CHAPTER ONE

I SERVE MY APPRENTICESHIP

WHEN I was a boy I dreamed of theatres, of audiences rising to their feet to applaud me, of the great ones of the earth congratulating me. But in those dreams I held a violin in my hand and the people were showing their appreciation of a great musician. There was never a dream in which I was surrounded by illusions and mysteries and in which the audience applauded my skill in baffling them.

Yet magic was present in my life from an early age. Cherry-stones were the only effects I had for my first trick. I used to take six of them. Two I placed in my nostrils, two in the corners of my eyes, and two in my ears. I made a pass across my face and all the stones appeared out of my mouth.

I invented that trick when I was thirteen years old, and I kept it in my repertoire long after I had gone on the stage as a professional magician. One day, however, something went wrong. One of the stones did a private vanishing trick of its own and lodged in my ear. There it stayed for thirteen years, never bothering me very much. Then, when I had to spend a week in bed, it condescended to reappear, and I found it on my pillow one morning when I awoke.

There was little of the magic of happiness in my life in my early years. I was born in a farm-house just outside Vilna, in Poland. My parents tried to make a living from fruit-growing, but they were not successful. We were far from rich, for my father much preferred singing in the local Jewish church, where he was cantor, to working in the orchards.

America was the country of which my father dreamed, and he used to gather the children round him and tell them marvellous stories of that distant country, of its great cities and busy people. Any money he managed to save went into a little black box, which we children rarely saw and whose hiding-place was kept a strict secret. When he had collected enough money to buy a ticket to the United States he intended to escape from the drudgery of the farm and seek new opportunities for all of us overseas. I had two uncles who were on the other side of the Atlantic and their occasional letters were full of their progress in the New World and of the excellent prospects for all who joined them. These letters whetted my father's longing to escape.

I was only eight when my father counted up the money in the black box and found that there was enough for the ticket and for incidental expenses on the voyage. We were all called to a solemn family conclave. My father told us of his intentions.

"Children," he said, "I am going to leave you for a while. I shall go to find a home for you in a new country. Soon you will be following me, and then we shall have a great deal more money and be very much happier than we are here. I shall send you home the money for the journey very soon, I hope, and then this family will be reunited again."

We were all near tears as he spoke, but the resilience of childhood saved us from prolonged grief, and soon we were telling each other of the wonder of America, and making our plans for our new home. Mother cried at the thought of losing her husband even for a short time, but she cheered up at the thought that there would be no more worry about poor crops and bad prices.

These were our hopes and dreams; the truth was very different. Not till eight long and toilsome years were passed did we see our father again. We who were left fatherless came to know dire poverty. We all had to work, even the smallest. My education had been somewhat interrupted, but I had shown myself sufficiently bright at school to be offered a part-time post. I was then only twelve years old. I also showed some proficiency at music, and Mother dreamed, as mothers will, of the time when I should be able to develop the talent of which she was convinced I was possessed. She stinted herself in order to help me.

There is one incident from my childhood which stands out very clearly. It happened when I was only five years old, and it all came about because of my curiosity.

There was a deep well near my home, and this used to puzzle me a good deal. I wanted to know a great many things about it, and, when I discovered that my elders could not tell me how deep it was, or where the water came from, I set about finding out for myself.

I leant over and saw my own face reflected up from the water, and then I began to experiment with a stick in an effort to find out the depth of the water. I leant a little too far, and soon found out the depth by trying it with myself.

Naturally the shock of this fall had a great effect upon me, and I developed a frightful stammer. This lasted until I was well on in my teens, and then I determined to cure myself. I succeeded so well that since I was seventeen I have been able to speak quite naturally, and the knowledge I gained through this curing of myself I have used to cure many people of this annoying impediment.

Magic first came into my life when I was about twelve. I paid a visit to one of the travelling fairs which occasionally stayed in Vilna. The show was free, and at most times I had little enough entertainment. As I wandered round amongst the side-shows I saw a gipsy doing conjuring tricks. He made rabbits appear in the most unlikely places. He waved his hands and--hey presto!--out came long streamers and huge flags from people's pockets. He did strange things with cards and seemed to be able to lay eggs at will.

The crowd stood and gaped, but I, though only a small boy, was sadly disappointed. I had a quick eye, and perhaps, even at that early age, I had a sceptical nature and was not readily open to suggestion. I thought I saw how most of the tricks were done, and I did not think much of the man who was. doing them. What did impress me was the rapturous reception given to these poor efforts by the crowd. Here, I thought, is something easy, something well worth trying.

I haunted that fair-ground during the time the conjurer was there. The Strong Man and the Fat Lady and the other motley inhabitants of the fair came to know me quite well. I watched the gipsy magician from all angles and soon learned the secrets of palming cards and the other sleight-of-hand tricks. Then I went home and in a quiet corner of the orchard I practised hard until I could do a great deal of the conjuring act I had been watching so carefully.

When I gave my first display, which was in the privacy of the home, the family was astonished. My young brothers and sisters were alarmed, and even suspected that my skill was the result of some pact with the Devil and that the end would be my vanishing from amongst them, leaving behind nothing but a smell of brimstone. When, however, I had convinced them that I was not practising the Black Art they conceived a marvellous admiration for me, and spread my fame far and wide. From this I benefited greatly, for I was invited out to give displays in the homes of friends.

The acquisition of this accomplishment was one of the few bright spots in the dark time when we were without our father. The money which we were so anxiously awaiting came soon after I had reached the age of sixteen. I need not describe the joy and excitement which reigned in our house when that letter arrived. We had no regrets at leaving and we were all in the best of spirits when we wished our neighbours good-bye and set off for Hamburg, where we were to catch the great liner which would take us to New York. There, so Father wrote to us, we should board a train which would take us to Nashville, Tennessee, where he was in partnership with my uncle in a general store.

It was not a great sum my father had been able to send, and by the time we reached Hamburg there was only enough left for the ticket for Mother and the half-tickets for us children. With those safely in our pockets we left the agents' office and set off for the docks.

There we saw the great vessel, a hive of activity. It was more impressive than we had dreamed. We were tremendously excited. Mother offered our tickets to the officer at the foot of the gangway. We were practically on board.

Then the blow fell.

"How old is this boy?" inquired the officer.

"Sixteen," Mother told him.

"He's too old for a half-ticket. You must buy a full one."

We looked at each other in despair. What was to be done? Why had Father only sent the money for a half-ticket? Had he forgotten that I was no longer eight years old?

Mother tried persuasion. She explained that we had no more money and that we had to join her husband in America. To all this the official shook his head, saying that he could not vary the company's rules. All very unfortunate, no doubt, but there it was. The boy must have a full ticket

We retreated to a mean dock-side café and talked and talked trying to think of some way of finding the extra money. At last I plucked up my courage and said that I would stay behind while the others went. "I am old enough to look after myself," I asserted as confidendy as I could. Mother looked as if she was very doubtful about that, but there seemed no other course of action and she had to agree to my staying. With tears in her eyes she assured me that as soon as she reached America she would find the money somewhere and post it off to me at once.

I had waited eight years to make that voyage, and now I had to wait eight more weeks at least. All the bitterness of which disappointed youth is capable rose in my heart as I turned away from the quay from which I had waved farewell to my mother and the others. I must have looked a lonely and pathetic figure to them as they stood high above me on the liner's deck. When I could no longer see the ship I started to walk into the strange, inhospitable city in order to find work.

Fresh trouble awaited me. I found that I came under a law which forbade me to stay in any one town for more than two weeks at a time. I had only three marks, fifty pfennigs in my pocket.

A bakery gave me my first employment, and I carried bread in order to have a little to eat myself. After two weeks I moved to a town two miles away and worked for another fortnight. Then I moved back to Hamburg, and this time I was lucky, for I found a job in a small hotel kept by some good people named Mendel. I worked for them in return for my board and lodgings.

I had kept up my little conjuring tricks, and these helped me to make good friends of the Mendels. They kept me in their hotel until the money arrived for my passage, and they were never tired of watching my little entertainment. I gained quite a reputation during my stay in Hamburg.

This friendship was renewed in surprising fashion years afterwards. After my first appearance in England, when I made a great stir at the Palace Theatre and had become known as "the Royal Illusionist" I started on a Continental tour, and one of the first cities I visited was Hamburg, where I played in the Hansa Theatre. After the show I was in my dressing-room when a card was handed to me bearing the name "Mendel".

I had met a great many people since those early, lonely days in Hamburg, and I am afraid that I did not think who those people might be, straight away. Throughout my stage career, however, I have never refused to see anyone who wanted to see me, so I asked the attendant to show the visitors in.

As soon as they stood in the doorway I recognized them. They were my old benefactors, now very wealthy, who had remembered the name of the little boy who had entertained them and worked for them years before. After that, whenever I visited Hamburg I always made a point of seeing those good people and of staying in their excellent hotel, where I once washed dishes.

When, after leaving the Mendels and spending three miserable weeks on board ship, I arrived in America I was appalled by the noise and bustle which reigned in New York even in 1889. I was only sixteen, was unused to large cities, and could not speak a word of English. I had to submit to the indignity of having a luggage label with my destination written on it tied to my coat. Whenever I thought that there was danger of my being lost I pointed to my label and was pushed on the right road.

I sighed contentedly when at last I boarded the train which was to take me to Nashville. My uncle was to meet me one or two stations down the line from his home town, and, thinking my troubles were over, I fell asleep. I was still asleep when my uncle boarded the train. He wandered up and down looking for me, and it was only after he had asked the guard if he had seen a little boy with a label that he managed to find me. Even then we did not have very much to say to each other, for he could not speak my language and I could not speak English. But at least he showed himself friendly, and therefore was to be preferred to these hustling Americans, who shouted incomprehensible things around me and who seemed to have time for nothing.

Mother was waiting on the doorstep for my arrival and the whole household flocked round to welcome me. I was heartily glad to be back in the bosom of the family, to see my beloved mother again, and to meet the man who was my father and whose face I had almost forgotten. Soon I was telling the tale of my adventures to the whole family assembled in the kitchen.

I found that the rest of the family were now comfortably settled in their new home. The general store was doing quite well, and I was given a job straight away. I became versed in the secrets connected with the selling of butter, cheese, and sugar, and was quite a favourite with the coloured folk who were amongst those who patronized the store.

I used to pride myself on being a good judge of weight. I would cut a piece of butter and say, "There's half a pound." When it was weighed it might be a little overweight, and the negroes would be tickled to death. So it was that they used to say, "Me wait Massa Harr'ce," and I earned the reputation of being a good salesman.

Nor were the darkies the only people who were interested by my tricks with sacks of flour and pounds of sugar; many white people heard of me, and quite a lot of custom came to the shop from people who wanted to see the lad from Poland guessing correctly to within a fraction of one per cent the weight of the goods in the shop.

From this post I graduated to one as travelling salesman in Roanoke, Virginia, where another uncle had a business selling cheap jewellery. I took with me, I remember, two chickens as a gift from my uncle, and those were all my riches when I started my new job. I did quite well there, but my mind was on other things. I was growing up and getting ambitious. I was still certain that I was going to become a great musician, and I did all I could to hasten my feet on the path of success.

I earned five dollars a week. One dollar I sent home to my mother, and with the other four I paid for my music lessons and for my lodgings. I had a hard time making ends meet, especially as landladies objected to my practising. They did not appreciate my early efforts on the violin, more particularly because I did not arrive in until ten o'clock at night and had to start then. "Say, son," they used to say, "either you quit that row or you clear out." And I used to clear out.

It was while I was working with this uncle that I met Reggie May. He was the son of a well-known doctor, and we became firm friends. I remember how we used to boast together, as boys will. "I'm going to be a great doctor," he used to say, "greater even than my father, and people will travel miles in order to consult me."

"I'm going to be a great musician," I used to retort, "and great halls will be filled with the people who come to hear me play. They will cheer and clap me and I shall be an enormous success." I did not say it quite as well as that because in those days my English was not very good, but that was the general idea.

Some years afterwards, in 1897, I went to play at the Orpheum in Oakland, California, after a short season at the Orpheum, San Francisco. After the show a gentleman sent in his card. "Dr. May", I read, and I wondered who Dr. May might be.

Even when a gentleman walked in I failed to recognize him.

"Hello, Horace," he said.

"Hello," I answered, wondering what this familiarity might mean.

"Don't you remember me now that you are a great man?" he said. "I'm the little boy you used to play with."

Sure enough, as I looked at his face, I recognized my old friend. You can easily imagine the long talk we had together, as we cracked a bottle together to celebrate our meeting. I found that he had made good his boast. He was a very successful doctor and had a large sanatorium at Oakland which was visited by people from all over the United States. For my part, I had to agree that I was not a great violinist, but at least I had carried out part of my boast; I was on the stage, and the audience did pack the theatre and gave me a good reception.

But this is going on too fast. I must return and tell how I first had the idea of becoming a professional magician.

When I was wandering round the small towns of the Middle West, selling cheap jewellery to storekeepers who did not want it, nothing was further from my thought than making a living out of the skill at sleight-of-hand which I had acquired back in Poland. I still amused myself by entertaining and mystifying my friends, but I did not take it seriously. I was too busy with my jewellery and with learning to play the violin.

This all changed as a result of a meeting in the town of Bristol, Tennessee. Staying in my boarding-house was a magician calling himself "Balthasar", though his real name was Boldey. I fell into conversation with him and was interested enough to go to his show in the hall.

All Balthasar's tricks were hand-tricks; he had no illusions. One trick consisted of a skeleton, which walked on the stage and danced very solemnly round, apparently of its own accord. "The Magnetic Wonder" with eggs in its hands could lift three men sitting in one chair. These and a few more tricks were the slender effects with which "The Greatest Magician of All Time" set out to bewilder the people of the smaller American towns.

The night I was there the audience fairly lapped it up, and that put an idea into my head. I was tired of hawking jewellery round the country and of getting a pittance in return. Why should I not start in a new profession?

With this idea in mind I approached Balthasar when I next met him in the boarding-house, and I suggested to him that he take me as his partner. I showed him what I could do and I persuaded him that I should be a most valuable man to have as an assistant. We soon entered into an agreement, for it seemed to Balthasar that he was getting an assistant for nothing. The arrangement was that I was guaranteed twenty-five per cent of the gross takings exceeding ten dollars, and that he paid all expenses.

As I came to know Balthasar better I found that being a magician was not his only accomplishment. He was also a good piano-tuner, and he could paint a good sign. All these talents were used in order to keep the show going.

Our wanderings were haphazard in the extreme. The show was not always a paying proposition, and then we had to set to work to raise the money to spend on handbills. I used to visit a house and point out that the piano was out of tune. Along came Balthasar, and soon the piano really was out of tune. He charged five dollars to put it right again. Sometimes I would canvas for sign-painting. In these somewhat questionable ways we managed to keep the show going.

Before I joined the show Balthasar had been able to keep body and soul together. With me as an assistant his takings went up, but all the increase and more went into my pocket. Balthasar was too muddle-headed to see for some time that I not only drew a comfortable sum each week but was also gaining experience at his expense. He taught me all his tricks, and I was soon as expert as he was. He discovered that I could do his work, and that by the time he had paid the expenses and my twenty-five per cent there was nothing left for him.

When we first met he was careful to set a good example, and even treated me to several long diatribes against the evils of drink. This was our golden age. I had some ideas about publicity and these proved of value to the show. Every town in the United States has its own band. I hit upon the idea of hiring the big drum. People who heard it thought that the band was out and rushed to the window to see why. Then they saw the great placard: "COME AND SEE BALTHASAR, THE WORLD'S WONDER MAGICIAN, ASSISTED BY HORACE GOLDIN, THE MAGNETIC WONDER." Thanks to this idea we packed several halls, and my twenty-five per cent was well worth having. I saved one hundred dollars in three months.

By the time we had reached New Brunswick, Maryland, however, Balthasar had fallen back into his old bad habits and he was in my debt to the tune of ninety-eight dollars. I knew that I had learned all I should learn from him, and I decided that it was time to part.

"Look here," I said. "You owe me ninety-eight bucks; what about it?"

That started him off on a long and piteous harangue which I was forced to interrupt.

"You understand," I said, "that if I took this to law I should be authorized to attach the show?" The show, by the way, consisted of one large trunk.

He agreed dismally that that was so.

"Well," I said, "I don't want your show. I'm going to let you off your ninety-eight bucks. But this is where I get off."

With that I shook his hand and off I went. My apprenticeship was over. I never saw Balthasar again.