Thirty-Nine

saint-gervais, france, 1871

As the end of his life grew near, Jean Eugène Robert-­Houdin feared for what would become of his not-quite-human son. Inspiration struck one day, out of a tragedy.

A famous personage in France, Robert-­Houdin knew others in high society as well as men at the tops of their professions. One such man was a well-regarded chef who cooked choucroute garnie with such exquisite results that people traveled for miles to partake of his delicacies. The chef developed an ego, as most men do when told repeatedly how great they are. One day, a grease fire began in the kitchen. It quickly engulfed his establishment. The chef made sure all of his workers made it to safety. He was the last one out. It never once occurred to him that the building would dare injure him. Yet a wooden beam struck him, trapping him inside the burning building. Before he was rescued, the fire scorched his head and hands. He escaped with his life, but without his sight and former dexterity.

As he’d never married, the former chef sat alone in his large house. There was no life in the house, save for the domestic servant who came twice a day to clean the house and bring him barely tolerable food. The chef might have withered and died from desolation had it not been for the occasional interesting visitor, such as his old friend Jean Eugène Robert-­Houdin and an odd fellow Robert-­Houdin brought with him.

Dorian was introduced as a distant relative of Robert-­Houdin’s who had been disfigured in an accident and was therefore wary of being seen by people, who could be cuttingly cruel. Oh, how the chef understood the cruelty of men! The people who once adored him would no longer look upon his burned face and hands. The saving grace of his blindness was that he himself did not have to see what his once-handsome face had become.

The chef was the first person aside from Robert-­Houdin with whom Dorian had conversed. On one visit, the topic turned to food, as it often did. Robert-­Houdin went to the window to look upon the barren trees that swayed in the wind. Winter would be upon them soon. He sensed it would be his last winter in this world.

Robert-­Houdin’s human son had recently died in the Franco-Prussian War, and the Hessians were threatening Paris. What more did an old man have to live for?

When he pulled himself out of his own thoughts and returned to the sofa, he realized that he had not been missed. Looking between the two outcasts, a flash of inspiration overwhelmed him.

“Martin,” Robert-­Houdin said. He rose out of habit, even though the chef could not see him. “I have had the most inspired idea. You and my relation Dorian are both men shunned by society through no fault of your own, and you both appreciate eating gourmet food.”

“Why must you bring up my failings?” Martin asked, holding up his burned hands. “I can neither see nor hold a knife. I must rely on the vile porridge and stews that wretched woman brings me.”

“Yet Dorian,” Robert-­Houdin said, “has the best eyesight of any man I have met, and is nearly as accomplished at sleight of hand as I. Would it not be possible for you to teach him to cook? He is looking for somewhere to live where he will not need to hide from people who look upon him unfavorably because of his disfigurement. In exchange for food and lodgings, he could cook and clean for you. I cannot imagine a more perfect plan.”

And so it was that one of the greatest cooks in France would teach Dorian Robert-­Houdin the skills that enabled him to become a gourmet chef.

The war brought challenges that year, but the Robert-­Houdin household survived by hiding from the Hessians in a cave. Having gotten his affairs in order, Robert-­Houdin passed away that summer, at peace.

Upon the old magician’s death, the family unlocked his studio. Everyone was disappointed to find no great creation waiting for them. What had the man been working on all those years? His mind must have left him.

The family was less surprised by a trifling fact of far greater significance. Upon Robert-­Houdin’s death, his friend Viollet-le-Duc came to pay his respects. He asked if he could see the magician’s stage props. Since the architect was not a magician competitor, Robert-­Houdin’s family saw no harm in allowing an old friend to visit his studio. They didn’t expect the elderly architect to erupt in a rage when he could not find the gift he’d given his friend years before. No matter, they thought to themselves. They were sorry for his grief, but could he really have expected that his friend would keep his atrocious gift? When the architect began raving and asking questions, claiming that Robert-­Houdin had been an alchemist, they set him straight and politely asked the man to leave.