Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

by Volume 01-05 (lit)

  answering certain given questions. A figure, dressed like a magician,

  appears seated at the bottom of a wall, holding a wand in one hand,

  and a book in the other A number of questions, ready prepared, are

  inscribed on oval medallions, and the spectator takes any of these he

  chooses and to which he wishes an answer, and having placed it in a

  drawer ready to receive it, the drawer shuts with a spring till the

  answer is returned. The magician then arises from his seat, bows his

  head, describes circles with his wand, and consulting the book as If

  in deep thought, he lifts it towards his face. Having thus appeared

  to ponder over the proposed question he raises his wand, and striking

  with it the wall above his head, two folding doors fly open, and

  display an appropriate answer to the question. The doors again close,

  the magician resumes his original position, and the drawer opens to

  return the medallion. There are twenty of these medallions, all

  containing different questions, to which the magician returns the

  most suitable and striking answers. The medallions are thin plates of

  brass, of an elliptical form, exactly resembling each other. Some of

  the medallions have a question inscribed on each side, both of which

  the magician answered in succession. If the drawer is shut without a

  medallion being put into it, the magician rises, consults his book,

  shakes his head, and resumes his seat. The folding doors remain shut,

  and the drawer is returned empty. If two medallions are put into the

  drawer together, an answer is returned only to the lower one. When

  the machinery is wound up, the movements continue about an hour,

  during which time about fifty questions may be answered. The inventor

  stated that the means by which the different medallions acted upon

  the machinery, so as to produce the proper answers to the questions

  which they contained, were extremely simple."

  The duck of Vaucanson was still more remarkable. It was _of _the size

  of life, and so perfect an imitation of the living animal that all

  the spectators were deceived. It executed, says Brewster, all the

  natural movements and gestures, it ate and drank with avidity,

  performed all the quick motions of the head and throat which are

  peculiar to the duck, and like it muddled the water which it drank

  with its bill. It produced also the sound of quacking in the most

  natural manner. In the anatomical structure the artist exhibited the

  highest skill. Every bone in the real duck had its representative In

  the automaton, and its wings were anatomically exact. Every cavity,

  apophysis, and curvature was imitated, and each bone executed its

  proper movements. When corn was thrown down before it, the duck

  stretched out its neck to pick it up, swallowed, and digested it.

  {*1}

  But if these machines were ingenious, what shall we think of the

  calculating machine of Mr. Babbage? What shall we think of an engine

  of wood and metal which can not only compute astronomical and

  navigation tables to any given extent, but render the exactitude of

  its operations mathematically certain through its power of correcting

  its possible errors? What shall we think of a machine which can not

  only accomplish all this, but actually print off its elaborate

  results, when obtained, without the slightest intervention of the

  intellect of man? It will, perhaps, be said, in reply, that a machine

  such as we have described is altogether above comparison with the

  Chess-Player of Maelzel. By no means--it is altogether beneath

  it--that is to say provided we assume(what should never for a moment

  be assumed) that the Chess-Player is a _pure machine, _and performs

  its operations without any immediate human agency. Arithmetical or

  algebraical calculations are, from their very nature, fixed and

  determinate. Certain _data _being given, certain results necessarily

  and inevitably follow. These results have dependence upon nothing,

  and are influenced by nothing but the _data _originally given. And

  the question to be solved proceeds, or should proceed, to its final

  determination, by a succession of unerring steps liable to no change,

  and subject to no modification. This being the case, we can without

  difficulty conceive the _possibility _of so arranging a piece of

  mechanism, that upon starting In accordance with the _data _of the

  question to be solved, it should continue its movements regularly,

  progressively, and undeviatingly towards the required solution, since

  these movements, however complex, are never imagined to be otherwise

  than finite and determinate. But the case is widely different with

  the Chess-Player. With him there is no determinate progression. No

  one move in chess necessarily follows upon any one other. From no

  particular disposition of the men at one period of a game can we

  predicate their disposition at a different period. Let us place the

  _first move _in a game of chess, in juxta-position with the _data _of

  an algebraical question, and their great difference will be

  immediately perceived. From the latter--from the _data--_the second

  step of the question, dependent thereupon, inevitably follows. It is

  modelled by the _data. _It must be _thus _and not otherwise. But from

  the first move in the game of chess no especial second move follows

  of necessity. In the algebraical question, as it proceeds towards

  solution, the _certainty _of its operations remains altogether

  unimpaired. The second step having been a consequence of the _data,

  _the third step is equally a consequence of the second, the fourth of

  the third, the fifth of the fourth, and so on, _and not possibly

  otherwise, _to the end. But in proportion to the progress made in a

  game of chess, is the _uncertainty _of each ensuing move. A few moves

  having been made, _no _step is certain. Different spectators of the

  game would advise different moves. All is then dependent upon the

  variable judgment of the players. Now even granting (what should not

  be granted) that the movements of the Automaton Chess-Player were in

  themselves determinate, they would be necessarily interrupted and

  disarranged by the indeterminate will of his antagonist. There is

  then no analogy whatever between the operations of the Chess-Player,

  and those of the calculating machine of Mr. Babbage, and if we choose

  to call the former a _pure machine _we must be prepared to admit that

  it is, beyond all comparison, the most wonderful of the inventions of

  mankind. Its original projector, however, Baron Kempelen, had no

  scruple in declaring it to be a "very ordinary piece of mechanism--a

  _bagatelle _whose effects appeared so marvellous only from the

  boldness of the conception, and the fortunate choice of the methods

  adopted for promoting the illusion." But it is needless to dwell upon

  this point. It is quite certain that the operations of the Automaton

  are regulated by _mind, _and by nothing else. Indeed this matter is

  susceptible of a mathematical demonstration, _a priori. _The only

  question then is of the _manner _in which human agency is brought to
/>
  bear. Before entering upon this subject it would be as well to give a

  brief history and description of the Chess-Player for the benefit of

  such of our readers as may never have had an opportunity of

  witnessing Mr. Maelzel's exhibition.

  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.

  {2*} 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. The

  cut on this page gives a tolerable representation of the figure as

  seen by the citizens of Richmond a few weeks ago. The right arm,

  however, should lie more at length upon the box, a chess-board should

  appear upon it, and the cushion should not be seen while the pipe is

  held. Some immaterial alterations have been made in the costume of

  the player since it came into the possession of Maelzel--the plume,

  for example, was not originally worn. {image of automaton}

  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, door marked ~ in the cut above, 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 door marked I, 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