Alexander Herrmann

French magician

Alexander Herrmann (February 10, 1844 – December 17, 1896) was a French magician, better known as Herrmann the Great. He was married to magician Adelaide Herrmann, known as the Queen of Magic.

According to the Herrmann family lore, Samuel Herrmann was a part time magician and full time physician. Samuel Herrmann was a favorite of the Sultan of Turkey, who sent for the magician often. The Sultan paid a princely sum for the entertainment. Alexander Herrmann was carrying the gold watch on the day of his death. It was passed on to his widow. he decided to settle down to continue his practice. Samuel Herrmann played small towns around from 1817 in Germany and moved his family to France. He played the institutes and lyceums of Paris and gave performances until 1855. He taught his skills to his oldest son Compars, also known as Carl. Five weeks of full houses brought Carl receipts totaling $35,000 ($35000.0 in 1862 is equivalent to about <calculated amount> in recent years in dollars). Despite his performances' humorous elements, Alexander still mystified his audiences. His intense eyes, imposing mustache and goatee gave him a satanic appearance; in person he looked like a magician. According to H. J. Burlingame, Alexander Herrmann's personality presented "an atmosphere of mystery about the magician." Burlingame also noted that Herrmann was one of the kindest and gentlest of men. After much fanfare from the orchestra, Herrmann entered. He was decked out in black velvet evening clothes with britches. He wore the typical top hat of the day and white gloves. The audience applauded; he bowed and smiled. He took off his gloves and made them vanish between his hands. Herrmann presented two metal cones and a beautifully decorated brass vase. He opened the lid on the vase and showed a bag of rice. All items were examined by spectators. Upon return of the items, Herrmann poured the rice into the vase and placed the lid on it. He went into the audience, walked over to a bearded gentleman and borrowed his hat. He reached over to the gentleman's beard and produced an orange from it—"Thank you. Just what I needed for this trick"—eliciting a chuckle from the audience. He returned to the stage and placed the hat on a chair and the orange on one of the tables. Herrmann asked the audience which cone they would like, "The right one or the left?" He took the selected cone and placed it upon the hat. "I will cause the rice and orange to switch places". After much by play where he pretended to sneak the orange away from the cone, he decided not to use the cone at all. He left the cone on the empty hat and placed the orange on the table. After making a magical pass, he lifted up the cone and a pile of rice appeared on the crown of the hat. He picked up the orange and made it disappear in his hands. Then he lifted up the vase that contained the rice and showed the missing orange. From there, he would casually show his hands to be empty and produce a fan of cards from behind his knee. With the produced cards, he would go into a series of sleight of hand tricks. He concluded the card act with three people from the audience selecting cards. He placed the pack into a goblet. From the goblet, the selected cards would rise one by one. He would take the pack out of the goblet and toss them, and they would melt in mid air. He'd pretend that he was done with cards, but his empty hands were soon filled with them. He'd take each one and scale them into the audience. Herrmann would ask an audience member to call out for one and he'd accurately toss it to him, sometimes as far as the topmost row in the gallery. Herrmann then picked up the silk top hat that he had borrowed from an audience member. One by one, he would produce a number of silver dollars from the air. After the shining coin hit the glare of the spotlight, he would toss it into the hat with a definite clink sound. He would produce a large number of dollars until the hat was full. Herrmann poured the coins into a silver tray and showed it to the audience. From there, the coins were dumped into a paper bag. He'd wrap it up and toss it to the owner of the hat. The silver dollars had changed into a box of candy. A piece of paper was left over from the package. Herrmann picked this up and rolled it into a ball. Then he proceeded to knock it through his knee. In an instant he tossed the ball of paper into the air, where it vanished. Herrmann picked up the hat and discovered many things inside—enough to fill a trunk. He thanked the owner of the hat as he returned it. As he did, he found a white rabbit inside of it. Herrmann stroked the rabbit. He pulled it apart and had two rabbits, one in each hand. He put the rabbits on the table. "If you notice," he said in his Parisian accent, "the rabbits are the same size, no?" He scooped them from the table and they melted into one. "Now, you notice that the rabbit, she is much fatter". He picked up a pistol from the table. He tossed the rabbit into the air and shot at it. The rabbit was gone. He quickly went down to the runway into the audience. He pulled the vanished rabbit from the coattails of a spectator. As he walked back to the stage, the curtain closed behind him. He stood in front of the curtain and cradled the rabbit like a baby. He proceeded to talk to the rabbit. Apparently the rabbit did not understand broken French because the rabbit turned its head toward Herrmann and cocked up one ear. This caused the audience to laugh and applaud. The orchestra picked up the pace of the music and Herrmann exited. Madame Herrmann entered, performing a fire dance. Alexander Herrmann caught his breath and the rest of the show continued. To achieve most of his tricks in the first act, Herrmann would rely on what is referred to in magic as "body loads", one of the seven principles of sleight of hand. Herrmann carried his loads on his body and inside his coat, placing them where he needed them. One summer evening, Herrmann was sitting backstage in his dressing room after packing his jacket. He had draped the tailcoat over his chair. He was talking to the theatre manager, who also had his evening jacket off. When the first bell rang for the beginning of the show to start, the manager got up, put on his coat, and left. Herrmann put on his coat and gloves as he walked towards the stage. The music played his march and he entered stage right. He took his bow and went into his opening act. He took off his gloves in preparation to make them disappear when he realized that something was wrong: he wasn't wearing his coat. Without his coat, he could not go on with the first act. Instead of panicking, he set his gloves aside and picked up a pack of cards that was on the table. He did some elegant card flourishes with them. As he was closing with some fancy cuts, he was wondering about his coat. Suddenly he had the answer. The theatre manager was also wearing a full dress suit. He must have taken Herrmann's coat. He gave the deck a final flourish. He snapped his fingers to the wings. One of his assistants came on stage. Herrmann was flinging cards out to the audience. He leaned over to the assistant and whispered, "Find the manager. He's wearing my coat." He flung a few cards until half of the pack was left. He added, "And bring me more cards." The assistant left. Herrmann took the next card and gripped it between the first and second finger of his left hand. Then he flicked his wrist, sailing the card into the audience. He then scaled two or three more cards in quick succession into the audience. His assistant came back with a few more cards. He told Herrmann that he had sent someone to look for the manager. Herrmann took the cards and scaled those. He told his assistant to bring on more cards. The audience was waving for them. So he flung them with great speed one after another. He flung a few at the balcony into the hands of a waiting spectator. The audience was getting excited over his remarkable aim. More cards were brought on. News was relayed to him that they were still trying to find the manager. Herrmann was scaling cards to the farthest reaches of the gallery with even more accuracy. The audience went wild. He was down to a few cards. He was exhausted and didn't know what else to do to stall. He looked over at the wings and saw the surprised manager. Herrmann scaled his last card and bowed. The applause was deafening. He went offstage and quickly removed the manager's jacket. Then he carefully pulled off his own from the startled manager. Herrmann checked the contents. Everything was still in its place. He carefully put on his coat and smoothed it up. He strode on stage as before. He bowed as the applause crescendoed again. He then went into his original routine.

In 1883, after solidifying his name in the United States, Herrmann embarked on another world tour. His first stop was South America. Emperor Don Pedro II of Brazil attended nineteen performances in Rio de Janeiro. The emperor was so fascinated with Herrmann's magic that he presented him with the Cross of Brazil. After touring the rest of South America, Herrmann headed to Russia. His tour led him all the way to Siberia. From Russia, Herrmann returned to the place of his birth, France. At the Eden Theatre in Paris, his performance was witnessed by the Prince and Princess of Wales (later to become King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra of England, aka Alexandra of Denmark). Alexander met his brother Carl again in 1885 in Paris. In their patter, magicians often refer to the legend of 12 magicians that have died doing the trick. ("Will I be number 13?") Even though most things magicians utter is hyperbole, there is real danger associated with the bullet catch. A version of the act was designed by Herrmann the Great with the help of his assistant, Billy Robinson. (Years later, Billy, as Chung Ling Soo, would be killed with the same style gun.) Old fashioned muzzle loaders were used for the act. The so called bullet was actually a lead ball rammed into the gun together with a small charge of gunpowder. When the firing mechanism was activated, the gunpowder exploded and caused the lead ball to project forward down the barrel like a miniature cannon shot. In truth, most versions of the trick had either a fake bullet inserted into the gun, or had the ball secretly removed immediately before discharge. What came out the gun's muzzle was just a flash of fire, giving the illusion of an exiting projectile. Herrmann the Great performed his own version of the bullet catch. The bullet was still marked, but the danger of the trick was avoided. The gunpowder never came near the firing mechanism, with the result that the bullet never left the gun. The trick was safe—or so Herrmann thought; he would never live long enough to see his one time assistant die from it. However, he did make the most of the trick. Not a normal part of his act, the trick would be presented on special occasions. Herrmann announced in May 1896 that he would attempt the bullet catch for the seventh time on the stage of the Olympia Theatre as part of a fundraiser for the Sick Babies Fund. A female reporter was dispatched to interview Madame Herrmann. She went to the Herrmann Manor at Whitestone Landing for the interview. As she walked in she was greeted with a voice that said, "What do you want?" She turned around and saw a black bird sitting on a perch. Just then an animated skeleton sprung out at her. She shrieked, which brought a maid from down the hall. She found the Herrmanns waiting for her. Madame Herrmann said, "I lock myself into my dressing room whenever Alexander faces a firing squad". "Nonsense", Herrmann the Great said: "I have already caught bullets successfully six times. Seven, you know, is a lucky number". He mentioned that he had applied for a life insurance plan with Connecticut Indemnity Association, but that the plan would not be in effect for the trick. Apparently he had not mentioned the bullet catching stunt when he applied for it. Notably, she continued to perform the dangerous bullet catch trick. Adelaide retired at the age of 75. She died in 1932, and is buried at Woodlawn Cemetery next to her husband.

In 2022, the Herrmanns were the subject of the song "Herrmann the Great" by independent singer songwriter Dan Zappulla.