Memoirs of Robert-Houdin, ambassador, author and conjurerRobert-Houdin, Jean-Eugène
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Memoirs of Robert-Houdin, ambassador, author and conjurer
Robert-Houdin, Jean-Eugène
Magicians -- France -- Biography; Robert-Houdin, Jean-Eugène, 1805-1871
This theatre was city property, and I learned the fact in the following
way. The porter, whom the manager ought to have recommended to give me
all necessary information, stated to me that he was attached to the
theatre, both as keeper and head machinist. He also told me, with
pedantic gravity, that I could not drive in a nail, form an opening in
the stage, or, in a word, make the slightest change, until he, as
responsible official, had referred the point to the city architect.
“Such supervision is not possible,” I said to this important personage.
“How do you manage, then, when the theatrical performances are on?”
“Ah, that is different. As the architect places confidence in me, he
allows me to do whatever I think proper, and I am responsible for
everything.”
“If that is all, I can take the responsibility on myself, and the matter
can be settled at once.”
“If you think so,” the porter replied, in an ironical tone, “you can
apply to the city authorities; the council will take it into
consideration, and you will receive permission in a fortnight.”
I saw that the crafty gentleman wished to force himself upon me, but I
soon destroyed his hopes by making him understand I would allow no
stranger to be initiated into my mysterious arrangements.
This conversation had taken place on the stage, by the light of a candle
which the conservator of the royal theatre held in his hand, but so soon
as I had intimated my intention of doing without him, he turned on his
heel and retired to his den, leaving us in perfect darkness.
“Wait a moment, sir,” I cried to him; “we cannot be groping about in
this way; so, open the windows.”
“Windows!” the machinist said, with a laugh; “who ever heard of windows
in a theatre? What use would they be when the rehearsals always take
place by candle-light?”
“Excellently reasoned, my worthy man,” I replied, checking my
inclination to laugh; “I always thought like you that windows could be
done without if you had lights, but when you have no lights----“
“Why, then, you do as I do, you go money in hand to the grocer’s and
buy candles; I see no difficulty in that.”
And, while making this reply, the porter and his candle were gradually
eclipsed. I had no time to lose in arguing, and besides, this man, whom
I would have gladly brought to his senses under other circumstances,
might play me some trick that might prevent me performing _mine_. My
instruments would remain, so to speak, at his mercy during the night,
and he would have all possible facility to do me some injury, which he
could deny in safety. Hence, I sent my servant straight to the grocer’s,
that natural providence of any one who wants a light.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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