The MagicianMaugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
General
The Magician
Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)
Magic -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction
“Sometimes I am haunted by the wild desire to have seen the great and
final scene when the irrevocable flames poured down the river, hurrying
along the streams of the earth, searching out the moisture in all
growing things, tearing it even from the eternal rocks; when the flames
poured down like the rushing of the wind, and all that lived fled from
before them till they came to the sea; and the sea itself was consumed
in vehement fire.”
Margaret shuddered, but she did not think the man was mad. She had
ceased to judge him. He took one more particle of that atrocious powder
and put it in the bowl. Again he thrust his hand in his pocket and
brought out a handful of some crumbling substance that might have been
dried leaves, leaves of different sorts, broken and powdery. There was
a trace of moisture in them still, for a low flame sprang up
immediately at the bottom of the dish, and a thick vapour filled the
room. It had a singular and pungent odour that Margaret did not know.
It was difficult to breathe, and she coughed. She wanted to beg Oliver
to stop, but could not. He took the bowl in his hands and brought it to
her.
“Look,” he commanded.
She bent forward, and at the bottom saw a blue fire, of a peculiar
solidity, as though it consisted of molten metal. It was not still, but
writhed strangely, like serpents of fire tortured by their own
unearthly ardour.
“Breathe very deeply.”
She did as he told her. A sudden trembling came over her, and darkness
fell across her eyes. She tried to cry out, but could utter no sound.
Her brain reeled. It seemed to her that Haddo bade her cover her face.
She gasped for breath, and it was as if the earth spun under her feet.
She appeared to travel at an immeasurable speed. She made a slight
movement, and Haddo told her not to look round. An immense terror
seized her. She did not know whither she was borne, and still they went
quickly, quickly; and the hurricane itself would have lagged behind
them. At last their motion ceased; and Oliver was holding her arm.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Open your eyes and stand up.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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