And yet, at each vibration of this mysterious hour, my pulse starts, my temples throb, and I can scarce breathe, so much do I feel the want of air and motion. I can reply to no questions, so thoroughly am I lost in a strange and delirious reverie. Shall I confess to you, reader? And why not? for this electrical effect is not of a nature to be easily understood by you. The reason for my emotion being extreme at this moment is, that, during my professional career, eight o’clock was the moment when I must appear before the public. Then, with my eye eagerly fixed on the hole in the curtain, I surveyed with intense pleasure the crowd that flocked in to see me. Then, as now, my heart beat, for I was proud and happy of such success. At times, too, a doubt, a feeling of uneasiness, would be mingled with my pleasure. “Heavens!” I would say to myself, in terror, “am I so sure of myself as to deserve such anxiety to see me?” But, soon reassured by the past, I waited with greater calmness the signal for the curtain to draw up. I then walked on the stage: I was near the foot-lights, before my judges--but no, I err--before my kind spectators, whose applause I was in hopes to gain. Do you now understand, reader, all the reminiscences this hour evokes in me, and the solemn feeling that continually occurs to me when the clock strikes? These emotions and souvenirs are not at all painful to me: on the contrary, I summon them up with pleasure. At times I even mentally transport myself to my stage, in order to prolong them. There, as before, I ring the bell, the curtain rises, I see my audience again, and, under the charm of this sweet illusion, I delight in telling them the most interesting episodes of my professional life. I tell them how a man learns his real vocation, how the struggle with difficulties of every nature begins, how, in fact---- But why should I not convert this fiction into a reality? Could I not, each evening when the clock strikes eight, continue my performances under another form? My public shall be the reader, and my stage a book. This idea pleases me: I accept it with joy, and immediately give way to the sweet illusion. Already I fancy myself in the presence of spectators whose kindness encourages me. I imagine they are waiting for me--they are listening eagerly. Without further hesitation I begin. ROBERT-HOUDIN. MEMOIRS OF ROBERT-HOUDIN. CHAPTER I. My Birth and Parentage--My Home--The Lessons of Colonel Bernard--Paternal Ambition--My first Mechanical Attempts--Had I but a Rat!--A Prisoner’s Industry--The Abbé Larivière--My Word of Honor--Farewell to my darling Tools.