DAVID DEVANT--THE MASTER MAGICIAN.

I FIRST saw David Devant perform at the old Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, 36 years ago (1893 or thereabouts.) He was then just making a name for himself as a stage performer; [ He had appeared at the London Pavilion, The Ronacher, Vienna, and the Crystal Palace. ] prior to this he had been a private entertainer. I thought his show one of the cleverest I had witnessed, and felt I would like to see him perform again.

A few years later, when he had become the provincial partner of Maskelyne and Cooke he gave an entertainment at the Hope Hall Liverpool. He was performing an escape illusion playlet known as "Will the Witch and the Watchman," and with recollections of his impressive London performance still in my mind, I decided to attend the show. When the escape box was brought to the front of the stage. Devant asked if a gentleman from the audience would be good enough to assist him. There was no response. Thinking to avoid a brother magician the embarrassment of asking for help that was not forthcoming, I rose from my seat in the stalls, and stepped up to the platform.

Devant recognised me, and immediately became suspicious. I assumed he thought I had volunteered my help in order to probe into the secret of his trick. Nothing was further from my mind. At any rate, David decided to take no chances, and asked for another volunteer. After some difficulty, he persuaded a man who had been sitting near me, to go up on to the stage. To get rid of me, he employed an old trick known in the profession as "the conjurer's force."

"These two gentlemen have kindly consented to help me," he told the audience. "Which shall I choose, the gentleman on the right or on the left?" Whichever one of us the audience chose, I was bound to be asked to leave the stage, as Devant had not said whether he meant the audience's right and left or his own. So I resumed my seat, feeling uncomfortably small.

I was not greatly impressed with the box escape, and after the show I waited for him in order to show him a model steel cage escape of my own, which I thought a good deal more mysterious than "Will the Witch and the Watchman." However, he told me that this was the invention of J. N. Maskelyne, and this being so, he could not substitute another trick. I was surprised at this, for I had been given to understand that he bought apparatus from a well-known magical inventor called Frank Hiam. I was disappointed too, for nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to have seen my trick in the hands of so polished a conjurer as Devant.

I decided to build the illusion myself. A few weeks afterwards, I showed it to T. Nelson Downs, the American coin manipulator, who found me a customer willing to pay more than twice the amount I would have accepted from Devant. Later, when the secret leaked out, the trick was used by several big illusionists in Europe and America. Some years later, one foreign magician accused me of being a fraud, calmly stating that he had invented the trick himself. Needless to say, this claim was never substantiated.

Although I was anxious to claim Devant as a friend, I refrained from again approaching him owing to the fact that I had been very coldly treated by his partner, John Nevil Maskelyne. That, of course, is another story, but rather than run the risk of further friction, I thought it advisable to avoid meeting any of the business associates of the Grand Old Man of St. George's Hall.

I was, therefore, agreeably surprised when Devant called on me one morning, and cordially invited me to visit him at his flat. His manner was most friendly, and he added that he was anxious to purchase some new tricks.

"You supply our leading magicians with apparatus," he said, "but you have never advised me when you have got anything good."

I refrained from mentioning the steel cage incident, and humbly assured him that the fault would be rectified in the future.

My visit to Devant was one of the most enlightening experiences of my life. Amongst magicians he was a sadly misunderstood man, for his quiet and reserved nature was mistaken for unsociability. I found him an excellent conversationalist, willing to speak on any subject which interested me. At the time it struck me that he was a man who would never stoop to a mean or underhand action, and in the course of many years business with him, I never had occasion to revise that opinion. I remember thinking how well he lived up to the advice of the greatest of our poets:--

". . . To thine own self I be true,
And it shall follow, as the night the day,
Thou can'st not then be false to any man.

Before I left that evening, Devant had given me an order for several new tricks. But I came away with something far more valuable than a mere commercial contract. I had his friendship.

A short while afterwards, I went to see him perform at the Finsbury Park Empire. As I was sitting in his dressing room after the show, an idea struck me.

"David," I said, "the time has come when the magicians of the world should acknowledge you as their master."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"They should make you a public presentation. Before I take the matter up, I should like your consent."

He pondered for a minute or two in silence.

"It's a kind thought," he said. "But I'm afraid you would find it a difficult task. I'm too reserved for the liking of most people. You could not get many to subscribe to my presentation." It was a considerable time before I could persuade him to agree to my suggestion.

The presentation was made at St. George's Hall, before a packed house. Magicians from all parts of the world attended, and cheered him to the echo. They came to pay homage to a Master Magician.