, and it is not remarkable that the appearance of his seal in the midst of Robert-Houdin’s trick should seem almost uncanny to the royal family.

But to return to the disappearing-handkerchief trick. Robert-Houdin did not invent this trick. It was presented by a number of conjurers before Robert-Houdin was known in the world of magic. Robert-Houdin simply employed the trick familiar to both his predecessors and contemporaries and redressed it to tickle the fancy of his royal patron.

In England this trick was known among old conjurers as “The Ne Plus Ultra of the Cabalistic Art.” In 1826 one M. FÉlix Testot, who claimed to be a compatriot of Robert-Houdin, presented the trick in the British provinces, and one of his bills I am reproducing because it shows that the trick he offered the provincial Britons and the trick which Robert-Houdin offered the royal family at St. Cloud were identical. It also proves that London had seen the trick; and what London had seen, Paris, including Robert-Houdin, had heard of.

A programme used by “The Celebrated Mr. Marriot, Professor of Recreative Philosophy,” in 1831, contains word for word the announcement of the trick used on Testot’s bill, which goes to show that a popular test was to have articles passed from the Adelphia Theatre to the gun which was being watched by a sentinel.

February 22d, 1833, found a Mr. Jefferini at the Royal Clarence Theatre, Liverpool Street, King’s Cross, Liverpool. He agreed to make “an article fly at the rate of five hundred miles an hour, from King’s Cross to the Centre of Greece.”

The original Buck featured on his programme a similar trick which he called “The Loaf Trick.” On a bill dated October 26th, 1840, it is announced as follows: “Watch in a loaf. The magician will command any gentleman’s watch to disappear. It will be found in a loaf at any baker’s shop in Town.” The senior Ingleby changed the trick somewhat, sending out to any market for a shoulder of mutton, which, on being cut, would yield up a card previously drawn by some spectator. He thus describes his trick in his book “Whole Art of Legerdemain,” published in London in 1815:

“Trick Four.

“To cut out of a Shoulder of Mutton a Card which one of the Company had previously drawn out of the Pack.

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Only known portrait of the clever English conjurer, Buck. From an engraving in the Harry Houdini Collection.
Only known portrait of the clever English conjurer, Buck. From an engraving in the Harry Houdini Collection.

“Having desired a person to draw a Card out of several which you hold to him, and to remember it, which he promises to do, you tell him it shall be in a shoulder of mutton which you will send for.

“Accordingly you desire a servant to go to the butcher’s and bring one. When brought, it is examined, and then ordered to be put down to roast. After performing some tricks, you recollect the shoulder of mutton, which is immediately brought half-roasted, and after cutting it for some time you at length find the card, and produce it.

“Explanation:

“Having forced a card on one of the company, your confederate has an opportunity, when the mutton is sent to be roasted, of conveying a thin duplicate of that card folded into a narrow compass into the fleshy part near the shank, which can be easily done by means of a sharp penknife.

“This trick, though remarkably simple, has created universal astonishment at the Minor Theatre, where it was frequently exhibited by Mr. Ingleby.”

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Frontispiece from Ingleby’s book, “Whole Art of Legerdemain,” said to be an excellent likeness of the conjurer-author. From the Harry Houdini Collection.
Frontispiece from Ingleby’s book, “Whole Art of Legerdemain,” said to be an excellent likeness of the conjurer-author. From the Harry Houdini Collection.

The method of performing the trick was so familiar to conjurers of Robert-Houdin’s time and earlier that Henry Evans Evanion was able to describe it to me from actual witnessings. Acting on his explanation, on my return to America I offered the trick, without any great amount of preparation and without a hitch, at a matinÉe entertainment given by a secret organization. I will describe precisely how this was done, and allow my readers to judge of the similarity of the trick offered years ago by humble travelling magicians whose names have been written most faintly in the annals of conjuring, and the much-vaunted trick “invented” by Robert-Houdin for the entertainment of his sovereign.

The hall in which the matinÉe was given was located in Harlem, Borough of Manhattan, New York City, and I had decided that the handkerchiefs which were to make the flying journey should be “desired” by some one present to appear under the top step of the winding staircase in the Statue of Liberty, which is located in New York Harbor. This meant a half-hour ride from the hall to the boat in a Subway train; then a run across New York Harbor to the Statue. These boats left the dock on the hour and the half-hour, so I timed my performance to fill just half an hour, starting with some sleight-of-hand, the egg-bag trick, and swallowing a package of needles and bringing them up threaded, which latter trick was introduced into magical performances in Europe by K. K. Kraus in 1816.

Just before 3:30 o’clock I borrowed three handkerchiefs and tied them together for easier handling. I had three handkerchiefs, similarly tied together, under my vest, and just at 3:30, I switched the two sets of handkerchiefs, so that the handkerchiefs furnished by the spectators were under my vest and the bogus handkerchiefs in my hand. First I dropped the bogus handkerchiefs on the table-trap, picking up the opaque glass cover with which they were to be hidden, and, by a carefully rehearsed bit of carelessness, dropped and broke it. Then, leaving the bogus handkerchiefs on the table trap, I stepped toward the wings, apparently to secure another glass bell or cover. To all intents and purposes, I did not pass from the view of the audience, for fully half of my body was on the stage, but as my assistant handed me a new glass cover, he deftly extracted the real handkerchiefs from under my vest. Then, while I returned to the stage with my patter and description of the flight the handkerchiefs were about to make, my assistant, with the handkerchiefs in his pocket, walked unnoticed from the door, and, once out of sight, ran madly to the Subway station. There he boarded an express and reached the boat landing just in time to catch the 4 o’clock boat. At the Statue, my brother and a tinsmith were waiting for him. The handkerchiefs were placed in the tin box, securely soldered, and then this box was placed inside a second iron box, which was locked. The “plant” was then taken upstairs and hidden under the top step.

In the mean time, with my thoughts following my assistant every step of his trip, I was playing out my end of the game. The audience was supplied with blank cards on which they might write the name of the place where the handkerchiefs should reappear. This, of course, took some time, and when the cards, each folded to hide the writing thereon, were collected in a hat, I shook them up thoroughly, and then turned them out upon a plate, deftly adding, on the top, three cards which I had concealed in my hand. This was sleight-of-hand purely, and I next picked out those three prepared cards on each of which was written “Can you send the handkerchiefs under the top step of the Statue of Liberty?” Explaining that I had in my hand three cards chosen at haphazard, I wished the final choice to be made by a disinterested party. A baby was finally chosen to select the card. Naturally, I refused even to take the slip of paper from the baby’s hand, and one of the lodge members read the question.

Murmurs of surprise and incredulity echoed from all over the hall. The test was too difficult! I then announced that if the audience would select its own committee, making sure to pick out men who could not be bribed, I would accompany them, and we would surely return with the handkerchiefs, sealed in double boxes, as found under the famous stairway. As an elaborate course luncheon was to be served, the committee had time to act, and away we went, leaving the lodge to its feast. So much time had been lost in selecting the committee that we reached the wharf just in time to catch the 5 o’clock boat. On landing I received a prearranged signal from my assistants that all was well, and as I watched my committee dash up the stairs I knew that their quest would be rewarded.

When the committee and the writer returned to the lodge-room, a mechanic was required to pry open the box. There lay the identical handkerchiefs furnished by my spectators, who could hardly believe their eyes.

On other occasions I have asked my audience to select a spokesman, who in a loud voice would announce the point at which the handkerchiefs would be found, and then my man, waiting just outside the door, would mount his bicycle and pedal like mad for the hiding-place, naturally outstripping any committee appointed. But the first method, that of selecting the place beforehand and having all arrangements made, even to the three prepared cards, is safest and is probably the one used by Robert-Houdin to deceive the French monarch. I doubt if he even had three different cards prepared, as he claims. I believe he exaggerated his feat, for that would have been taking long chances.

For this trick I claim not an iota of originality. I simply fitted it to the time, the place, and the audience, and that I believe is all Robert-Houdin did when he “invented” the disappearing handkerchief trick for the amusement of his sovereign.