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CONTENTS Pocket Notes—Stephen Minch 7 The Legend of Donba-jutsu—Mitsunobu Matsuyama 9 Conjurers around the Mediterranean Basin— Pierre Taillefer 53 Jehan Dalmau—Pierre Taillefer 101 Wilson on Wilson—Tyler Wilson 115 The 52 Wonders—C. H. Wilson 125 Furthermore... 157 Contributors 159 Q

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The horse-swallowing scene described in Ehon Hyaku Monogatari

THE LEGEND OF DONBA-JUTSU: SWALLOWING A HORSE MITSUNOBU MATSUYAMA

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t is widely believed among historians of the Japanese performing arts that the magician Chōjiro Shioya performed a very peculiar trick known as Donba-jutsu, the feat of swallowing a horse.1 Shioya was said to have done this effect in various small theaters during the Genroku Era (1688–1704) in the Edo Period. These performances are described in numerous early essays and annals. However, all the authors cited as their source either earlier literature or hearsay. None had actually witnessed Shioya perform the trick. Nor has any supporting documentation survived that depicts his performance of it. In other words, there is a lack of reliable firsthand evidence to verify an actual occurrence of this remarkable feat. Consequently, the reality of Donba-jutsu is in contention and constitutes one of the biggest mysteries in the history of Japanese magic, comparable to the questions of whether the legendary “East Indian Rope Trick” was ever really performed and who wrote Artifice Ruse and Subterfuge at the Card Table (aka The Expert at the Card Table)?

Chōjiro Shioya and His Donba-jutsu For an accurate understanding of what the effect of Donba-jutsu was, let’s look at the best-known and most extensive historical document Q

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M i t s u n o b u M at s u ya m a The two photos were posed in a photographer’s studio, where Lynn wore a dark suit with tailcoat, clothing unsuitable for a stage Black Art performance. The intention was likely to doctor one photo to create the image of a bizarre decapitation, and not to depict an actual stage scene.

As to the time the photos were taken, I soon found that he had had them prepared before performing in Yokohama, because the identical decapitation pose, rendered as a crude line-drawing, appeared in an advertisement in the Nihon Bōeki Shinbun, on October 24, 1863, published in Yokohama. In other words, Dr. Lynn had asked his Japanese agent to have a promotional illustration done, based on the trick photo, to accompany the newspaper announcement of his upcoming show. He

Simmons’s (Lynn’s) advertisement that appeared in the Nihon Bōeki Shinbun 38 2 Gibecière ‹› Winter 2015 Q

M i t s u n o b u M at s u ya m a

The Question of Pinetti’s Illusion My research has led me to believe that the earliest example of Black Art used by a conjurer in a magical stage illusion was “Lost Head,” performed

by Washington Simmons (Dr. Lynn) at the Yokohama Hotel on October 27, 1863. However, four years ago, Magic Christian of Vienna informed me of a surprising discovery he had made: a newspaper article that appeared in Der Wanderer on July 12, 1844, which describes a performance by Pinetti in Russia at an unspecified date, in which he did a dismemberment illusion similar to Thomas Tobin’s “Palingenesia,” ­débuted in 1872. From the newspaper description, the performance strongly suggests ­having been done through means of Black Art. Here is the whole of the story, translated from the German by Dr. Lori Pieper.

Der Wanderer news story of Pinetti’s performance for Catherine II 48 2 Gibecière ‹› Winter 2015 Q

Courtesy of the William Kalush Collection

Title page of the 1621 Lyons edition of the commentary of Isaac Casaubon on Athenaeus

CONJURERS AROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN BASIN From Antiquity to the Beginning of the Middle Ages PIERRE TAILLEFER

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he aim of this article is to study the most significant evidence about the conjurers of antiquity up to around the seventh century, solely from the viewpoint of entertainment spectacles. I will leave to one side the fascinating literature on the fakery of false prophets and pretended miracles in the religious domain, since Steffen Taut is preparing a survey article on that subject.

When we appraise this vast period of antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, we must realize that the different ancient languages do not correspond to any fixed geographic division. We cannot, in particular, separate the Greek world from the Latin, for even at the strongest point of the political domination of Rome, Greek remained the international and scholarly language, while Latin played more the role of the everyday language. In other words, the two languages coexisted in the same places and during the same period. Consequently the texts, which are in Greek or Latin, echo one and the same culture, one and the same reality; they even speak of the same artists. We must draw now on one, now on another language to put together one and the same puzzle.

In the Middle Ages, nevertheless, we lack a certain number of pieces of the puzzle, for the Greek and Latin texts are no longer sufficient to Q

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Courtesy of the François Bost Collection

Conjurers around the Mediterranean Basin

Letter of Robert-Houdin, dated December 3, 1867, and addressed to Octave Gastineau Q

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P i e r r e Ta i l l e f e r To better understand how Artemidorus’s stones appeared and disappeared, we can consult the letter De Orationibus addressed by Fronto (second century CE) to the Emperor Antoninus. Fronto, in effect, makes use of an analogy with a praestrigiator (sic) to mock the poor eloquence of the new authors. According to him, if these last are able to have any good ideas, those are spoiled by a confused language. In doing this, he gives us a precious indication about the repertoire of the conjurer.

But what, if the same meal be set before two persons, and the one take up the olives set on the table with his fingers, carry them to his open mouth, let them come between his teeth for mastication in the decent and proper manner, while the other throw his olives into the air, catch them in his mouth, and shew them when caught, like a juggler his pebbles [calculos praestrigiator], with the tips of his lips. Schoolboys of course would clap the feat and the guests be amused, but the one will have eaten his dinner decently, the other juggled with his lips. [Fronto, The Correspondence of Marcus Cornelius Fronto: On Speeches, 3, trans. C. R. Haines (London: Heinemann, 1920)] [10]

The analogy is not a flattering one, for Fronto opposes the gross and naïve manners of a praestigiator to the good habits of a decent man.

However that may be, it does tell us that the praestigiator displays his pebbles between his lips, which allows us to think that he could make use of his mouth to make the pebbles appear and disappear.

As for Seneca (first century CE), in his Letters to Lucilius, he introduces the use of acetabula, goblets that were originally intended, as their name indicates, to hold vinegar.26 Such quibbles are just as harmlessly deceptive as the juggler’s cup and dice [sic; should be pebbles—praestigiatorum acetabula et calculi], in which it is the very trickery that pleases me. But show me how the trick is done, and I have lost my interest therein. And I hold the same opinion about these tricky word-plays; for by what other name can one call such 70 2 Gibecière ‹› Winter 2015 Q

Courtesy of the Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid

Supposed portrait of the Jester Pejer贸n, by Antonio Moro

JEHAN DALMAU A Spanish Conjurer at the Court of Francis I PIERRE TAILLEFER

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Mme d’Étampes: Do you want me to send for the Spaniard Juan d’Alman, with his cards and his foolishness?

Francis I: No; but come close to me, quite close.

Mme d’Étampes (bending over him): Poor Francis!

Francis I: I am dying just as Henry VIII predicted in his last moments.1

he historical drama Reines de Rois (Queens of Kings), performed for the first time on November 17, 1909, on the stage of the Théâtre national de l’Odéon in Paris, brings the conjurer Juan d’Alman back to life in the query of the Duchess d’Étampes at the bedside of the dying Francis I. The reply of the king’s favorite is freely inspired by the acts of Francis I, published in 1905, which tell us that a certain “Jean D’Alman” was granted a pension for the amusement that he gave the king in 1538 and 1539 (that is, close to ten years before the death of the sovereign) through his adroit handling of the cards.2 In addition, we have long been acquainted with the Spanish praestigiator Damautus, who accompanied Charles V to Milan and who was mentioned by Girolamo Cardano in his De subtilitate. Recently some commentators have been able to relate this text to the references to a certain Dalmao found in the writings of other important authors of the sixteenth century, such as Aretino, Girolamo Ruscelli, Gabriele Salvago, Q

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WILSON ON WILSON TYLER WILSON

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s a mischievous child, I would ravage boxes of cereal in search of the surprise toys inside. I’d never wait until the trinket naturally fell out on its own. I was impatient. I’d reach my hand deep down into the box to fish through the sugar-frosted heaven until I found my glow-in-the-dark decoder ring. It was nice to have the toy, but I would inevitably leave the cereal tasting hand-y.

As a mischievous adult, not much has changed. The only difference is that I’ve swapped cereal boxes for libraries. I now get my sugar buzz from searching for surprise conjuring texts hidden among the classics.

These searches are rarely fruitful, as there is a finite number of books on magic, and most have already been thoroughly researched and studied.

However, on a recent lecture tour down the West Coast of the United States, I found an old card-magic booklet in Stanford University’s Cecil H. Green Library. Published in 1877, it is housed in the rare-books special collections. The title of the booklet piqued my interest because I had never heard of it or its author. That didn’t promise much, as many books from the period were simply collections of rehashed material that had been cut and pasted from other books—often word for word.

The booklet at Stanford was only thirty pages long, so I expected to give it a quick skim and be back on the road within minutes. Little did I know that the decoder ring I would find that day would be solid gold. On the very first page, I was greeted with Erdnasian techniques a full quarter-century before S. W. Erdnase penned his iconic opus.

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