The MagicianMaugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
General
The Magician
Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
Magic -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
The fair to which they were going was held at the Lion de Belfort, not
more than a mile away, and Arthur hailed a cab. Susie told the driver
where they wanted to be set down. She noticed that Haddo, who was
waiting for them to start, put his hand on the horse’s neck. On a
sudden, for no apparent reason, it began to tremble. The trembling
passed through the body and down its limbs till it shook from head to
foot as though it had the staggers. The coachman jumped off his box and
held the wretched creature’s head. Margaret and Susie got out. It was a
horribly painful sight. The horse seemed not to suffer from actual
pain, but from an extraordinary fear. Though she knew not why, an idea
came to Susie.
“Take your hand away, Mr Haddo,” she said sharply.
He smiled, and did as she bade him. At the same moment the trembling
began to decrease, and in a moment the poor old cab-horse was in its
usual state. It seemed a little frightened still, but otherwise
recovered.
“I wonder what the deuce was the matter with it,” said Arthur.
Oliver Haddo looked at him with the blue eyes that seemed to see right
through people, and then, lifting his hat, walked away. Susie turned
suddenly to Dr Porhoët.
“Do you think he could have made the horse do that? It came immediately
he put his hand on its neck, and it stopped as soon as he took it
away.”
“Nonsense!” said Arthur.
“It occurred to me that he was playing some trick,” said Dr Porhoët
gravely. “An odd thing happened once when he came to see me. I have two
Persian cats, which are the most properly conducted of all their tribe.
They spend their days in front of my fire, meditating on the problems
of metaphysics. But as soon as he came in they started up, and their
fur stood right on end. Then they began to run madly round and round
the room, as though the victims of uncontrollable terror. I opened the
door, and they bolted out. I have never been able to understand exactly
what took place.”
Margaret shuddered.
“I’ve never met a man who filled me with such loathing,” she said. “I
don’t know what there is about him that frightens me. Even now I feel
his eyes fixed strangely upon me. I hope I shall never see him again.”
Arthur gave a little laugh and pressed her hand. She would not let his
go, and he felt that she was trembling. Personally, he had no doubt
about the matter. He would have no trifling with credibility. Either
Haddo believed things that none but a lunatic could, or else he was a
charlatan who sought to attract attention by his extravagances. In any
case he was contemptible. It was certain, at all events, that neither
he nor anyone else could work miracles.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Arthur. “If he really knows Frank
Hurrell I’ll find out all about him. I’ll drop a note to Hurrell
tonight and ask him to tell me anything he can.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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