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Edgar Allan Poe:
Maelzel's Chess-Player
By Edgar Allan Poe
Southern Literary Journal, April 1836.
Excerpts – the full article
may be found here.
The images below are not from the article.
Picture right: Edgar Allan Poe
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PERHAPS no exhibition of the kind has ever elicited so general attention as
the Chess-Player of Maelzel. Wherever seen it has been an object of intense
curiosity, to all persons who think. Yet the question of its modus operandi
is still undetermined. Nothing has been written on this topic which can be considered
as decisive – and accordingly we find every where men of mechanical genius,
of great general acuteness, and discriminative understanding, who make no scruple
in pronouncing the Automaton a pure machine, unconnected with human agency in
its movements, and consequently, beyond all comparison, the most astonishing
of the inventions of mankind. And such it would undoubtedly be, were they right
in their supposition.
The Automaton Chess-Player was invented in 1769, by Baron Kempelen, a nobleman
of Presburg, in Hungary, who afterwards disposed of it, together with the secret
of its operations, to its present possessor. Soon after its completion it was
exhibited in Presburg, Paris, Vienna, and other continental cities. In 1783
and 1784, it was taken to London by Mr. Maelzel. Of late years it has visited
the principal towns in the United States. Wherever seen, the most intense curiosity
was excited by its appearance, and numerous have been the attempts, by men of
all classes, to fathom the mystery of its evolutions.
At
the hour appointed for exhibition, a curtain is withdrawn, or folding doors
are thrown open, and the machine rolled to within about twelve feet of the nearest
of the spectators, between whom and it (the machine) a rope is stretched. A
figure is seen habited as a Turk, and seated, with its legs crossed, at a large
box apparently of maple wood, which serves it as a table. The exhibiter will,
if requested, roll the machine to any portion of the room, suffer it to remain
altogether on any designated spot, or even shift its location repeatedly during
the progress of a game.
The bottom of the box is elevated considerably above the floor by means of
the castors or brazen rollers on which it moves, a clear view of the surface
immediately beneath the Automaton being thus afforded to the spectators. The
chair on which the figure sits is affixed permanently to the box. On the top
of this latter is a chess-board, also permanently affixed. The right arm of
the Chess-Player is extended at full length before him, at right angles with
his body, and lying, in an apparently careless position, by the side of the
board. The back of the hand is upwards. The board itself is eighteen inches
square. The left arm of the figure is bent at the elbow, and in the left hand
is a pipe. A green drapery conceals the back of the Turk, and falls partially
over the front of both shoulders.
To judge from the external appearance of the box, it is divided into five compartments
– three cupboards of equal dimensions, and two drawers occupying that portion
of the chest lying beneath the cupboards. The foregoing observations apply to
the appearance of the Automaton upon its first introduction into the presence
of the spectators.
Maelzel
now informs the company that he will disclose to their view the mechanism of
the machine. Taking from his pocket a bunch of keys he unlocks with one of them,
(the left-most) door 1, and throws the cupboard fully open to the inspection
of all present. Its whole interior is apparently filled with wheels, pinions,
levers, and other machinery, crowded very closely together, so that the eye
can penetrate but a little distance into the mass.
Leaving this door open to its full extent, he goes now round to the back of
the box, and raising the drapery of the figure, opens another door situated
precisely in the rear of the one first opened. Holding a lighted candle at this
door, and shifting the position of the whole machine repeatedly at the same
time, a bright light is thrown entirely through the cupboard, which is now clearly
seen to be full, completely full, of machinery. The spectators being satisfied
of this fact, Maelzel closes the back door, locks it, takes the key from the
lock, lets fall the drapery of the figure, and comes round to the front. The
(left-most) door 1, it will be remembered, is still open.
The exhibiter now proceeds to open the drawer which lies beneath the cupboards
at the bottom of the box – for although there are apparently two drawers,
there is really only one – the two handles and two key holes being intended
merely for ornament. Having opened this drawer to its full extent, a small cushion,
and a set of chessmen, fixed in a frame work made to support them perpendicularly,
are discovered. Leaving this drawer, as well as cupboard No. 1 open, Maelzel
now unlocks door No. 2, and door No. 3, which are discovered to be folding doors,
opening into one and the same compartment. To the right of this compartment,
however, (that is to say the spectators' right) a small division, six inches
wide, and filled with machinery, is partitioned off.
The main compartment itself (in speaking of that portion of the box visible
upon opening doors 2 and 3, we shall always call it the main compartment) is
lined with dark cloth and contains no machinery whatever beyond two pieces of
steel, quadrant-shaped, and situated one in each of the rear top corners of
the compartment. A small protuberance about eight inches square, and also covered
with dark cloth, lies on the floor of the compartment near the rear corner on
the spectators' left hand. Leaving doors No. 2 and No. 3 open as well as the
drawer, and door No. I, the exhibiter now goes round to the back of the main
compartment, and, unlocking another door there, displays clearly all the interior
of the main compartment, by introducing a candle behind it and within it.
The whole box being thus apparently disclosed to the scrutiny of the company,
Maelzel, still leaving the doors and drawer open, rolls the Automaton entirely
round, and exposes the back of the Turk by lifting up the drapery. A door about
ten inches square is thrown open in the loins of the figure, and a smaller one
also in the left thigh. The interior of the figure, as seen through these apertures,
appears to be crowded with machinery. In general, every spectator is now thoroughly
satisfied of having beheld and completely scrutinized, at one and the same time,
every individual portion of the Automaton, and the idea of any person being
concealed in the interior, during so complete an exhibition of that interior,
if ever entertained, is immediately dismissed as preposterous in the extreme.
M. Maelzel, having rolled the machine back into its original position, now
informs the company that the Automaton will play a game of chess with any one
disposed to encounter him. This challenge being accepted, a small table is prepared
for the antagonist, and placed close by the rope, but on the spectators' side
of it, and so situated as not to prevent the company from obtaining a full view
of the Automaton. From a drawer in this table is taken a set of chess-men, and
Maelzel arranges them generally, but not always, with his own hands, on the
chess board, which consists merely of the usual number of squares painted upon
the table.
The antagonist having taken his seat, the exhibiter approaches the drawer of
the box, and takes therefrom the cushion, which, after removing the pipe from
the hand of the Automaton, he places under its left arm as a support. Then taking
also from the drawer the Automaton's set of chess-men, he arranges them upon
the chessboard before the figure. He now proceeds to close the doors and to
lock them – leaving the bunch of keys in door No. 1. He also closes the
drawer, and, finally, winds up the machine, by applying a key to an aperture
in the left end (the spectators' left) of the box. The game now commences –
the Automaton taking the first move.
The duration of the contest is usually limited to half an hour, but if it be
not finished at the expiration of this period, and the antagonist still contend
that he can beat the Automaton, M. Maelzel has seldom any objection to continue
it. Not to weary the company, is the ostensible, and no doubt the real object
of the limitation. It Wits of course be understood that when a move is made
at his own table, by the antagonist, the corresponding move is made at the box
of the Automaton, by Maelzel himself, who then acts as the representative of
the antagonist. On the other hand, when the Turk moves, the corresponding move
is made at the table of the antagonist, also by M. Maelzel, who then acts as
the representative of the Automaton. In this manner it is necessary that the
exhibiter should often pass from one table to the other. He also frequently
goes in rear of the figure to remove the chess-men which it has taken, and which
it deposits, when taken, on the box to the left (to its own left) of the board.
When the Automaton hesitates in relation to its move, the exhibiter is occasionally
seen to place himself very near its right side, and to lay his hand, now and
then, in a careless manner upon the box. He has also a peculiar shuffle with
his feet, calculated to induce suspicion of collusion with the machine in minds
which are more cunning than sagacious. These peculiarities are, no doubt, mere
mannerisms of M. Maelzel, or, if he is aware of them at all, he puts them in
practice with a view of exciting in the spectators a false idea of the pure
mechanism in the Automaton.
The Turk plays with his left hand. All the movements of the arm are at right
angles. In this manner, the hand (which is gloved and bent in a natural way,)
being brought directly above the piece to be moved, descends finally upon it,
the fingers receiving it, in most cases, without difficulty. Occasionally, however,
when the piece is not precisely in its proper situation, the Automaton fails
in his attempt at seizing it. When this occurs, no second effort is made, but
the arm continues its movement in the direction originally intended, precisely
as if the piece were in the fingers. Having thus designated the spot whither
the move should have been made, the arm returns to its cushion, and Maelzel
performs the evolution which the Automaton pointed out.
At every movement of the figure machinery is heard in motion. During the progress
of the game, the figure now and then rolls its eyes, as if surveying the board,
moves its head, and pronounces the word echec (check) when necessary.* If a
false move be made by his antagonist, he raps briskly on the box with the fingers
of his right hand, shakes his head roughly, and replacing the piece falsely
moved, in its former situation, assumes the next move himself. Upon beating
the game, he waves his head with an air of triumph, looks round complacently
upon the spectators, and drawing his left arm farther back than usual, suffers
his fingers alone to rest upon the cushion. In general, the Turk is victorious
– once or twice he has been beaten. The game being ended, Maelzel will
again if desired, exhibit the mechanism of the box, in the same manner as before.
The machine is then rolled back, and a curtain hides it from the view of the
company.
THERE have been many attempts at solving the mystery of the Automaton. The
most general opinion in relation to it, an opinion too not unfrequently adopted
by men who should have known better, was, as we have before said, that no immediate
human agency was employed – in other words, that the machine was purely
a machine and nothing else. Many, however maintained that the exhibiter himself
regulated the movements of the figure by mechanical means operating through
the feet of the box. Others again, spoke confidently of a magnet. Of the first
of these opinions we shall say nothing at present more than we have already
said. In relation to the second it is only necessary to repeat what we have
before stated, that the machine is rolled about on castors, and will, at the
request of a spectator, be moved to and fro to any portion of the room, even
during the progress of a game. The supposition of the magnet is also untenable
– for if a magnet were the agent, any other magnet in the pocket of a spectator
would disarrange the entire mechanism. The exhibiter, however, will suffer the
most powerful loadstone to remain even upon the box during the whole of the
exhibition.
The first attempt at a written explanation of the secret, at least the first
attempt of which we ourselves have any knowledge, was made in a large pamphlet
printed at Paris in 1785. The author's hypothesis amounted to this – that a dwarf
actuated the machine. This dwarf he supposed to conceal himself during the opening
of the box by thrusting his legs into two hollow cylinders, which were represented
to be (but which are not) among the machinery in the cupboard No. I, while his
body was out of the box entirely, and covered by the drapery of the Turk. When
the doors were shut, the dwarf was enabled to bring his body within the box – the
noise produced by some portion of the machinery allowing him to do so unheard,
and also to close the door by which he entered. The interior of the automaton
being then exhibited, and no person discovered, the spectators, says the author
of this pamphlet, are satisfied that no one is within any portion of the machine.
This whole hypothesis was too obviously absurd to require comment, or refutation,
and accordingly we find that it attracted very little attention.
In 1789 a book was published at Dresden by M. I. F. Freyhere in which another
endeavor was made to unravel the mystery. Mr. Freyhere's book was a pretty large
one, and copiously illustrated by colored engravings. His supposition was that
"a well-taught boy very thin and tall of his age (sufficiently so that
he could be concealed in a drawer almost immediately under the chess-board")
played the game of chess and effected all the evolutions of the Automaton. This
idea, although even more silly than that of the Parisian author, met with a
better reception, and was in some measure believed to be the true solution of
the wonder, until the inventor put an end to the discussion by suffering a close
examination of the top of the box.
In attempting ourselves an explanation of the Automaton, we will, in the first
place, endeavor to show how its operations are effected, and afterwards describe,
as briefly as possible, the nature of the observations from which we have deduced
our result.
It will be necessary for a proper understanding of the subject, that we repeat
here in a few words, the routine adopted by the exhibiter in disclosing the
interior of the box – a routine from which he never deviates in any material
particular. In the first place he opens the door No. I. Leaving this open, he
goes round to the rear of the box, and opens a door precisely at the back of
door No. I. To this back door he holds a lighted candle. He then closes the
back door, locks it, and, coming round to the front, opens the drawer to its
full extent. This done, he opens the doors No. 2 and No. 3, (the folding doors)
and displays the interior of the main compartment. Leaving open the main compartment,
the drawer, and the front door of cupboard No. I, he now goes to the rear again,
and throws open the back door of the main compartment. In shutting up the box
no particular order is observed, except that the folding doors are always closed
before the drawer.
Now, let us suppose that when the machine is first rolled into the presence
of the spectators, a man is already within it. His body is situated behind the
dense machinery in cupboard No. 1. (the rear portion of which machinery is so
contrived as to slip en masse, from the main compartment to the cupboard No.
I, as occasion may require,) and his legs lie at full length in the main compartment.
When Maelzel opens the door No. I, the man within is not in any danger of discovery,
for the keenest eve cannot penetrate more than about two inches into the darkness
within. But the case is otherwise when the back door of the cupboard No. I,
is opened.
A bright light then pervades the cupboard, and the body of the man would be
discovered if it were there. But it is not. The putting the key in the lock
of the back door was a signal on hearing which the person concealed brought
his body forward to an angle as acute as possible – throwing it altogether,
or nearly so, into the main compartment. This, however, is a painful position,
and cannot be long maintained. Accordingly we find that Maelzel closes the back
door. This being done, there is no reason why the body of the man may not resume
its former situation – for the cupboard is again so dark as to defy scrutiny.
The drawer is now opened, and the legs of the person within drop down behind
it in the space it formerly occupied. There is, consequently, now no longer
any part of the man in the main compartment – his body being behind the
machinery in cupboard No. 1, and his legs in the space occupied by the drawer.
The exhibiter, therefore, finds himself at liberty to display the main compartment.
This he does – opening both its back and front doors – and no person
Is discovered.
The spectators are now satisfied that the whole of the box is exposed to view
– and exposed too, all portions of it at one and the same time. But of
course this is not the case. They neither see the space behind the drawer, nor
the interior of cupboard No. 1 – the front door of which latter the exhibiter
virtually shuts in shutting its back door. Maelzel, having now rolled the machine
around, lifted up the drapery of the Turk, opened the doors in his back and
thigh, and shown his trunk to be full of machinery, brings the whole back into
its original position, and closes the doors.
The man within is now at liberty to move about. He gets up into the body of
the Turk just so high as to bring his eyes above the level of the chess-board.
It is very probable that he seats himself upon the little square block or protuberance
which is seen in a corner of the main compartment when the doors are open. In
this position he sees the chess-board through the bosom of the Turk which is
of gauze. Bringing his right arm across his breast he actuates the little machinery
necessary to guide the left arm and the fingers of the figure. This machinery
is situated just beneath the left shoulder of the Turk, and is consequently
easily reached by the right hand of the man concealed, if we suppose his right
arm brought across the breast. The motions of the head and eyes, and of the
right arm of the figure, as well as the sound echec are produced by other mechanism
in the interior, and actuated at will by the man within. The whole of this mechanism
– that is to say all the mechanism essential to the machine – is most
probably contained within the little cupboard (of about six inches in breadth)
partitioned off at the right (the spectators' right) of the main compartment.
In this analysis of the operations of the Automaton, we have purposely avoided
any allusion to the manner in which the partitions are shifted, and it will
now be readily comprehended that this point is a matter of no importance, since,
by mechanism within the ability of any common carpenter, it might be effected
in an infinity of different ways, and since we have shown that, however performed,
it is performed out of the view of the spectators. Our result is founded upon
the following observations taken during frequent visits to the exhibition of
Maelzel.
1. The moves of the Turk are not made at regular intervals of time, but accommodate
themselves to the moves of the antagonist – although this point (of regularity)
so important in all kinds of mechanical contrivance, might have been readily
brought about by limiting the time allowed for the moves of the antagonist.
For example, if this limit were three minutes, the moves of the Automaton might
be made at any given intervals longer than three minutes. The fact then of irregularity,
when regularity might have been so easily attained, goes to prove that regularity
is unimportant to the action of the Automaton – in other words, that the
Automaton is not a pure machine.
2. When the Automaton is about to move a piece, a distinct motion is observable
just beneath the left shoulder, and which motion agitates in a slight degree,
the drapery covering the front of the left shoulder. This motion invariably
precedes, by about two seconds, the movement of the arm itself – and the arm
never, in any instance, moves without this preparatory motion in the shoulder.
Now let the antagonist move a piece, and let the corresponding move be made
by Maelzel, as usual, upon the board of the Automaton. Then let the antagonist
narrowly watch the Automaton, until he detect the preparatory motion in the
shoulder. Immediately upon detecting this motion, and before the arm itself
begins to move, let him withdraw his piece, as if perceiving an error in his
manoeuvre. It will then be seen that the movement of the arm, which, in all
other cases, immediately succeeds the motion in the shoulder, is withheld – is
not made – although Maelzel has not yet performed, on the board of the Automaton,
any move corresponding to the withdrawal of the antagonist. In this case, that
the Automaton was about to move is evident – and that he did not move, was an
effect plainly produced by the withdrawal of the antagonist, and without any
intervention of Maelzel.
This fact fully proves that the intervention of Maelzel, in performing the
moves of the antagonist on the board of the Automaton, is not essential to the
movements of the Automaton, 2 – that its movements are regulated by mind
– by some person who sees the board of the antagonist, 3 – that its
movements are not regulated by the mind of Maelzel, whose back was turned towards
the antagonist at the withdrawal of his move.
3. The Automaton does not invariably win the game. Were the machine a pure
machine this would not be the case – it would always win. The principle being
discovered by which a machine can be made to play a game of chess, an extension
of the same principle would enable it to win a game – a farther extension would
enable it to win all games – that is, to beat any possible game of an antagonist.
A little consideration will convince any one that the difficulty of making a
machine beat all games, Is not in the least degree greater, as regards the principle
of the operations necessary, than that of making it beat a single game. If then
we regard the Chess-Player as a machine, we must suppose, (what is highly improbable,)
that its inventor preferred leaving it incomplete to perfecting it – a supposition
rendered still more absurd, when we reflect that the leaving it incomplete would
afford an argument against the possibility of its being a pure machine – the
very argument we now adduce.
4. When the situation of the game is difficult or complex, we never perceive
the Turk either shake his head or roll his eyes. It is only when his next move
is obvious, or when the game is so circumstanced that to a man in the Automaton's
place there would be no necessity for reflection. Now these peculiar movements
of the head and eves are movements customary with persons engaged in meditation,
and the ingenious Baron Kempelen would have adapted these movements (were the
machine a pure machine) to occasions proper for their display – that is, to occasions
of complexity. But the reverse is seen to be the case, and this reverse applies
precisely to our supposition of a man in the interior. When engaged in meditation
about the game he has no time to think of setting in motion the mechanism of
the Automaton by which are moved the head and the eyes. When the game, however,
is obvious, he has time to look about hirn, and, accordingly, we see the head
shake and the eyes roll.
5. When the machine is rolled round to allow the spectators an examination
of the back of the Turk, and when his drapery is lifted up and the doors in
the trunk and thigh thrown open, the interior of the trunk is seen to be crowded
with machinery. In scrutinizing this machinery while the Automaton was in motion,
that is to say while the whole machine was moving on the castors, it appeared
to us that certain portions of the mechanism changed their shape and position
in a degree too great to be accounted for by the simple laws of perspective;
and subsequent examinations convinced us that these undue alterations were attributable
to mirrors in the interior of the trunk. The introduction of mirrors among the
machinery could not have been intended to influence, in any degree, the machinery
itself. Their operation, whatever that operation should prove to be, must necessarily
have reference to the eve of the spectator. We at once concluded that these
mirrors were so placed to multiply to the vision some few pieces of machinery
within the trunk so as to give it the appearance of being crowded with mechanism.
Now the direct inference from this is that the machine is not a pure machine.
For if it were, the inventor, so far from wishing its mechanism to appear complex,
and using deception for the purpose of giving it this appearance, would have
been especially desirous of convincing those who witnessed his exhibition, of
the simplicity of the means by which results so wonderful were brought about.
6. The external appearance, and, especially, the deportment of the Turk, are,
when we consider them as imitations of life, but very indifferent imitations.
The countenance evinces no ingenuity, and is surpassed, in its resemblance to
the human face, by the very commonest of wax-works. The eyes roll unnaturally
in the head, without any corresponding motions of the lids or brows. The arm,
particularly, performs its operations in an exceedingly stiff, awkward, jerking,
and rectangular manner. Now, all this is the result either of inability in Maelzel
to do better, or of intentional neglect – accidental neglect being out of the
question, when we consider that the whole time of the ingenious proprietor is
occupied in the improvement of his machines. Most assuredly we must not refer
the unlife-like appearances to inability – for all the rest of Maelzel's automata
are evidence of his full ability to copy the motions and peculiarities of life
with the most wonderful exactitude. The rope-dancers, for example, are inimitable.
When the clown laughs, his lips, his eyes, his eye-brows, and eyelids – indeed,
all the features of his countenance – are imbued with their appropriate expressions.
In both him and his companion, every gesture is so entirely easy, and free from
the semblance of artificiality, that, were it not for the diminutiveness of
their size, and the fact of their being passed from one spectator to another
previous to their exhibition on the rope, it would be difficult to convince
any assemblage of persons that these wooden automata were not living creatures.
We cannot, therefore, doubt Mr. Maelzel's ability, and we must necessarily suppose
that he intentionally suffered his Chess Player to remain the same artificial
and unnatural figure which Baron Kempelen (no doubt also through design) originally
made it. What this design was it is not difficult to conceive. Were the Automaton
life-like in its motions, the spectator would be more apt to attribute its operations
to their true cause, (that is, to human agency within) than he is now, when
the awkward and rectangular manoeuvres convey the idea of pure and unaided mechanism.
7. When, a short time previous to the commencement of the game, the Automaton
is wound up by the exhibiter as usual, an ear in any degree accustomed to the
sounds produced in winding up a system of machinery, will not fail to discover,
instantaneously, that the axis turned by the key in the box of the Chess-Player,
cannot possibly be connected with either a weight, a spring, or any system of
machinery whatever. The inference here is the same as in our last observation.
The winding up is inessential to the operations of the Automaton, and is performed
with the design of exciting in the spectators the false idea of mechanism.
8. When the question is demanded explicitly of Maelzel – "Is the Automaton
a pure machine or not?" his reply is invariably the same – "I will
say nothing about it." Now the notoriety of the Automaton, and the great
curiosity it has every where excited, are owing more especially to the prevalent
opinion that it is a pure machine, than to any other circumstance. Of course,
then, it is the interest of the proprietor to represent it as a pure machine.
And what more obvious, and more effectual method could there be of impressing
the spectators with this desired idea, than a positive and explicit declaration
to that effect? On the other hand, what more obvious and effectual method could
there be of exciting a disbelief in the Automaton's being a pure machine, than
by withholding such explicit declaration? For, people will naturally reason
thus, – It is Maelzel's interest to represent this thing a pure machine – he refuses
to do so, directly, in words, although he does not scruple, and is evidently
anxious to do so, indirectly by actions – were it actually what he wishes to
represent it by actions, he would gladly avail himself of the more direct testimony
of words – the inference is, that a consciousness of its not being a pure machine,
is the reason of his silence – his actions cannot implicate him in a falsehood – his
words may.
9. When, in exhibiting the interior of the box, Maelzel has thrown open the
door No. I, and also the door immediately behind it, he holds a lighted candle
at the back door (as mentioned above) and moves the entire machine to and fro
with a view of convincing the company that the cupboard No. 1 is entirely filled
with machinery. When the machine is thus moved about, it will be apparent to
any careful observer, that whereas that portion of the machinery near the front
door No. 1, is perfectly steady and unwavering, the portion farther within fluctuates,
in a very slight degree, with the movements of the machine. This circumstance
first aroused in us the suspicion that the more remote portion of the machinery
was so arranged as to be easily slipped, en masse, from its position when occasion
should require it. This occasion we have already stated to occur when the man
concealed within brings his body into an erect position upon the closing of
the back door.
10. Sir David Brewster states the figure of the Turk to be of the size of life – but
in fact it is far above the ordinary size. Nothing is more easy than to err
in our notions of magnitude. The body of the Automaton is generally insulated,
and, having no means of immediately comparing it with any human form, we suffer
ourselves to consider it as of ordinary dimensions. This mistake may, however,
be corrected by observing the Chess-Player when, as is sometimes the case, the
exhibiter approaches it. Mr. Maelzel, to be sure, is not very tall, but upon
drawing near the machine, his head will be found at least eighteen inches below
the head of the Turk, although the latter, it will be remembered, is in a sitting
position.
11. The box behind which the Automaton is placed, is precisely three feet six
inches long, two feet four inches deep, and two feet six inches high. These
dimensions are fully sufficient for the accommodation of a man very much above
the common size – and the main compartment alone is capable of holding
any ordinary man in the position we have mentioned as assumed by the person
concealed. As these are facts, which any one who doubts them may prove by actual
calculation, we deem it unnecessary to dwell upon them. We will only suggest
that, although the top of the box is apparently a board of about three inches
in thickness, the spectator may satisfy himself by stooping and looking up at
it when the main compartment is open, that it is in reality very thin. The height
of the drawer also will be misconceived by those who examine it in a cursory
manner. There is a space of about three inches between the top of the drawer
as seen from the exterior, and the bottom of the cupboard – a space which
must be included in the height of the drawer. These contrivances to make the
room within the box appear less than it actually is, are referrible to a design
on the part of the inventor, to impress the company again with a false idea,
viz. that no human being can be accommodated within the box.
12. The interior of the main compartment is lined throughout with cloth. This
cloth we suppose to have a twofold object. A portion of it may form, when tightly
stretched, the only partitions which there is anv necessity for removing during
the changes of the man's position, viz: the partition between the rear of the
main compartment and the rear of the cupboard No. 1, and the partition between
the main compartment, and the space behind the drawer when open. If we imagine
this to be the case, the difficulty of shifting the partitions vanishes at once,
if indeed any such difficulty could be supposed under any circumstances to exist.
The second object of the cloth is to deaden and render indistinct all sounds
occasioned by the movements of the person within.
13. The antagonist (as we have before observed) is not suffered to play at
the board of the Automaton, but is seated at some distance from the machine.
The reason which, most probably, would be assigned for this circumstance, if
the question were demanded, is, that were the antagonist otherwise situated,
his person would intervene between the machine and the spectators, and preclude
the latter from a distinct view. But this difficulty might be easily obviated,
either by elevating the seats of the company, or by turning the end of the box
towards them during the game. The true cause of the restriction is, perhaps,
very different. Were the antagonist seated in contact with the box, the secret
would be liable to discovery, by his detecting, with the aid of a quick car,
the breathings of the man concealed.
14. Although M. Maelzel, in disclosing the interior of the machine, sometimes
slightly deviates from the routine which we have pointed out, yet reeler in
any instance does he so deviate from it as to interfere with our solution. For
example, he has been known to open, first of all, the drawer – but he never opens
the main compartment without first closing the back door of cupboard No. 1 – he
never opens the main compartment without first pulling out the drawer – he never
shuts the drawer without first shutting the main compartment – he never opens
the back door of cupboard No. 1 while the main compartment is open – and the
game of chess is never commenced until the whole machine is closed. Now if it
were observed that never, in any single instance, did M. Maelzel differ from
the routine we have pointed out as necessary to our solution, it would be one
of the strongest possible arguments in corroboration of it – but the argument
becomes infinitely strengthened if we duly consider the circumstance that he
does occasionally deviate from the routine but never does so deviate as to falsify
the solution.
15. There are six candles on the board of the Automaton during exhibition.
The question naturally arises – "Why are so many employed, when a
single candle, or, at farthest, two, would have been amply sufficient to afford
the spectators a clear view of the board, in a room otherwise so well lit up
as the exhibition room always is – when, moreover, if we suppose the machine
a pure machine, there can be no necessity for so much light, or indeed any light
at all, to enable it to perform its operations – and when, especially,
only a single candle is placed upon the table of the antagonist?" The first
and most obvious inference is, that so strong a light is requisite to enable
the man within to see through the transparent material (probably fine gauze)
of which the breast of the Turk is composed.
But when we consider the arrangement of the candles, another reason immediately
presents itself. There are six lights (as we have said before) in all. Three
of these are on each side of the figure. Those most remote from the spectators
are the longest – those in the middle are about two inches shorter –
and those nearest the company about two inches shorter still – and the
candles on one side differ in height from the candles respectively opposite
on the other, by a ratio different from two inches – that is to say, the
longest candle on one side is about three inches shorter than the longest candle
on the other, and so on. Thus it will be seen that no two of the candles are
of the same height, and thus also the difficulty of ascertaining the material
of the breast of the figure (against which the light is especially directed)
is greatly augmented by the dazzling effect of the complicated crossings of
the rays – crossings which are brought about by placing the centres of
radiation all upon different levels.
16. While the Chess-Player was in possession of Baron Kempelen, it was more
than once observed, first, that an Italian in the suite of the Baron was never
visible during the playing of a game at chess by the Turk, and, secondly, that
the Italian being taken seriously ill, the exhibition was suspended until his
recovery. This Italian professed a total ignorance of the game of chess, although
all others of the suite played well. Similar observations have been made since
the Automaton has been purchased by Maelzel. There is a man, Schlumberger, who
attends him wherever he goes, but who has no ostensible occupation other than
that of assisting in the packing and unpacking of the automata. This man is
about the medium size, and has a remarkable stoop in the shoulders. Whether
he professes to play chess or not, we are not informed. It is quite certain,
however, that he is never to be seen during the exhibition of the Chess-Player,
although frequently visible just before and just after the exhibition. Moreover,
some years ago Maelzel visited Richmond with his automata, and exhibited them,
we believe, in the house now occupied by M. Bossieux as a Dancing Academy. Schlumberger
was suddenly taken ill, and during his illness there was no exhibition of the
Chess-Player. These facts are well known to many of our citizens. The reason
assigned for the suspension of the Chess-Player's performances, was not the
illness of Schlumberger. The inferences from all this we leave, without farther
comment, to the reader.
17. The Turk plays with his left arm. A circumstance so remarkable cannot be
whatever. beyond a accidental. Brewster takes no notice of it whatever beyond
a mere statement, we believe, that such is the fact. The early writers of treatises
on the Automaton, seem not to have observed the matter at all, and have no reference
to it. The author of the pamphlet alluded to by Brewster, mentions it, but acknowledges
his inability to account for it. Yet it is obviously from such prominent discrepancies
or incongruities as this that deductions are to be made (if made at all) which
shall lead us to the truth.
The circumstance of the Automaton's playing with his left hand cannot have
connexion with the operations of the machine, considered merely as such. Any
mechanical arrangement which would cause the figure to move, in any given manner,
the left arm – could, if reversed, cause it to move, in the same manner,
the right. But these principles cannot be extended to the human organization,
wherein there is a marked and radical difference in the construction, and, at
all events, in the powers, of the right and left arms. Reflecting upon this
latter fact, we naturally refer the incongruity noticeable in the Chess-Player
to this peculiarity in the human organization. If so, we must imagine some reversion
– for the Chess-Player plays precisely as a man would not.
These ideas, once entertained, are sufficient of themselves, to suggest the
notion of a man in the interior. A few more imperceptible steps lead us, finally,
to the result. The Automaton plays with his left arm, because under no other
circumstances could the man within play with his right – a desideratum
of course. Let us, for example, imagine the Automaton to play with his right
arm. To reach the machinery which moves the arm, and which we have before explained
to lie just beneath the shoulder, it would be necessary for the man within either
to use his right arm in an exceedingly painful and awkward position, (viz. brought
up close to his body and tightly compressed between his body and the side of
the Automaton,) or else to use his left arm brought across his breast. In neither
case could he act with the requisite ease or precision. On the contrary, the
Automaton playing, as it actually does, with the left arm, all difficulties
vanish. The right arm of the man within is brought across his breast, and his
right fingers act, without any constraint, upon tile machinery in the shoulder
of the figure.
We do not believe that any reasonable objections can be urged against this
solution of the Automaton Chess-Player.
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