Secrets of Automata E-Book

Michael Start

• Herausgeber: The Crowood Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 385

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

This extraordinary book reveals the secrets of automata mechanisms, which were developed over generations by makers who closely guarded their designs in the competitive business of automata making. Written by a specialist restorer, it gives a unique appreciation of the internal mechanisms that allow an automaton to move as if alive. Organised into popular subjects that are explored in entertaining detail, this book is a rich resource for makers, artists, restorers and collectors alike, as well as those who simply find themselves asking the question 'How does it do that?' Secrets of Automata is the culmination of its author's career-long fascination with automata mechanisms. Michael Start specialises in restoring clockwork figures and singing birds produced in Paris during the 19th century. It is no accident that this time and place became known as the 'golden age' of automata; the craftsmen of Paris competed with each other to capture a share of a growing global market for mechanical wonders. The various methods of portraying mechanical life using complex mechanisms and clever design were rarely recorded or publicised - but they are there, sealed within the automata themselves. As a restorer, Michael is unique in being able to provide a written exposé of the historical techniques of the lifelike movement. In Secrets of Automata, it is his great pleasure to share them with you.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

1. MAKERS AND MECHANISMS

The Makers

Mechanisms

2. THE HUMAN BODY

Breathing

Eating

Drinking and Pouring

Smoking

Writing and Drawing

Walking

Facial Features

3. BIRDS AND ANIMALS

Leaping

Walking and Running

Flitting

Stalking

Curling

Birdsong

4. THE NATURAL WORLD

Water

Wind

Sun

Sound

Gravity

5. MAGIC

Cups and Balls

Tumbling Rings

Levitation

Decapitation

Regurgitation

6. ENTERTAINMENT

Dancing

Ladder Acrobat

Funambulism

Trapeze

Drumming

7. MASTER TIPS

CONCLUSION

Further Information

Index

Acknowledgements

INTRODUCTION

The information in this book will provide inspiration and ideas based on the secret mechanisms hidden inside amazing automata from history. Automata are mechanical models of animals, people and places, each automaton vividly portraying some aspect of life and nature in physical form. Whether it be a chess-playing Turk, a dancing doll or a waterfall under a radiating sun, the design of the mechanism is crucial to convincing you, the viewer, that you are not just looking at a machine but at a convincing interpretation of the living thing as an automaton. In this book I will reveal to you the secrets of automata mechanism which were developed over generations, by makers who closely guarded their designs in the competitive business of automata making.

A variety of skills are needed to restore antique automata. Michael Start is a trained clockmaker, which helps, but here he channels the skills of a taxidermist in order to repair the damaged fur on this ‘Leaping Tiger’ automaton, worn away by 100 years of use. The team of restorers at The House of Automata includes a horologist, a sculptor and a fine artist.

As a restorer of automata with over thirty years’ experience, I get to see inside hundreds of automata every year and I constantly marvel at the ingenuity of the best makers in history. I regularly reach for my pencil and notebook to document these often-unlikely arrangements of cams, levers and springs which bring the automaton to life. These mysterious mechanisms are hidden and undocumented; they often see the light of day for the first time in a century when I open up a dusty torso or prise open a sealed compartment. Inside each of them lies the secret of that automaton’s life and movement and I want to share these discoveries with you.

As a restorer of some of the finest rare automata, I have been privileged to enter the mechanisms and hence the minds of long-lost artisan mechanics. Every automaton reveals something about its maker: some mechanisms were economical designs, but the best makers combine technical skill with artistry, and like magicians, were devoted to keeping the secrets of mechanical life.

This is not a ‘how to’ book. I don’t attempt to provide the reader with measurements and step-by-step instructions on how to make an automaton. By using real examples I want to show the unique principle by which an action works. Once the secret is understood the principle can be transferred to any number of designs and interpretations.

Making working automata can be quite complicated and I often see modern examples where a lot of time and effort has been spent ‘re-inventing the wheel’ to portray a particular movement, not always successfully. Nearly every possible movement of life and nature has been replicated in the past using a variety of mechanical methods; some are very successful and lifelike, the designs benefiting from generations of experience within the same company. Never before have these methods been documented in one place.

Automata offer the opportunity to take an impossible subject from a fantasy or dream and then bring it to life. This trombone-playing pig dates from c.1900 and has a human body with trotters instead of hands. What inspired this porcine musician is not known today, but the notion of an anthropomorphic pig is quite common in film and literature.

The work of today’s artists and makers will hopefully be accelerated to a more satisfying conclusion by seeing the examples in this book, the ‘secrets’ of portraying movement as developed by the master automata makers of history.

More than 100 automata are described and pictured in this book. The many different movements illustrate a huge range of actions, from walking and drinking to birdsong and wind. I have grouped the actions across seven chapters in arbitrary categories that allow me to feature the most successful and realistic automata mechanisms (as well as my own particular favourites). The essential chapters on humans and animals are accompanied by whole chapters on entertainment and magic, which reflects the purpose of many automata created purely to entertain. Please forgive me for including whole sections on smoking or ‘flitting’ (birds); these may be niche activities but sometimes they were done so well with mechanism that I simply had to include them.

Most of the automata described can also be seen working in films on the Internet. ‘The House of Automata’ YouTube channel features a specific playlist, ‘Secrets of Automata’, and guidance on search terms to find other examples is included at the end of this book.

It is rather an exciting moment for me to share the thrill of discovery in this book. In a small way every rare automaton that comes to my workbench is opened up, like the door to an Egyptian tomb, and amazing intricate mechanisms are revealed in the dust and cobwebs. I take great pleasure in sharing with you the secrets of automata mechanisms.

CHAPTER 1

MAKERS AND MECHANISMS

The aim of this book is to reveal mechanical secrets – the special mechanisms dedicated to a particular function and hidden from sight within the automaton. Most of these are innovations that have never been explained or published. This secrecy was necessary to preserve the livelihood and commercial advantage of the makers in what was a very competitive ‘high tech’ market.

Dancers in a Mirrored Grotto, Paris, c.1880. The secret of an automaton’s success can be as simple as a mirrored backdrop. These tiny dancing figures are multiplied by their own reflection, spinning and swirling so fast they are difficult to count. The musical scene is slowly revealed by the front garden folding down in front of the grotto – magical.

To understand the circumstances in which these mechanisms were invented and refined it will be useful to know a little of the history and to introduce some of the makers.

When looking back at the surprisingly long history of automata it is apparent that expertise in the subject usually resides in one country or region at a time, lasting for a century or more before fading away only to resurface again in a completely different place. This ‘passing of the baton’ between countries and civilisations is probably true for many subjects but is very evident over the 3,000-year history of mankind’s urge to make automata.

Each of these eras could probably be claimed as a ‘Golden Age’ of automata for different reasons but French automata of the nineteenth century stand out in technical, artistic and commercial terms. This book focuses on them in particular. I am helped by the sheer number of French automata that still exist in museums and private collections, many in working order, which allow me close examination when they come to my workshop for repair or restoration. For me to restore well, it is essential I research the automaton and understand its history. This is a part of the restoration process I particularly enjoy. In doing this I have become fascinated by particular makers and periods, but let us start at the beginning.

The Invention of Clockwork, c.1580, showing many of the processes and items of equipment that are needed to make geared mechanisms. The furnace that smelts the metal is shown close by, allowing recipes for brass and steel to be adjusted to suit the qualities required in the finished product in a much more direct way than is possible now.(© THE TRUSTEES OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

AUTOMATA TIMELINE

This timeline shows how I see the western tradition of automata shifting over the centuries.

800BCE to 200CEGreece and Italy800 to 1200Turkey and Iran1500 to 1700Germany1750 to 1830England and Switzerland1830 to 1930France1950 to presentUSA and Europe

THE MAKERS

The first automata

The first automaton is to be found whirring and clicking away in the classic texts of ancient mythology. As far back as 2,800 years ago, automatic moving machines performing human tasks are described by the Greek poet Homer. The ‘maker’ according to Homer was Hephaestus, son of Zeus, who served as blacksmith to the Gods. Hephaestus (or Vulcan in the Roman tradition) made various life-sized automata to labour in his workshop working the bellows and forge. For the celestial hall of the Gods he made twenty golden tripod servants that trundled about on wheels. He also created an elaborate golden throne for his estranged mother which deliberately entrapped her, presumably mechanically, the moment she sat on it.

The automaton maker can look up to their own deity, the Greek God of fire and forge, Hephaestus. His ability to make mechanical automata was demonstrated in many of the myths of ancient Greece. Here he poses with his hammer and tongs, with the magical armour of Achilles at his feet. The statue is by the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen.(PHOTO: JAKOB FAURVIG, THORVALDSENS MUSEUM PD)

Of the many devices that could be described as automata in mythology, most have some divine or magical aspect to their creation or operation. Magic aside, the main reasons for creating them were for utility purposes like mechanical serving machines and death-proof armour.

The Antikythera mechanism is the earliest known geared machine. Dating from around 200BCE, the device was found in a Roman era shipwreck near the island of Antikythera. Corroded and fragmented, it is the perfect combination of age and ambiguity. These qualities continue to excite scientists and theoreticians who work with the certainty that this mystical machine must have done something.(TILEMAHOS EFTHIMIADIS, ATHENS, CC BY 2.0)

It is the discovery of the Antikythera mechanism, a scientific instrument dating to perhaps 200BCE, which provides us with the first example of a real mechanism to start our discovery of mechanical automata. Brought up from the seabed in 1902 as a corroded green metal blob about the size of a large cake, over time it has been ‘conserved’ into eighty-three separate pieces revealing several gears, the largest 5.1 inches in diameter with (perhaps) 223 teeth. It is generally thought to be a machine to predict astronomical events, a sort of analogue computer.

The Grotto, 1615. In the seventeenth century Heron of Alexandria’s newly reissued first-century work Pneumatica inspired Salomon de Caus in this design for a water grotto. Galatea, a sea nymph, rides to and fro on the surface of the water, powered by a water wheel, while music plays. Water gardens with automata were popular across Europe at this time.(PHOTO: THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, NEW YORK, CC0 1.0)

The first technically viable theoretical automata of which we have a more complete knowledge are the work of Heron of Alexandria. Heron was a mathematician and engineer who was active around 60CE. Heron’s many designs for automated temples and figures were described and illustrated in his works Pneumatica, Automata and Mechanica.

For the next 1,000 years automata makers are quite sparse in the history books although the odd explorer and traveller does come across them and write about the experience. This is how we know that in 835CE the Byzantine Emperor Theophilos had a throne made, flanked by mechanical lions which roared and were shaded by a golden tree filled with mechanical singing birds. He was probably competing with the Caliph Abd-Allah-Al-Mamun in Baghdad, whose mechanical birds sang beautifully on a silver tree, reported in 827CE.

Jack the Smiter, fifteenth century, St Edmund’s Church, Southwold. This Jack is (unusually) not connected to a clock but is used to announce services and weddings in this English church. For most people their only experience of automata would be in places of power like the church where clocks might feature quite complex parades of automata to announce the hours.(PHOTO: ANDREWRABBOTT, CC BY-SA 3.0)

The next big moment for automata comes from Mesopotamia in 1206 when Ismail al-Jazari compiled his Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices. Known as the al-Jazari manuscripts, these collate existing knowledge and add new designs for automaton water clocks, fountains and devotional machines. All these inventions pre-date the advent of true clockwork whose birth is about to take place in the steeples, spires and homes of the rich across fourteenth-century Europe. This early clockwork often incorporated the ringing of bells as most people could not tell the time from a dial. What better way of ringing a bell can there be, than by having a mechanical man hit it with a hammer?

Augsburg

The gold and silversmiths of Augsburg (Germany) in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were making beautiful mechanical automata for export around the world. The automata were extravagant table ornaments in the form of animals, mythological figures and silver model ships called Nefs. Some Nefs were animated to ‘sail’ down the banquet table on eccentric wheels while a small band paraded on deck playing music. The ship would then stop and fire its cannons.

The Lion Rampant, an automaton clock, German c.1630. The lion moves its eyes continuously and opens and closes its mouth at each strike of the hour bell. A large number of animal automata clocks were made in Augsburg in the seventeenth century; subjects read like a Disney parade of bears, camels, dogs, monkeys and elephants, full of exaggerated character.(PHOTO: THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, NEW YORK, CC0 1.0)

The clockwork automata made in Augsburg are rare treasures and most of the remaining examples are to be found in museums today. Almost totally handmade, these refined and complex mechanisms were not at all crude, despite the early date for spring-powered clockwork. They are high value masterpieces created to affirm their global dominance in the making of fine mechanism at this time.

London

From 1750 to 1850 the centres of mechanical automata production had shifted to London and Geneva. During this period in Switzerland the father and son makers Pierre and Henri Jaquet-Droz were producing incredibly complex animated figure automata. The most famous of these are the three ‘androids’ – the Writer, the Draughtsman, and the Musician – all made around 1770. These three automata are nearly life size and are on display today in the Museum of Art and History in Neuchâtel. The Jaquet-Droz opened a branch in London in 1783 managed by another great maker, Henri Maillardet, who is known for his bejewelled spider and an enamelled gold crawling caterpillar as well as the Writer automaton that inspired the automaton in the film ‘Hugo’. It is through this London branch that the Jaquet-Droz supplied automata, watches and clocks to James Cox for sale onward to the important Far Eastern markets. Cox had access to the Chinese market through his own branch office in Canton. Although many automata and clocks are signed by Cox it is doubtful that James Cox actually made them himself. It seems more likely he commissioned them from talented craftsmen who designed and made them for his workshop. He was certainly an entrepreneur and with the rapidly expanding British Empire new trade routes opened and ‘jewellers and clockmakers’ like James Cox found ready markets for extravagant and expensive diplomatic gifts. So Cox’s workshop produced spectacular gilded automata encrusted with jewels and destined for export around the world. Cox ‘made’ the fabulous Peacock Clock now in Russia but his biggest market was China where his expensive automata were known as ‘sing songs’. As well as mechanical singing birds, Cox produced complex astronomical clocks as gifts for the Emperor, one with an automated telescopic pagoda set in a fantasy-filled garden diorama. Cox’s workshop also made the life-sized Silver Swan that swam in a lake of glass from which it plucked and ate little silver fish; this is still on display at the Bowes Museum in the UK.

Cox’s Museum of Automata, London 1772. A spectacular gilded confection of bejewelled automata and mechanical singing birds. Descriptions of the museum abound but not a single drawing exists. This engraving, commissioned from Robert Powell, captures the intensity of the exhibition where the Chronoscope, Peacock Clock, Silver Swan and The Writer all jostle together amongst the velvet curtains and lustrous chandeliers.

By 1772 the international trade had waned, resulting in growing debt and surplus stock. Cox’s solution was to open a spectacular exhibition of automata in Spring Gardens, London, the huge entry fee being equivalent to a week’s wages. Visited by the social elite and the great writers of the day, James Boswell and Dr Johnson, the exhibition was the talk of London for three years. Financial problems beset Cox and the museum from the start and although there were several attempts to raise money by raffling off the exhibits by lottery, the museum finally closed around 1777.

A ticket from Cox’s Museum Lottery issued in 1773. The ticket originally cost one guinea. The prizes were the precious objects and automata in the museum up to the value of £5,000. I don’t know if this is a winning ticket or not, but I would like to think it might represent an entitlement to one of his fantastic automata.

The automata and clocks may have appeared all frippery and show, supported by a gilded menagerie of exotic creatures, but behind the actual movements was a high level of technical innovation. Cox’s workforce included some brilliant minds: his ‘chief mechanik’ was John Joseph Merlin, inventor of roller skates and a perpetual clock that never needs winding. The clock still exists in London’s Science Museum and is actually powered by the natural changes of air pressure.

There are only a few remaining automata from the Cox workshop today, but we do have descriptions from an auction catalogue of 1772 describing twenty-three of the larger automata being offered for sale. This is one of the more brief and restrained entries in the catalogue describing ‘Lot 4’:

A richly caparisoned Elephant, on a magnificent Pedestal, which supports two beautiful Galleries. On the first is a sumptuous Chariot of gold covered with flowers, fruit, leaves, and ornaments of jewellery, upon which are two Figures of gold: it is drawn by a Dragon. On the upper Gallery another Chariot drawn by Horses round a rock, upon which is raised a Gothick Temple of agate, ornamented with jewellery, on the summit of which is placed an irradiating Star. This piece is twelve feet in height, and displays (besides the progress of the chariot) the fall of Cascades round and within the recesses of the Temple, and terminates with a spiral ornament.

The Chess Player was made in 1772 by Wolfgang von Kempelen. It is an automaton chess opponent which played against Napoleon and Benjamin Franklin in a long career that saw it perform around the world until destroyed by fire in 1854. Known as a ‘false automaton’, the base was full of mechanism but a person was concealed inside, resulting in years of conjecture as to how it worked.(PICTURE: JOSEPH RACKNITZ)

By the 1820s automata were capturing imaginations across Europe, in exhibitions, on stage and in popular culture. The publication of Shelley’s Frankenstein and E.T.A. Hoffman’s The Sandman (later the ballet Coppélia) fuelled the fascination with artificial life both physical and mechanical; a passion for automata was spreading. Baron von Kempelen’s famous chess-playing automaton was a good example of the wide appeal of the subject. It toured many countries until finally it was revealed as a fake automaton.

Complex automata – both real and ‘fake’ – still drew the crowds and inspired the media of the day, such as the enigmatic Psycho (1875), a life-sized turbaned figure sitting cross legged on top of a transparent glass pillar, who could apparently read a person’s mind and perform magic. The mechanism inside the figure was controlled remotely by pulses of compressed air, invisible within the glass pillar.

This was an exciting time for automata, but Britain’s turn as the centre of automaton production had passed. The Industrial Revolution had changed the customer base and by 1850 the clock industry in England had run into trouble. It had become uneconomic due to an addiction to high quality and over-engineering in the face of cheaper French and American imports. The French clock was also a high quality but a relatively cheap product due to the use of specialist division of labour within the environs of Paris. The American clock was even cheaper. By 1870 the French were able to combine their manufacturing expertise with the ‘plastic’ arts of sculpture and a natural flair for entertainment, to cater for a growing interest in clockwork automata.

Paris

The craftsmen of the Marais district of Paris rose to the task and realised that automata had a universal appeal, but most people could not afford them. Small companies formed, such as Roullet & Decamps, Vichy, Lambert, Phalibois, Renou and the singing bird specialist Bontems, each specialising in satisfying these new markets and competing for the biggest market share. Their subjects were street entertainers, animals, dancers, fantasy scenes of little people or celebrities from the music hall and circus, with the best acts in the world often performing within a few hundred metres of their workshops.

A cabinet of automata, containing mostly French automata featured in this book. The variety of subjects portrayed was as diverse as it is possible to imagine. Particularly popular were dioramas in box frames or shadow boxes animated with music. The mechanical singing bird was popular for its flowery decorative appeal, as even the most staid household considered them ‘not creepy’.

There were five World Trade Fairs held in Paris between 1855 and 1900. The last fair in 1900 attracted 50 million international visitors and 83,000 exhibitors. Many of the automata makers exhibited and orders came in from across the world. The race was on to impress the public with ranges of new and exciting automata.

Clown Balancing the Moon on a Stick, Vichy, Paris, c.1880. Almost certainly a sculptural portrait of a circus performer attempting to throw the moon back up into the sky. Popular culture in Paris at this time was full of surreal imagery and a fascination with the moon. Automata subjects mirrored this fascination and the moon features in many automata.

This growth spawned rapid technological development of the mechanisms, and innovative new movements were designed, aimed at making the automaton more lifelike, impressive and entertaining. The automata makers included the funny quirks, winks and gestures, the accidents of life, into the actions of their machines. Their subjects were often distorted from reality into the surreal, with oversized heads or with the moon inset in a tree trunk; after all, this was the time and place for the birth of surrealism.

Parisian automata were made in much greater numbers than before, using batch production and division of labour to produce the quantity needed to meet demand. Although aimed at a large market they were still expensive machines – not toys, but high technology, like computers today. They often included automatic music boxes in an age that pre-dates recorded music of any other type. For a lot of owners they also hinted that the sublime mystery of life itself could be solved by the hand of man in the form of a marvellous machine, just about affordable, to take home.

The Far East

There is an almost parallel history of automata in the Far East, which I am not best placed to describe. But there are two automata I have restored that indicate the age and depth of the tradition in China and Japan.

South-Pointing Chariot, model of an ancient design, China. Originally made life-sized, the emperor always points south as the chariot moves. This is achieved mechanically: the wheels are linked together using a form of differential gearing connecting the wheels to the emperor. His outstretched arm will stay pointing in whatever the direction set when the chariot starts moving.

The first is a small model of an ancient South-Pointing Chariot: this was a two-wheeled chariot upon which a life-sized statue of the Emperor stood with outstretched arm. The Emperor would always point south, no matter what twists and turns the chariot below him took. Chinese texts refer to these existing as long as 3,000 years ago and they apparently remained in use as a sort of mechanical compass until 1300. This model is a gilded brass miniature of the original and the gearing works very well to keep the Emperor pointing in the same direction that he started in. Even this small model is very enigmatic to see demonstrated as it is pulled around a tabletop. A surprising amount of information on the South-Pointing Chariot is available online.

Chahakobi Ningyo (Tea-serving Doll), 1868–1911. Wood, papier-mâché, bone, gesso, ink,19 inches tall. The doll is used to offer a cup of tea in a ritual tea ceremony. It walks to the guest, stops to allow the tea to be drunk, then turns and walks back when the teacup is replaced.(COURTESY OF THE KAMM COLLECTION 2016.143)

A rare appearance in the workshop recently was a 150-year-old Tea Serving Doll from the Japanese Karakuri tradition. It was clockwork and similar in design and materials to a modern craft automaton but lighter, extremely confidently made and remarkably did not use any metal parts: even the clockwork mainspring was made from a coil of thin whalebone. China and Japan have their own long and continuous tradition of automata, used primarily in theatre and ritual to the present day. I make only passing reference to them in this book as I have limited experience of them in the UK, but there is some excellent further reading suggested at the back of this book.

Wherever and whenever automata have been made the mechanisms are usually a mystifying secret. Whether incomprehensibly complex or deliberately hidden from sight, the illusion of life is key to inducing wonder and awe in the audience. This has been true until the last two decades, when exposed and beautifully made mechanisms have often been deliberately constructed to be on show. The cogs and levers now dance visibly, to animate the automaton. It seems that the ability to understand the vocabulary of pure mechanism is now a pleasure in itself. With this joy in mind, the following chapters will expose the mechanisms of past makers, explain how they work, and make it easier to develop and progress mechanical life, starting from the place the masters of automata left off.

The Tea Drinker automaton, Vichy, Paris, c.1870. The lid of the vase opens slowly and the tea drinker rises up, turns and drinks tea before returning into the vase. The mechanism is constrained in layout by the small space inside the vase. The cams and levers are on the side of the mechanism. The outer lever opens the lid.

MECHANISMS

I hope this book will provide inspiration for the designer and maker of automata. To prevent repetition, each chapter restricts itself to explaining the mechanical principles of the particular motion of life and nature featured. Invariably automata share common mechanical methods for powering the automaton and storing information. This short section gives an overview of these common attributes as used in most of the automata featured in the forthcoming chapters.

If you are new to the subject or just fascinated by small mechanisms of the nineteenth century, then here we go.

Most automata mechanisms are comprised of three different sections each with a distinct purpose:

1. Drive unit

A simple diagram of a clockwork automaton with three cams. The levers conduct movement up to the body plate. The figure has a head turn and nod with a waving arm. The drive unit and cams are usually enclosed within a base, the figure performing on the top. This is a common layout for many nineteenth-century automata.

2. Cams and levers

3. Body mechanism

Some automata have these three separate units amalgamated in one complex mechanism, usually to fit inside the restricted space of the automaton’s body. For most automata the drive unit and cams are housed in a spacious box base. The base mechanism transmits motion up into the automaton figure above by moving rods hidden in the legs.

Monkey Magician, Phalibois, c.1890, viewed from underneath the base. The clockwork motor drives a steel shaft on which a wooden cam stack revolves. Half-way along each lever, the cam followers trace the undulating edge of their cams. The wire rods at the end of each lever rise up through a hole in the base to animate the figure above.(PRIVATE COLLECTION)

Couple on a Bench, Peter Robbins, 1987. Hand-turned operation. The old couple fall asleep, then the man wakes, sees something and kicks the woman twice to wake her, causing her to sit up. This narrative performance is achieved with a worm drive on the handle shaft which turns the camshaft by one revolution for thirty turns of the handle.

There are many variations to the general schema of an automaton’s mechanism, but the basic elements described below are common in automata throughout this book. Understanding them will provide a firm basis to understanding the ‘secrets of automata’ and the marvellous movements that result.

Drive units

The four popular ways to drive or power an automaton are:

1. Hand

2. Clockwork

3. Falling weight

4. Electric motor

Handles and levers

The simplest of these options is to use human power: a cranked handle or levers and buttons pushed or pulled. The advantages for a maker are huge: hand-powered automata do not need speed or power regulation as the person turning the handle sees and feels what is required as they turn the handle and observe the result.

Cats’ Tea Party, hand-turned mechanism, German, c.1890. Three cats are seated at a table, they turn to and fro making regular ‘miaows’ to each other as music plays. The central shaft is turned by the white porcelain handle just visible at the bottom. The crude wooden ratchet wheel is to prevent reverse winding. The paper bellows produce realistic miaows.

In its simplest form the handle may be a wooden dowel pressed into a short crank to be turned by the finger and thumb. Alternatively it could be a large, heavy wheel designed to impart speed and momentum to the automaton. Without the need for a train of gears or springs, the maker can devote more time and attention to complexity or artistry without issues of a lack of power or speed.

The advantages can bring their own problems, however: the automaton may need safety devices to prevent the human from exerting too much power or speed and damaging the automaton. A simple ratchet and click to prevent reverse turning works well. Power can be limited by shortening the turn handle. Further control can be designed in by limiting access to the lever with a shroud or recessing it. My experience of exhibiting automata tells me that an automaton placed in a dark corner without supervision will be subject to much bigger forces than one placed in a well-lit place with many people around.

Some of the earliest automata from the ancient world just used levers pressed down by hand. A row of levers protruding from the base of an automaton enables the person operating to co-ordinate and compound the movements. Using two fingers it is strangely satisfying to discover that turning a head and nodding it at the same time produces an uncannily lifelike motion.

Clockwork drive

This is the most common method of powering the automata described in this book. Different parts of the clockwork motor revolve, rattle and whirr in ways that the automaton exploits to good effect. To describe this I have used terminology that is standard for clockwork mechanism and derived from horology. Therefore the term ‘axle’ in mechanics is in this book called an ‘arbor’; a ‘pinion’ is a small solid cog; and a set of gear wheels is referred to as a ‘train’ of wheels. Described here are the basic parts and working method of a small standard automaton drive motor as used in nineteenth-century automata.

Clockwork drive motor. Front plate removed to show this high-quality (but quite grubby) three-gear mechanism. The powerful coiled spring is hidden behind the great wheel; the intermediate wheel has been removed to show the worm wheel engaging with the spiral worm. The fly spins silently in operation and is ideal for controlling the power of a clockwork mechanism.

A clockwork drive motor uses the power in a coiled steel spring to turn a train of three wheels and pinions. You store power into the motor by winding it up until the spring is tightly coiled. The coiled spring uses a one-way ratchet and click system to hold back the considerable force involved. Once stored in the spring the power can only be released through the gear train. The power release is very measured and controlled, typically taking several minutes to exhaust itself.

The wheels and pinions of the gear train reduce in size successively to increase the speed and reduce the power. The final wheel turns a steel spiral called the ‘worm’ which is fitted with an air brake, in the form of a thin brass plate called the ‘fly’. The fly spins so fast it is visible as a blur and due to its low power can be safely stopped with a fingertip or the point of a stop-start lever. This exchange of power for speed and vice versa is the principle behind all gear boxes and is very useful in a clockwork automaton drive motor as it offers opportunities to take drive off the motor at different rpm (revolutions per minute) along the train of wheels.

In practice, automaton drive motors usually have three possible locations where the power is taken from for driving different parts of an automaton:

1. Great wheel: used for slow walking actions and driving the music. The most power is available at this gear.

2. Intermediate wheel: this is the most commonly used working output for the automaton. It is used for arm lift, head turn and powering the bellows. The cams are most often mounted here.

3. Third wheel: peripheral features are driven from this fast-turning, low-powered wheel, such as eyelids fluttering and mouth chattering movements.

4. The worm wheel and fly: these are so fast and weak that they cannot usually drive parts of the automaton, but they are used for stopping and starting the mechanism and to produce whirring/purring sounds.

Weight drive

A weight-driven mechanism is inherently simple and easy to make. It is also one of the oldest methods of powering automata and has been in use since antiquity. A long cord is secured to a drum or cylinder, usually made of wood. The cord is wound around the drum and to the end is attached a weight of lead or stone. The weight hangs down, pulling the cord and causing the drum to turn until the cord is unwound. At one end of this drum is the ‘great wheel’ gear of the mechanism which can then power the intermediate gear in turn. The gear train is essentially the same as described for spring-driven clockwork but with weight drive there is no need to make a tempered steel spring, coil and restrain it.

Cams fitted to the drive motor of the Girl Holding a Marionette: a similar design to the mechanism shown earlier, viewed from the outside to show two cams. One is mounted on the great wheel, the other on the intermediate wheel which turns eight times faster. The girl nods her head and jerks the marionette up and down.

The advantages are the simplicity of construction, the fact that the power delivery does not vary as the weight descends, and it is very easy to increase the power by adding to the weight. A disadvantage is the large space required for the fall of the weight and its lack of portability.

Heron’s Shrine of Bacchus was probably 3 metres tall and included many automated features. The main drive shown here is extraordinary in that the stone weight (d) sits on a bed of sand which gradually trickles away to lower the weight slowly under control. This propels the temple forward, presumably at a pace to suit the duration of a ceremony.(HOPKINS, A. MAGIC, STAGE ILLUSIONS AND SCIENTIFIC DIVERSIONS, 1897)

Electric motor

Clockwork was the dominant technology for automata during the nineteenth century but by the early twentieth century the advantages of the electric motor became impossible to ignore. An electric motor can run continuously and start and stop at the flick of a switch. These were ideal qualities for advertising and coin-operated automata in particular. Electric motors in automata usually need a gear box to reduce the high speed of the pulley down to suit the speed required for the cams.

Life-size figure, Paris, c.1920. Leaflet distributor with eight movements powered by a small electric motor just visible by the green wire. The motor drives a large gear box with the cams mounted on output shafts either side. The figure uses a piston suction pump to lift leaflets off a stack via a sucker in the palm of his hand.

In favour of clockwork, it must be said that the constant power and consistent speed of electric motors can dilute the character of an automaton’s performance and the noise can also be intrusive. A little of the mystique is also lost by plugging in something to the wall that pretends to be self-contained.

Satyr head, magic automaton, 2009. A stack of newly made brass cams I made to be fitted in a life-sized satyr head that sleeps, wakes and spits playing cards out of the mouth. The notebook shows some of the cam profile development process which was first worked out linearly. The edges of the cams are burnished to reduce friction.

Cams and levers

Cams are specially shaped discs made of brass or wood, with edges profiled to specify an action or movement. The cam defines the size of the movement and the timing of it. A cam can be programmed with all the notes of a bird’s song, dance moves or a magic trick. A good analogy is with a computer hard disk. In order to ‘read’ the information contained in the profiled contours of a cam, a ‘cam follower’ is used. The follower is mounted halfway along a lever and rides along the edge of the cam, moving the end of the lever up and down. The lever is pivoted at one end and because of its length it can magnify the movement traced by the cam follower. The mechanism is mounted so the ends of the levers are just below the hollow legs of the figure. The rise and fall movements of the levers are then easily transmitted by a stiff wire rod, up into the automaton figure via holes in the underside of the feet.

Monkey Dice Thrower, Phalibois, c.1875 with wooden cams. The seven cams are turned from a single cylinder of boxwood and then carefully carved with their lobes and undulations. The levers have wide followers soldered in position. The various breakages and bends in the control cords and wires are an indication that the automaton above is in original unopened condition.

The cams must be locked together to turn as a group to make sure individual movements are coordinated; if not, you might get the teacup raised to the ear instead of the mouth. As the cam stack must turn as a complete unit, this has made possible some interesting variations in construction. There are economically made and reliable examples of complete stacks using wooden cylinders grooved for staples or carved with tracks of lobes in place of the individual cams.

Tightrope Dancers in a Tree, Paris, c.1880. The cams are formed from a grooved cylinder of wood fitted with wire loops and staples. You can see groups of three and four little kicks of the dancers’ feet. A fourth ‘cam’ is formed by nails spaced around the end of the cylinder nearest to us. Note the lever return springs.

The body mechanism

The automaton figure is fitted with a body plate made of wood or metal in the shape of the torso. This plate is firmly fixed by wires or screws between the papier-mâché shells that form the back and the chest of the automaton. The body plate provides a mounting for the levers, cranks and brackets necessary to disperse and refine the movements of the rising and falling rods that come up from the base. The head and neck of the automaton are also mounted onto the body plate, the neck rod sliding into various brackets and hinged at the top to nod, while below a short lever extends from the rod and is pulled to turn the head. Small L-shaped cranks are positioned on the body plate with short linkages to change the ascending rods’ direction of movement from vertical to horizontal. Both sides of the body plate are often used for mounting the sub-assemblies of cranks, return springs, and so on. The natural position for the breathing and head nod is at the front, and the arm and head turn mechanism at the back.

Figure with moving arms and head, France, c.1875, with movements of the head, turn, nod, both arms and eyes. The metal body plate is fixed to a wooden plate to make the body rigid. Five control rods come up from the mechanism via the hollow right leg. The movements are distributed by cranks and levers pulling against return springs.

Life-sized automaton lady, Roullet & Decamps, c.1920. This automaton is robustly engineered for continuous operation by an electric motor positioned under her chair. The use of a holed spacer plate for the control rods prevents tangling. Despite the large size of the automaton, the papier-mâché and body plate design and materials used are exactly the same as those used in smaller automata.

Music

Sound has always been an important part of an automaton’s performance. The chirping of birds, the melody of a pipe organ and the ringing of bells are some of the sounds that would accompany the movements of automata throughout history. The music is usually powered by the automaton drive motor via an additional gear wheel. In French nineteenth-century automata, music is produced by the pinned cylinder and steel comb of a small music box mechanism driven off the first or ‘great wheel’ of the clockwork motor. The musical mechanisms were always high quality and imported from nearby Switzerland. For reasons of space and layout the thin drive gears of the musical movements were often meshed at odd angles (up to 90°) with the drive gear of the clockwork motor. The meshing of the gears at an angle looks terribly inefficient from an engineering point of view, but due to the light loading, actually works very well in practice.

Cups and Balls Magician, c.1890, Paris. The mechanism powers seven cams and has a high-quality musical movement. The music is powered by a gear meshing at an angle with the great wheel of the drive motor. The space for the music is very limited, squeezed between the holes that mark the position of the feet of the magician.

The volume of the music is affected by the size and resonance of the board on which it is mounted. So a musical movement fixed to the wooden base of an automaton can sound loud whereas a musical movement fixed to a small wooden body plate and covered in papier-mâché and layers of clothing can be barely audible.

The use of simpler noise-making devices, such as bellows (as in a cuckoo clock), or spring ratchets for a rasping noise is also common and is covered in the section on Sound in Chapter 4.

The many and various ingenious ways that movement is portrayed in this book are all powered by drives, cams, levers, rods and strings that share common features from one automaton to another. This section has explained the basics of these shared characteristics and has illustrated the mechanical foundations that power the various ‘secrets of automata’ that follow.

Banjo-Playing Minstrel, Vichy, Paris, c.1880. The mechanism is contained within the figure’s body. Filling all the available space, the components are mounted on a wooden and steel body plate. The Swiss musical movement is powered by a gear meshing at 90° to the drive motor’s great wheel. The photograph shows that the automaton has elbow and shoulder movements.

CHAPTER 2

THE HUMAN BODY

The human body is the most popular subject for an automaton, ever, ranging from the plastic ballerina who spins away in a jewellery box to the Swiss androids who draw, write poetry or play music. The movements of the body are also some of the most complex to replicate with mechanism, walking being amongst the most challenging. Such is the fantastical nature of automata that two examples of human activity, smoking and drinking, are best demonstrated here by an anthropomorphic monkey and a bear, showing the inevitable crossover between chapters.

Nancy’s life-sized body is made from very thick papier-mâché, a light, strong and easy to repair material. She has an unusual thigh joint that enables crossing of the legs and in operation is combined with a lean forward at the waist. The right forearm has linkages enabling a rolling up and down motion of the hand, for sewing.