Читать книгу The Old and the New Magic - Henry Ridgely Evans - Страница 10

Table of Contents

I now come to the Count Edmond de Grisy, Pinetti’s great rival in the field of conjuring.

The duel for supremacy between these eminent magicians is told in the chapter on Pinetti. The father of De Grisy, the Count de Grisy, was killed at the storming of the Tuilleries, while defending the person of his king, Louis XVI, from the mob. Young De Grisy was in Paris at the time, and, profiting by the disorders in the capital, was enabled to pass the barriers and reach the small family domain in Languedoc. Here he dug up a hundred louis, which his father had concealed for any unforseen accident; to this money he added some jewels left by his mother. With this modest sum, he proceeded to Florence, where he studied medicine, graduating as a physician at the age of twenty-seven. He became a professional magician, and had an adventure at Rome which is well worth relating. He was requested to perform before Pius VII, and ransacked his brains to devise a trick worthy of a Pope. On the day before the mystic séance he happened to be in the shop of a prominent watchmaker, when a lackey came in to ask if His Eminence the Cardinal de ’s watch was repaired. {20}

“It will not be ready until this evening,” answered the watchmaker. “I will do myself the honor of personally carrying it to your master.”

The lackey retired.

“That is a handsome watch you have there,” said De Grisy.

“Yes,” replied the jeweler, “it is valued at more than ten thousand francs. It was made by the celebrated Bréguet. Strangely enough, the other day I was offered a similar timepiece, by the same artist, for one thousand francs.”

“Who was he?” asked the Count.

“A young prodigal and gambler, belonging to a noble family, who is now reduced to selling his family jewels.”

Like a flash of lightning, a scheme for working a splendid mystification passed through De Grisy’s mind. He nonchalantly said:

“Where is this young rake to be found?”

“In a gaming house, which he never quits.”

“Well, then, I will buy this masterpiece of Bréguet’s. Have the kindness to purchase it for me, and engrave upon it the Cardinal’s coat-of-arms, so that it will be a replica of His Eminence’s chronometer.”

The jeweler, assured of De Grisy’s discretion and honor, though probably suspecting the use to which the timepiece would be subjected, immediately left his shop, and returned after a little while with the gambler’s watch.

“Here it is,” he cried. “To-night I shall have it ready for you.”

At the appointed hour he brought the two watches for De Grisy’s inspection. They were facsimiles. The conjurer took his purchase, and the next day appeared at the pontifical palace, where a most distinguished audience greeted him. The Pope sat on a raised dais; near him were the cardinals in their brilliant robes of crimson.

After performing a series of magical feats, De Grisy came to his pièce de résistance. The difficulty was to obtain the loan of the Cardinal’s watch, and that without asking him directly for it. To succeed the conjurer had recourse to a ruse. At his {21} request several watches were offered to him, but he returned them as not suited to the experiment.

“I desire a timepiece that will be easily identified. I should prefer one of rather large size,” said De Grisy.

“Cardinal,” said His Holiness, “oblige me by lending your watch to M. de Grisy.”

With great reluctance the Cardinal de handed his precious chronometer to the conjurer. It seems he set great value on its exaggerated size, alleging, with considerable show of reason, that the works acted better in a large case.

In order to prove the solidity and excellence of the chronometer, De Grisy let it fall to the ground. A cry of alarm arose on all sides. The Cardinal, pale with rage, bounded from his chair, exclaiming: “This is a sorry jest, sir!”

“Do not be alarmed, monsignor,” said De Grisy, “the watch will escape scathless from its many trials.” He handed the broken timepiece to the Cardinal. “Do you recognize this as your watch?”

The prelate gazed anxiously at the coat-of-arms engraved inside of the case, and replied, with a profound sigh:

“Yes, that is my watch.”

“You are certain of it?”

“Quite certain! But I seriously doubt your power to restore it.”

“We shall see!” said the conjurer.

De Grisy’s assistant now brought in a brass mortar and pestle. The watch was cast into the mortar and pounded to atoms. Some magic powder was poured into the receptacle and a torch applied. There was a detonation, followed by a cloud of smoke. The spectators were invited to examine the ingot of gold—all that remained of the precious chronometer. Pius VII peered curiously into the mortar. De Grisy, seizing the opportunity, adroitly popped the duplicate timepiece into a pocket of the Pope’s robe. At the proper moment he pretended to pass the ingot into the pontiff’s pocket, which resulted in the discovery of the Cardinal’s watch, made whole again. This clever trick created a great sensation in Rome, and drew crowds to De Grisy’s performances. Poor De Grisy seemed doomed to {22} misfortune. His young son was killed accidentally by a spectator, during an exhibition of the pistol trick at Strasburg. A real bullet got mixed up with the false bullets, and was loaded into the weapon. De Grisy was tried and convicted of “homicide through imprudence,” and sentenced to six months’ imprisonment, during which time his wife died. On his release, he assumed the name of Torrini, which was that of his brother-in-law and faithful assistant. He retired to the provinces of France, and never appeared again in the large cities. He died a brokenhearted man at Lyons.

Torrini was a skillful performer with cards, as Robert-Houdin testifies. He invented a trick which he called “The Blind Man’s Game of Piquet.” While blindfolded he would play piquet and defeat adepts at the game. This trick was one of the features of his entertainments, and always gained him great applause. The secret consisted in substituting a prepared pack for the ordinary pack used. After the spectator had shuffled the cards and handed them to Torrini to cut, the conjurer would rest his hand momentarily upon the pack, while he made some observation to his opponent. Then it was that the substitution was artfully effected by means of a “magic box,” which the pre­sti­di­gi­ta­teur had concealed in the sleeve of his coat. Pressure upon the table caused a spring in the box to shoot out a prepared pack of cards, while a pair of pincers at the same time seized the recently shuffled pack and drew it up into the hidden receptacle. This ingenious piece of apparatus Torrini had obtained from a gambler named Zilbermann.

While attempting to cheat an opponent, the apparatus had hung fire, and Zilbermann was detected in flagrante delicto. A duel was the result, and Zilbermann was mortally wounded. He sent for Torrini, whose conjuring abilities he greatly admired, and presented him with the box. Soon afterwards he died.

Torrini never used the apparatus except in his conjuring performances. He was a man of honor and not a chevalier d’industrie.