The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations — John Shaqi
The Three Impostors; or, The TransmutationsMachen, Arthur
Science
The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations
Machen, Arthur
Fiction; Horror tales, English
To me in all this there was something both of wonder and excitement; I
knew how in his ordinary work Professor Gregg moved step by step,
testing every inch of the way, and never venturing on assertion without
proof that was impregnable. Yet I divined more from his glance and the
vehemence of his tone than from the spoken word that he had in his every
thought the vision of the almost incredible continually with him; and I,
who was with some share of imagination no little of a sceptic, offended
at a hint of the marvellous, could not help asking myself whether he was
cherishing a monomania, and barring out from this one subject all the
scientific method of his other life.
Yet, with, this image of mystery haunting my thoughts, I surrendered
wholly to the charm of the country. Above the faded house on the
hillside began the great forest; a long dark line seen from the opposing
hills, stretching above the river for many a mile from north to south,
and yielding in the north to even wilder country, barren and savage
hills, and ragged common land, a territory all strange and unvisited,
and more unknown to Englishmen than the very heart of Africa. The space
of a couple of steep fields alone separated the house from the wood, and
the children were delighted to follow me up the long alleys of
undergrowth, between smooth pleached walls of shining beech, to the
highest point in the wood, whence one looked on one side across the
river and the rise and fall of the country to the great western mountain
wall, and on the other, over the surge and dip of the myriad trees of
the forest, over level meadows and the shining yellow sea to the faint
coast beyond. I used to sit at this point on the warm sunlit turf which
marked the track of the Roman Road, while the two children raced about
hunting for the whinberries that grew here and there on the banks. Here
beneath the deep blue sky and the great clouds rolling, like olden
galleons with sails full-bellied, from the sea to the hills, as I
listened to the whispered charm of the great and ancient wood, I lived
solely for delight, and only remembered strange things when we would
return to the house, and find Professor Gregg either shut up in the
little room he had made his study, or else pacing the terrace with the
look, patient and enthusiastic, of the determined seeker.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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