A Conjurers Confessions | Page 6

I erred in my judgment, and regretted
having granted an audience; but I had another mode of shortening a
bore's visit. I had placed behind the sofa on which I sat an electric
spring, communicating with a bell my servant could hear. In case of
need, and while talking, I threw my arm carelessly over the back of the
sofa, touching the spring, and the bell rang. Then my servant, playing a
little farce, opened the front door, rang the bell, which could be heard
from the room where I sat, and came to tell me that M. X--- (a name
invented for the occasion) wished to speak to me. I ordered M. X--- to
be shown into an adjoining room, and it was very rare that my bore did
not raise the siege. No one can form an idea how much time I gained by
this happy arrangement, or how many times I blessed my imagination
and the celebrated savant to whom the discovery of galvanism is due!
This feeling can be easily explained, for my time was of inestimable
value. I husbanded it like a treasure, and never sacrificed it, unless the
sacrifice might help me to discover new experiments destined to
stimulate public curiosity.
To support my determination in making my researches, I had ever
before me this maxim:
IT IS MORE DIFFICULT TO SUPPORT ADMIRATION THAN TO
EXCITE IT.
And this other, an apparent corollary of the preceding:
THE FASHION AN ARTIST ENJOYS CAN ONLY LAST AS HIS

TALENT DAILY INCREASES.
Nothing increases a professional man's merit so much as the possession
of an independent fortune; this truth may be coarse, but it is indubitable.
Not only was I convinced of these principles of high economy, but I
also knew that a man must strive to profit by the fickle favor of the
public, which equally descends if it does not rise. Hence I worked my
reputation as much as I could. In spite of my numerous engagements, I
found means to give performances in all the principal theaters, though
great difficulties frequently arose, as my performance did not end till
half-past ten, and I could only fulfill my other engagements after that
hour.
Eleven o'clock was generally the hour fixed for my appearance on a
strange stage, and my readers may judge of the speed required to
proceed to the theater in so short a time and make my preparations. It is
true that the moments were as well counted as employed, and my
curtain had hardly fallen than, rushing toward the stairs, I got before
my audience, and jumped into a vehicle that bore me off at full speed.
But this fatigue was as nothing compared to the emotion occasionally
produced by an error in the time that was to elapse between my two
performances. I remember that, one night, having to wind up the
performances at the Vaudeville, the stage manager miscalculated the
time the pieces would take in performing, and found himself much in
advance. He sent off an express to warn me that the curtain had fallen,
and I was anxiously expected. Can my readers comprehend my
wretchedness? My experiments, of which I could omit none, would
occupy another quarter of an hour; but instead of indulging in useless
recriminations, I resigned myself and continued my performance,
though I was a prey to frightful anxiety. While speaking, I fancied I
could hear that cadenced yell of the public to which the famous song,
"Des lampions, des lampions," was set. Thus, either through
preoccupation or a desire to end sooner, I found when my performance
was over I had gained five minutes out of the quarter of an hour.
Assuredly, it might he called the quarter of an hour's grace.
To jump into a carriage and drive to the Place de la Bourse was the

affair of an instant; still, twenty minutes had elapsed since the curtain
fell, and that was an enormous time. My son Emile and I proceeded up
the actors' stairs at full speed, but on the first step we had heard the
cries, whistling, and stamping of the impatient audience. What a
prospect! I knew that frequently, either right or wrong, the public
treated an artiste, no matter whom, very harshly, to remind him of
punctuality. That sovereign always appears to have on its lips the words
of another monarch: "I was obliged to wait." However, we hurried up
the steps leading to the stage.
The stage manager, who had been watching, on hearing our hurried
steps, cried from the landing:
"Is that you, M. Houdin?"
"Yes, sir--yes."
"Raise the curtain!" the same voice shouted.
"Wait, wait, it is imp--"
My breath would not allow me to finish my objection; I fell on a chair,
unable to move.
"Come, M.