The MagicianMaugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
General
The Magician
Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
Magic -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
He did nothing that was manifestly unfair, but was capable of taking
advantages which most people would have thought mean; and he made
defeat more hard to bear because he exulted over the vanquished with
the coarse banter that youths find so difficult to endure.
What you would hardly believe is that, when he first came up, he was a
person of great physical attractions. He is now grown fat, but in those
days was extremely handsome. He reminded one of those colossal statues
of Apollo in which the god is represented with a feminine roundness and
delicacy. He was very tall and had a magnificent figure. It was so
well-formed for his age that one might have foretold his precious
corpulence. He held himself with a dashing erectness. Many called it an
insolent swagger. His features were regular and fine. He had a great
quantity of curling hair, which was worn long, with a sort of poetic
grace: I am told that now he is very bald; and I can imagine that this
must be a great blow to him, for he was always exceedingly vain. I
remember a peculiarity of his eyes, which could scarcely have been
natural, but how it was acquired I do not know. The eyes of most people
converge upon the object at which they look, but his remained parallel.
It gave them a singular expression, as though he were scrutinising the
inmost thought of the person with whom he talked. He was notorious also
for the extravagance of his costume, but, unlike the aesthetes of that
day, who clothed themselves with artistic carelessness, he had a taste
for outrageous colours. Sometimes, by a queer freak, he dressed himself
at unseasonable moments with excessive formality. He is the only
undergraduate I have ever seen walk down the High in a tall hat and a
closely-buttoned frock-coat.
I have told you he was very unpopular, but it was not an unpopularity
of the sort which ignores a man and leaves him chiefly to his own
society. Haddo knew everybody and was to be found in the most unlikely
places. Though people disliked him, they showed a curious pleasure in
his company, and he was probably entertained more than any man in
Oxford. I never saw him but he was surrounded by a little crowd, who
abused him behind his back, but could not resist his fascination.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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