HOW A CONJUROR’S CLOTHES ARE MADE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 22, 3 June 1893, Page 508

HOW A CONJUROR’S CLOTHES ARE MADE.

Mr Arthur Strode, writing in the Belgian News, throws an interesting light on this topic. He says :—I suppose that everybody understands that a conjuror depends considerably upon his costumes for assistance in performing many of his most mystifying tricks. The old fashioned conjuror had an easy time of it. He was artful enough to appear in some fancy costume which enabled him to conced anything from a frying-pan down to a five-shilling piece. But the modern public is too wide-awake to stand that sort of thing, and nowadays up to date artists must ap rear in the conventional evening dress of civilisation. Fortunately, the swallow-tail coat is so cut as to lend considerable assistance to one who has to hastily produce or conceal any article he may want at the moment, and, taking advantage of this, the conjuror provides bimself with from nine to a dozen extra pockets. ARRANGEMENTS OF POCKETS. Two pockets are at the back of the trousers on a level with the knuckles, these, of course, carefully hidden by the coattails. The swallow-tail is thus serviceable in concealing watches, cards, handkerchiefs, or anything it may be necessary to put away hastily. The tails of the coat themselves contain four little pockets, the left hand flap of the breast-coat contains a large pocket, used for what is known as * loading’ large objects, and such conjurors as still perform with live animals (an extremely cruel practice by the way) conceal them here. I have often been asked whether conjurors are not nervous lest the rabbit should kick or squeal, but, as a rule, fellow-conjurors tell me that in the case of labbits, guinea-pigs, and doves they are very quiet when once accustomed to the work. Some conjurors have some invisible pockets on their sleeves, in which coins can be made to disappear in a most magic manner. THE VANISHING HAND. Attached to the front of the waistcoat is a piece of elastic, which passes round the body, and comes out of a little bole in the side of the waistcoat at the back. At the end of this elastic there is a small cylinder, conical atone end, in which the magician can put a handkerchief, or, if made a little larger, a bird. The conjuror holds the handkerchief before your eyes, appears to be rolling it up, while all the time he is ramming it into the cylinder, lets it go, makes a few passes with the hands, and you find that the handkerchief has disappeared. The vanishing bird trick (which I regret to say, kills a great number of canaries) is performed by means of accessories in which the costume plays a part. The birdcage itself is made to collapse into a cigar-shaped tube. The centre to the cigar shape is naturally fatter than the ends, and if the bird is fortunate it is secreted there, and mav come out of the ordeal alive. Should, however, the bird get at either end, it is crushed to death, or should the legs get through the bars, they are almost certain to be broken. A conjuror once told me had done the trick 200 times with one bird, but I should very much doubt it.

HOW IT IS DONE. What happens is this. The birdcage is rapidly hooked to the end of a piece of whipcord, which passes up the sleeve and across the body of the performer, and then down the other sleeve, where it is tied to the wrist. It will thus be

seen that the cord is considerably shorter than will be required to stretch from each end of the arms if they are extended. The cage being in the performer’s hand is rapidly compressed and made to assume its cigar-shaped form, and

is dragged np the sleeve at lightning speed by the simple process of extending the two arms. This very simple trick has puzzled millions of people. It is performed so rapidly that even if you closely watch the conjuror I doubt if you —ill i. doirjg. Afterwards the conjuror usually pretends to find the bird among the audience. As a matter of fact, he takes another bird out of bis pocket, and, by one of the simple dodges of conjuring, appears to take it from someone’s neck or head, or some other convenient place. Every conjuror has his own clothes made according to his own design. Most of the leading performers go to a well-known city tailor, and the task of making the suit is by no means an easy one. The clothes have to be frequently seen during the process of making, and tried on many times before they are complete. THE CONFEDERATE. There are two popular notions in the public brain. One in that everything which disappears goes up a conjuror’s sleeve, and another that every conjuror has a confederate. Personally, I have never had a confederate in my life, nor need any conjuror resort to clumsy dodges of the kind. If any confederate were required it would be quite easy to delude any ordinary spectator into doing the work of one, and in this case he would be a confederate without knowing it The principle of deceiving the audience before they expect it is the secret of many tricks. The larger conjuring tricks, known as illusions, are almost always produced by the aid of mirrors, or what is known as * black magic ’ — that is to say. black velvet. Everyone understands that if mirrors are arranged at certain angles they can be made to deceive the public vision in a most remakable manner. For example, I have a table on a stage. I wish to conceal something underneath it, and to give my audience the impression that they can see clear under the legs to the back of the stage. I do it by arranging the mirrors artfully, and making them reflect the

sides of the stage. In that case, of course, the stage has to be arranged appropriately. When you come to know anything about it, conjuring is, of course, a ridiculously simple thing. Nevertheless, there are few great conjurors, and not many who are even moderately good.