Four Magicians in Paris: A Trip to the House of Robert-Houdin

Working as a corporate magician and host, a break is always welcome, and there are few better ways to spend a few days in May than travelling to Paris with three wonderful friends who are also some of the most knowledgeable people in the world of magic. Especially when the itinerary includes a pilgrimage to the Loire Valley, a great deal of excellent food, and conversations that would have been difficult to have anywhere else.

On Tuesday the 19th, I boarded the Eurostar from St Pancreas International in London with historian John Conway, illusion builder Scott Penrose, and close-up master Michael Vincent. By Tuesday evening we were installed in a beautiful Airbnb on the Boulevard Richard-Lenoir in the 11th arrondissement, a short walk from the Bastille, with a considerable amount of conversation already behind us and rather more ahead.

It would be remiss not to introduce the travelling party properly, because this was not a casual group of friends on a city break. This was, by any reasonable measure, a quite extraordinary gathering of magical minds.

John Conway is a historian currently completing a PhD on the history of magic, with a particular specialism in gender history. He served for several years as the archivist of The Magic Circle, so when it comes to the documented history of the art, he knows his magic wands. He is the kind of person who can contextualise a trick within a broader cultural movement without pausing for breath, which makes him a remarkable companion in places like the one we were about to visit. He also served as our interpreter throughout the trip, being fluent in French, among a number of other languages, which proved considerably more useful than any of us were prepared to admit.

John is also an accomplished musician, dancer, and photographer. Several of his photographs from the trip accompany this post. He is a man with more strings to his bow than most people have interests.

It is, quite frankly, a little unreasonable.

Scott Penrose is one of the finest theatrical illusion builders working today. A lifelong performer and craftsman of exceptional range, his collection and repertoire speak for themselves. He owns and performs Robert-Houdin’s Orange Tree and the Educated Owl, commands a remarkable array of large-scale stage illusions, and has recently begun building his own automaton.

He also rather wonderfully recreated David Devant’s Educated Goldfish, a feat that is, in itself, a marvel, and has created illusions for Derren Brown. And then there is Psycho: the legendary Maskelyne automaton, the whist-playing figure that astonished Victorian audiences and has astonished everyone who has encountered it since. Scott owns one. I am told that he discovered it on eBay, listed as a ventriloquist’s doll, and immediately recognised it. He lovingly restored it to its former glory and it is now living in his workshop, getting wheeled out for the very best magic shows, and is maintained in full working order.

That single fact tells you most of what you need to know about the man. He is also a past president of The Magic Circle, and when he tells you something about an illusion, you do not reach for a second opinion.

Michael Vincent needs very little introduction to anyone with a serious interest in close-up magic. With over fifty years of experience and membership of the Inner Magic Circle, he is a master of intimate close-up and parlour magic in the fullest sense of that word. He is an artist who has studied directly with some of the greatest magical minds of recent history, including Dai Vernon, Slydini, and Alan Alan, and who brings a deep scholarly authority to the work of Erdnase, Marlow, Hofzinser, and others.

He holds the distinction of being the only person ever to win The Magic Circle Close-Up Magician of the Year competition three times, in three separate decades, is the only living British magician enrolled into the Hall of Fame of the Society of American Magicians, and this October he will be the guest of honour at the renowned Secret Sessions Magic Convention in Vienna.

That tells you a great deal about the regard in which he is held by the international magical community. Watching him think about magic is almost as instructive as watching him perform it, and hearing him speak about it makes you ask questions that are never easy to answer, but always, without fail, improve your showmanship, presentation and ability.

The four of us together, loose in France with two days, beautiful food, cameras, and a shared obsession. It was always going to be a good trip.

The Robert-Houdin Clock was a particular highlight. A glass clock face with visible hands that keep perfect time, with nothing to suggest how. It is the kind of object that stops a room. These clocks are unreasonably rare, carrying exceptional value both in monetary terms and in the simple, extraordinary fact of owning one. In my experience there are precious few places in the world where you can stand in front of one. The clock at Blois is one. The other I have had the pleasure of seeing sits in the Devant Room at The Magic Circle in London, where it occupies its cabinet with exactly the quiet authority it deserves. Scott, as it happens, owns one of his own, with a square face, which places him in very select company indeed.

There were also exhibits relating to the Orange Tree, one of Robert-Houdin’s most celebrated pieces, in which an orange tree grows, blossoms, and bears fruit before the audience’s eyes, culminating in the appearance of a butterfly carrying a borrowed handkerchief. The routine was notably featured in Neil Burger’s 2006 film The Illusionist with Edward Norton, on which Scott served as an adviser. That Scott researched, built, owns, and performs his own fully working version of the Orange Tree is, in the context of the man’s broader collection, almost unsurprising. Almost.

During our visit we were treated to live performances: a stage show drawing on Robert-Houdin’s own repertoire, and a more intimate close-up performance that served as a useful reminder of how much can be achieved with very little space and very careful hands. There were also archival films showing the kinds of magic Robert-Houdin favoured, remarkable to watch, given that his entire performing career spanned just seven years.

We were told in advance that every hour, on the hour, huge golden clockwork dragons leap from the windows of the house at the front, however they were all out of order at the time of our visit, so I think that there may be a return trip at some point in the future to see those in action. OH-NO!

After leaving the museum, we spent time exploring the town of Blois itself before catching the train back to Paris, arriving in the early evening with a great deal to talk about and a very clear sense of where we would be eating.

The French onion soup, it should be noted, was among the finest I have encountered. That is not a throwaway remark.

Thursday was given over to the city itself, but Paris, for this particular group, has a way of turning a tourist’s itinerary into something rather more interesting.

We visited the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, and the Palais Bourbon, the home of the French National Assembly, which commands its own quiet grandeur on the left bank of the Seine. We also spent time at the Louvre, taking in the remarkable glass pyramid that marks its entrance, and photographing the kind of architectural collision between old and new that Paris does better than almost anywhere else.

We also found ourselves in a magic shop, as one inevitably does in good company, where, when looking through  stack of manuscriots and papers, Michael unearthed a copy of Genii magazine from the 1990s.

Scott glimpsed it and immediately recognised an article inside with a scandalously interesting background in the world of magic, at which point John needed no further persuasion and jumped on it without hesitation. The conversation that followed was, by any measure, worth considerably more than the 90 pence John paid for it. “The best 90p ever spent on magic,” he said. It is difficult to argue with that. (When we returned to London, it was ALMOST left on the train, and if not for him realising as we were disembarking and going back for it, could quickly have become “the worst 90p ever lost in magic!” Thankfully it didn’t come to that.)

Then there was the rising card.

At some point during Thursday, across meals, on journeys, pausing mid-sentence on a Parisian street, the four of us fell into a conversation about the rising card effect that lasted, in various forms, for several hours. For those unfamiliar: the rising card is one of the oldest and most debated effects in close-up magic, in which a chosen card rises, apparently of its own accord, from a deck.

It sounds simple. It is anything but. The history of the effect, the competing approaches, the philosophy of presentation, the question of what it should feel like to watch. All of it found its way into the conversation at one point or another. Everyone contributed. Everyone took something away. That is, I think, what happens when four people who care deeply about the same thing find themselves with enough time and enough coffee to actually talk properly about it

Three of us learned about the miracle that can be obtained in that regard with nothing more than a little peice of wire, and the fourth found himself with three orders for said piece of wire that we are looking forward to receiving. (Thanks Scott.)

It was a good day for walking, talking, and eating well. Thursday morning brought croissants, one of which arrived filled in the manner of a croque monsieur, which sounds unconventional and tasted exceptional. Lunch and dinner were French in the most satisfying sense: straightforward, well-sourced, and cooked with the quiet confidence of a country that has never had cause to doubt its own cuisine. The steak was remarkable.

Trips like this one are rarer than they should be. The chance to spend uninterrupted time with people who think deeply and passionately about the same subject you do, away from the diary, the inbox, and the logistics of working life, has a clarifying effect that is difficult to replicate elsewhere.

Magic, when you are around people who understand it properly, becomes something closer to philosophy than entertainment. The conversations in Paris, on trains, over dinner, in front of Robert-Houdin’s clock, and on at least one occasion standing on a pavement debating the rising card, covered history, technique, theory, performance psychology, and the question of what conjuring is actually for. None of us arrived at a definitive answer. That is rather the point.

I came home on the evening of the 21st considerably enriched, mildly tired, and already thinking about when to go back.

Liam Ball is the Gentleman Magician. A Member of The Magic Circle, an Associate of the Inner Magic Circle, and has been awarded a Silver Star for excellence in performance. Based in Essex, he works as a corporate magician and event host across London, Kent, and the wider UK — bringing close-up magic, after dinner performance, and professional event hosting to corporate dinners, awards evenings, conferences, and private functions.

To discuss the architecture of your next high-stakes function, connect with Liam here.