CHAPTER III

UNITY

IN ALL probability, the quality to which the term "unity" is applied, is the most important factor in relation to every form of art. At any rate, we may safely say there is no quality of greater importance. As in other arts, so in magic, unity is a first essential to success; since, without it, artistic results are impossible. This has been understood and accepted since the earliest days of art. For example, centuries before the Christian Era, Aristotle wrote, concerning the Greek Drama:

"As, therefore, in other mimetic arts, one imitation is an imitation of one thing, so here the fable, being an imitation of an action, should be an imitation that is one and entire; the parts of it being so connected that, if any one of them be either transposed or taken away, the whole will be destroyed or changed. For whatever may be either retained or omitted, without making any sensible difference, is not properly a part.--Poetics, Part 11, Chap. V.

At the outset, for very obvious reasons, we may discard the mass of proverbial nonsense which has crystallized around the idea of singleness of purpose and action. Such matters as the impossibility of doing properly two things at once-of being in two places at one time (with particular reference to Sir Boyle Roche's bird)--of facing both ways simultaneously, and so forth, such matters may be set aside entirely. Mere impossibility is a consideration which in magic has no weight whatever. The essence of the art consists in apparently accomplishing things which are impossible. What we are concerned with just now is the expediency of presenting each magical item in the form of a

harmonious whole, and of avoiding everything in the nature of incompleteness or discontinuity. Therein lies the true conception of artistic unity.

"One imitation," as stated in the quotation given above, "is an imitation of one thing." That is obviously true. And one magical act, as presented to an audience, should constitute an imitation of one apparently supernormal feat, culminating in one apparently miraculous effect. We have only to reflect for a moment to realize the fact that, in order to obtain a perfect effect, the only possible course is to rivet the attention of the audience upon one continuous chain of events, which will lead up to one definite and impressive result.

In this connection, it is necessary to remember that an audience is not amenable to compulsion, and cannot be relied upon to make any serious mental effort. Spectators attending a magical performance have no idea of exerting themselves, either mentally or physically, for the performer's benefit. Why should they? They are there to be amused, and for no other purpose. The exertion of following and remembering details which involve any element of complexity, or of trying to understand any matter which exhibits a mere trace of obscurity, is a thing which no magician has a right to demand of his audience. His spectators very justly expect that everything connected with the entertainment will be so presented as to be readily understood. Hence, it is important that, as a matter of ordinary practice, each presentation shall consist in an unbroken sequence of events. I Here, for the moment, we may pause, to set down a valuable and well-understood rule:

(2) Always endeavor to form an accurate conception of the point of view most likely to be adopted by a disinterested spectator. For a performer to put himself in the place of his audience requires the exercise of an amount of imagination and-may we say it?-of judgment, rarely met with among those who are otherwise qualified to entertain the public. Yet, the more completely a magician can obey this rule, the greater will be his chances of success. The task before him is gigantic-but he should attempt it nevertheless. He must try to forget the importance of things which appeal to him most strongly, because, for all the public knows or cares, those things might as well be nonexistent. The difficulty of his manipulations; the ingenuity and originality of his inventions; the refinements and improvements lie has introduced; and, above all, the distinctive merits personal to himself, should be disregarded. All such matters should be lost to sight, in order that the one supreme consideration may not become obscured, even for a moment. The effect to be made upon his audience is the one thing a magician should keep in view, as the Americans say, "first, last, and all the time."

The effect--and, bear in mind, the effect upon an audience-that is the sole issue at stake. At the moment of presentation, that is the only thing which matters. In all the wide world, so far as the audience is concerned, there is no other consideration worth so much as a passing thought. Consequently, as a general proposition, it may be said that the greatest possible error any magician can ever have laid to his charge is that of "conjuring for conjurers" at a public performance. Such conjuring may be entirely admirable when the audience is composed of conjurers. But, before the general public, it must be regarded as inartistic; for the simple reason that, in such circumstances, it is bound to fail in its effect. Between the point of view of a conjurer and that of an ordinary spectator there is a great gulf. Therefore, at a public performance, the production of an artistic effect may often demand the adoption of methods which, with an audience of conjurers, would be quite contrary to rational procedure.

Since the primary aim of a magician's art is to entertain the public, the importance of the following rule is self-evident:--

(3) Avoid complexity of Procedure, and never tax either the Patience or the memory of an audience.

The thing presented should appear to consist in a perfectly regular and natural series of operations; and, when the final effect is produced, it should be capable of instant appreciation. If its appreciation is made to depend upon any conscious mental activity or any effort of memory on the part of the audience, a proper effect can seldom be achieved. If, in order to understand precisely what has happened, the spectators have to reflect, even for a few moments, upon the various stages of procedure which led up to the denouement, it is certain that, from an artistic point of view, the presentation must be unsatisfactory. There must be a lack of unity, in some respect or other. By chance, the audience may happen to have retained an impression of the details relevant to the final issue; and if so the result may be fairly good. That, however, will be an accidental occurrence; and no true artist ever trusts to accident. The effect produced should be, as Pope says, "The result of Art, not Chance." In this connection, the following rule may be stated:--

(4) Never produce two simultaneous effects, and let no effect be obscured by any subsidiary distraction.

Suppose, for instance, a magician were presenting the familiar

"Four Ace Trick"; and, not being an artist, he thought to enhance the effect either by introducing irrelevant manipulations, or by arranging (say) that the disclosure of certain previously selected cards should occur simultaneously with, the discovery of the four aces. What would be the result? In either case, the preliminary operations would introduce an element of confusion, most detrimental to success; and in the second case the simultaneous production of two diverse effects would be absolutely fatal. Distracted by the effort to comprehend two problems at once, the audience would fail to appreciate the significance of either. There would be too much to remember, even if the spectators were prepared to exercise their memory.

Whereas, if the performer were an artist, he would know that the "trick," as usually presented, is complete and perfect. That is to say, it would be perfect if instead of the four aces, the four kings were used; the three palmed cards being knaves, which could be shown momentarily at the last deal. Nothing can be either added or omitted, without marring its effect. That is obviously true. For, taking the other extreme, if some "hustler" were to omit (say) the first dealing out of the cards and the business associated therewith, anyone with half an eye can see how much the final effect would become degraded. There is, in fact, only one adequate manner of presenting the effect, for the simple reason that in no other way can the requirements of artistic unity be fulfilled. The imaginary examples cited are, of course, gross exaggerations of such faults as are likely to occur in practice. But the difference between the illustrations and possible fact is only one of degree, and not of kind. The principles involved are identical, in either case. The evident conclusion may be embodied thus:

(5) Let each magical act represent a complete, distinct, and separate entity; comprising nothing beyond one continuous chain of essential details, leading to one definite effect.

This rule, of course, must be read in conjunction with Rule 4, and requires to be properly understood. It does not imply that two events may not occur simultaneously. Very often, the entire effect of a magical presentation consists in the tact that two or more things happen at once. Nevertheless, the rule holds good; for, although there may be a plurality of occurrences, a single, complete, and undisturbed effect may thereby be produced.

By way of example, let us consider the details of "The Wine and Milk Trick."' In this, three large glass vases are used. To begin with,

a bottle of wine is emptied into a vase, No. 1; a quart of milk is poured into vase NO. 2; vase NO- 3 remains empty. Vases 1 and 2 are next emptied into Vase NO. 3; the latter thus contains about half a gallon of wine and milk, mixed together, while the other two vases are empty. A flag is then taken up, and waved in the air. Immediately, the wine returns to vase No. 1; the milk goes back into No. 2; and the flag passes into No. 3, from which the liquid mixture has now taken flight. Thus, three events occur at the same moment. Yet there is only one single effect produced. And why? Because the very essence of the feat is the simultaneous occurrence of those three events. Those three changes are mutually related and interdependent, each being the complement of the other two. Such a feat involves no contravention of Rules 4 and 5. If, however, it culminated in three simultaneous and independent occurrences, there would occur three simultaneous, and therefore mutually destructive effects. Consequently, in such circumstances, there would be practically no residue of combined effect worth mentioning.

Then again, an effect of this kind compels us to realize the importance of completeness in presentation, and also impresses upon us the extreme cogency of Rule 3, concerning the avoidance of complexity. If the thing is not presented in such a way that the presentation is rendered complete in every respect, the audience will not understand it. Unless everything is made perfectly clear-nothing being omitted which, in any way, will help the audience to a true idea of the problem to be solved-the effect will fall flat, nine times out of ten. Without completeness in all essential details of word and action, the mere fact that three changes occur together will so confuse an average audience that, in all probability, the real merit of the effect will not be perceived until some hours after the performance is over. Spectators, having gone home and had time to think about the matter, will realize that after all the thing was much better than they thought at the time. That, of course, is all right in its way: But so far as the success of an entertainment is concerned, nothing short of immediate appreciation is of any great value. And for the purposes of art, anything which is not immediately convincing is undoubtedly defective.

With reference to Rule 3, it is evident that complexity of procedure is as liable to produce a confused impression, as is a paucity of essential preliminaries. In the latter case, the audience does not receive sufficient information. In the former, the information conveyed is too voluminous. The audience cannot remember what has been said and done. In neither case can an adequate effect be obtained.

With all due respect to a magician's best friend-the average spectator--it is impossible to disguise the fact that, in matters such as those just mentioned, the occasional stupidity of audiences is beyond exaggeration. And with that fact every magician must be prepared to reckon. Therein, we are led to recognize the importance of Rule 2, concerning the spectator's point of view. It is not that the individual units of any audience are necessarily stupid. Far from it. The fact is merely that any gathering composed of average persons may, as a whole, readily develop a tendency toward inattention and lack of interest.

Many causes may contribute to the existence of that tendency; indeed, almost any accidental cause may suffice to produce serious distraction among most members of an audience. It may be that hundreds of people have paid their money, and have also suffered great inconvenience, in order to have the privilege of crowding together for the purpose of seeing what one has to show. The whole crowd is animated by an intense desire to lose sight of no single detail of the performance; and, for the time being, has no other aim in life. Yet let one person come in late, or let some unlucky attendant spill a few coppers on the floor, and the whole of that excited audience will leave off attending to the things they want, above all, to follow, and will devote their entire attention to that late comer or those lost halfpence.

That is the kind of tendency with which an entertainer must, at any time, be prepared to cope. Hot, oppressive or relaxing weather; any kind of political or national excitement; any person with a bad cough, an irritating laugh, or an inclination to chatter; the presence, even, of a lady wearing a peculiar head-dress, or of a man who ostentatiously reads a newspaper, to show the world he can afford to pay for an expensive seat merely to sit in it-all such matters provide sources of distraction, capable of inducing inattention and apparent indifference among members of an audience.

It is in such conditions that a magician's powers are liable to be taxed to the utmost. It is then he discovers the extent to which he is justified in calling himself an artist. In very adverse circumstances, of course, no man may hope to hold his audience completely. But, short of "battle, murder, and sudden death," or other violent disturbance among the spectators, a true artist will undoubtedly compel attention. If he cannot do that, he may be sure there is either something lacking in his performance, or it contains unnecessary details which cause distraction; that is to say, his presentations, in some respect or other, are at variance with the principles of unity. He either omits something which ought to be introduced, or introduces something which ought to be omitted. Thus, the performance is marred by the existence of either insufficiency, complexity, or redundancy. Accordingly, the audience fails to understand what is shown; or, partially understanding, fails to appreciate.

Of course, if one chose to argue the question of unity on the lines of special-pleading, one might contend that, in many instances, the introduction of irrelevant matters may cause amusement; and also that the mere doing of two things at once may give evidence of great skill, whereby an audience may be greatly impressed. That is all very true. The man who, for instance, could play the cornet and violin together, would be very clever, and by some that cleverness would be highly appreciated. But such cleverness is not Art. Is there, now, any artist in the musical world who would, in his wildest dreams ever conceive the idea of attempting such a feat? No! it is unthinkable. And, what is true in the case of music is equally true in magic. Without artistic unity, mere cleverness can have but little value. It is that kind of thing which was condemned by Shakespeare, in the words:

"Though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theater of others."--Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2.

A true appreciation of meritorious work in magic will not probably become general just yet. The public, especially among its lower grades, has too few opportunities for comparing good work with bad. And even among the higher strata of society, magicians have every need to maintain their presentations at as high a level as possible. There is plenty of evidence to show that, unless sound and solid merit can be kept constantly in view, a retrograde movement is sure to occur. The majority of amusement seekers will certainly yield to the common propensity for acquiring an appreciation of work which is meretricious or showy.

This fact is amply substantiated in the persistent evidences supplied by modern theatrical entertainments. The decadence of Comic Opera, for instance, has reconciled the public to the inanities of Musical Comedy. Artistic appreciation has thus been replaced by an undue exaltation of mere cleverness. It is, of course, commonly supposed that this change has been brought about by the gradual development of a public demand, which Musical Comedy alone could supply. In one sense, admittedly, that view is correct. The demand has gradually arisen, and has been supplied. But it must be remembered that no possible event can occur without a sufficient cause. Hence, it is obvious that the growth of a public sentiment cannot represent the primary cause of any circumstance whatever. There is something which created that public sentiment, and that something, whatever it may be, represents the actual cause to which the result in question must be referred.

In the case we are discussing, there can be no reasonable doubt that the decline of Comic Opera was the primary cause of the demand for Musical Comedy. The public turned to the latter simply because it was the best thing obtainable. People gradually drifted into an appreciation of its incoherences, because they had nothing better with which to compare it. Had not the he supply of good Comic Opera been, as it were, cut off at the main, its substitute would never have been in demand. Fortunately, the present conditions cannot possibly be permanent. They have no solid foundation in art. They are based upon a mere fashion, which is bound to go the way of all fashions alike.

These interpolated remarks may appear to be somewhat beside the subject of magic. But since all arts are one in principle, the digression is useful. What has unfortunately happened in the case of musical entertainments may, only too readily, happen in connection with magic; unless, by consistent and conscientious effort on the part of magicians, a high level of artistic excellence is maintained prominently in public view.

Returning to our immediate subject, there is one point to which, before concluding our remarks upon unity, we must refer. Notwithstanding the obvious accuracy of the rules we have deduced--or, perhaps, we should say because of that accuracy--we must not forget that, in accordance with Rule 1, there may occur special instances, wherein even the most important laws of unity may be disregarded.

Such instances occur chiefly in connection with effects which result from the operation of cumulative processes; and, therefore, may be more appropriately discussed later on. We shall revert to this matter when dealing with such subjects as "Justification," "Surprise," and "Repetition."

Previous | Next | Contents