The tongue-twisting word, Phantasmagoria, stands for a certain type of light and shadow show popular immediately after the French Revolution. It marked a definite throwback in the story of magic shadows. It was essentially a revival of the medieval black magic or necromantic use of light and shadow to trick, deceive and keep everyone “in the dark about light.”

Phantasmagoria is the magic lantern illusion associated with making phantasms appear before an audience. The only contribution to the art-science is that it created an illusion of motion through the novel means of moving the projector instead of the slides or film.

The Phantasmagoria magic lantern was mounted on rollers and the lens was adjustable so that ghosts would appear to grow and diminish and move about. Certain dissolve effects were also produced. For Phantasmagoria the images—regularly ghosts—were projected not on a screen but on smoke, a factor which naturally contributed to the weird effects.

Phantasmagoria was most popular in Paris in the late 1790s, probably as some kind of a psychological reaction to the horrors of the French Revolution. Men and women of the day thought much of death, ghosts and the like.

The basic idea for combining motion illusions successfully with the magic lantern is traced directly to Musschenbroek. The use of smoke for a screen goes back to the ancient practitioners of light and shadow trickery.

Guyot showed, on a small scale, how ghost illusions can be projected on smoke. He noted, “It is remarkable in this representation, that the motion of smoke does not at all change the figures, which appear so conspicuous that the spectator thinks he can grasp them with his hand.”

These devices were intended primarily for simple amusement on a private or semi-private scale.

An indication of the mood of the European people of the time is the fame granted Alessandro Conte di Cagliostro (1743–1795). This man whose real name was Giuseppe Balsamo was known throughout Europe in the latter part of the 18th century. Thomas Carlyle wrote about him under the title “Count Cagliostro.” He used all kinds of deceptive devices, and was jailed in France, England and in his native Italy where he died.

The black magic of Cagliostro, the phantasm images, and a third factor, the Shadow Plays, were to be combined to make the Phantasmagoria.

Earlier mention has been made of the Chinese Shadow Plays which have been in use in the Far East for thousands of years. Towards the middle of the 18th century the Shadow Plays were very popular in Germany. Shadows were used to portray action. The audience sat before a translucent screen on which were cast, by means of a strong light source, shadows of the various players or objects. In certain arrangements a regular magic lantern would also be used, projecting, from in front of the screen, the background scenery or cloud and sky effects.

A showman named François Seraphin has been credited with introducing the Shadow Plays—Ombres Chinoises—into France in 1772. He got the idea during his travels in Italy. Then the shadow entertainment received its French “first night” at the Palace of Versailles. Light and Shadow Plays were very popular at the royal court, especially with the children. In 1784 Seraphin decided that the entertainment was ready for introduction on a popular basis—the trend of the times may well have influenced his decision.

The Shadow Play theatre of Seraphin was moved from Versailles to the Palais-Royal and its popularity continued for a time. Shadow entertainment was carried on by members of the same family till past the middle of the 19th century when an attempt was made to regain popularity by using marionettes. Other Shadow Plays continued to attract audiences in Paris until the end of the 19th century, when the pre-motion picture devices became popular.

Phantasmagoria reached its peak under an extraordinary character—Etienne Gaspard Robert (1763–1837), a Belgian and a practicer of a multitude of professions and hobbies. Robert, for some reason, called himself Robertson. Robertson started life on a serious enough basis and in time became professor of physics in his native town of Liége.

Robertson tells in his memoirs how he came upon the works of Kircher, Schott and many others, who, he believed, practiced magic. He read up on optics and, about 1784, exhibited in Holland, where he was at the time, an improved magic lantern. He was greatly influenced by the results of Musschenbroek and the success of the Shadow Plays at Versailles. Robertson’s characters were ghosts. He commented, “the encouragements that I received made me try to improve my methods.” More and more persons were attracted to Robertson’s shows in Holland and finally even the burgomaster attended.

At Paris Robertson improved his knowledge of the magic lantern. There he met Jacques Alexandre César Charles, who was using a lantern for scientific purposes at his laboratory in the Louvre. Robertson sought a brighter light source for the lantern and persisted in his quest even though Charles was said to have tried to discourage him by pointing out that much money had been spent in vain on that project.

At the time of the Revolution, Robertson laid before the Government a plan which would authorize him to build a huge burning mirror, as Archimedes did, so that he could destroy any attacking English fleet before it could reach the “invasion coast.” No action was taken on the proposal. In our own day the English were ready to burn any Nazi invasion fleet which sailed from France—not by burning glasses but by equally amazing devices.

After the Revolution, during the stormy days of the first French Republic, Robertson held “seances” at the Pavillion de l’Echiquier. A projector mounted on wheels was used. A patent on the device under the name of Fantascope or Phantoscope was obtained on March 29, 1799.

Robertson’s characters or ghosts which would appear to grow and disappear on the screen of smoke were usually such heroes as Voltaire, Rousseau, Marat, and Lavoisier. At the end of each performance, a skeleton would appear and Robertson would remark that this was the fate awaiting each one in the audience. Grim entertainment!

A clever artist, Robertson had a large collection of slides and would call upon his audience—which never quite knew whether to believe that he was in league with the devil and brought the ghosts into appearance or not—to ask for whichever ghost they wished. You can imagine the effect when some Frenchman called for Marat and then, small at first and gradually growing large until life-size and more, a shadowy, recognizable image of Marat would appear.

This “request” part of the program caused Robertson trouble. One night, a member of the audience who had had a few extra sips of wine, or who was terrified beyond the others, called for the return of the ghost of Louis XVI. This was too much. The authorities shut the theatre and refused to grant Robertson permission to continue his “seances.” They did not want even the ghost of Louis returned. Political censorship of screen entertainment had made its first appearance.

Robertson went to Bordeaux to make sure that he, himself, did not prematurely join Louis and his other ghosts.

Later he was able to return to Paris and open another theatre near the Place Vendôme. This was a particularly startling auditorium. He used an abandoned chapel of a Capuchin monastery. Robertson’s light and shadow ghosts came to life among the mortal remains of ancient monks. (The reader may be aware of the ancient Capuchin custom of using bones of deceased members of the order as part of the ornament of their chapels as a constant reminder of death.)

Even though Robertson had admitted that from childhood he had the keenest interest in things marvelous, he tired of his magic. Next we hear of him, he is a pioneer balloonist, credited with the invention of one of the early parachutes! On July 18, 1803, he made a notable ascent in a balloon.

In 1845 there was opened in Paris a theatre which was to play a part in the light and shadow story. It was called for its proprietor and chief performer, Théâtre Robert Houdin. Houdin, after whom Harry Houdini of the 20th century named himself, practiced every kind of trick and wondrous illusion. He used Phantasmagorial effects and the French public flocked to the shows. Towards the end of the century Emile Reynaud took over the Théâtre Robert Houdin and showed the best magic shadow plays prior to the introduction of the motion picture itself.

During the middle of the century, the Polytechnic Institution, at London, attracted large crowds with magic lantern shows. Ghosts were created à la Robertson and the Phantasmagorial methods. Regular entertainment was also provided with such magic lantern stories as Puss in Boots and versions of Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and The Tale of the Tub. As many as a half-dozen magic lanterns would be used to create impressive scenes, such as battles.

In our own day attempts have been made to use Phantasmagorial effects to frighten and deceive. An interesting example is contained in the following Associated Press dispatch telling how the Nazis attempted to make the English soldiers believe that Heaven was entreating them to abandon the war:

Phantasmagoria is not dead yet. Television may even increase the possibilities of this type of magic shadow diversion.