The Magician. Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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СКАЧАТЬ as though it had the staggers. The coachman jumped off his box and held the wretched creature’s head. Margaret and Susie got out of the carriage. 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 make 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 to-night and ask him to tell me anything he can.”

      “I wish you would,” answered Susie, “because he interests me enormously. There’s no place like Paris for meeting queer folk. Sooner or later you run across persons who believe in everything. There’s no form of religion, there’s no eccentricity or enormity, that hasn’t its votaries. Just think what a privilege it is to come upon a man in the twentieth century who honestly believes in the occult.”

      “Since I have been occupied with these matters I have come across strange people,” said Dr. Porhoët quietly, “but I agree with Miss Boyd that Oliver Haddo is the most extraordinary. For one thing it is impossible to know how much he really believes what he says. Is he an impostor or a madman? Does he deceive himself, or is he laughing up his sleeve at the folly of those who take him seriously? I cannot tell. All I know is that he has travelled widely and is acquainted with many tongues. He has a minute knowledge of alchemical literature, and there is no book I have heard of, dealing with the black arts, which he does not seem to know.” Dr. Porhoët shook his head slowly. “I ​should not care to dogmatise about this man. I know I shall outrage the feelings of my friend Arthur, but I am bound to confess it would not surprise me to learn that he possessed powers by which he was able to do things seemingly miraculous.”

      Arthur was prevented from answering by their arrival at the Lion de Belfort.

      The fair was in full swing. The noise was deafening. Steam bands thundered out the popular tunes of the moment, and to their din merry-go-rounds were turning. At the door of booths men vociferously importuned the passers-by to enter. From the shooting saloons came a continual spatter of toy rifles. Linking up these sounds were the voices of the serried crowd that surged along the central avenue, and the shuffle of their myriad feet. The night was lurid with acetylene torches, which flamed with a dull unceasing roar. It was a curious sight, half gay, half sordid. The throng seemed bent with a kind of savagery upon amusement, as though, resentful of the weary round of daily labour, it sought by a desperate effort to be merry.

      The English party with Dr. Porhoët, mildly ironic, had scarcely entered before they were joined by Oliver Haddo. He was indifferent to the plain fact that they did not want his company. He attracted attention, for his appearance and his manner were remarkable, and Susie noticed that he was pleased to see people point him out to one another. He wore a Spanish cloak, the capa, and he flung the red and green velvet of its lining gaudily over his shoulder. He had a large soft hat. His height was ​great, though less noticeable on account of his obesity, and he towered over the puny multitude.

      They looked idly at the various shows, resisting the melodramas, the circuses, the exhibitions of eccentricity, which loudly clamoured for their custom. Presently they came to a man who was cutting silhouettes in black paper, and Haddo insisted on posing for him. A little crowd collected and did not spare their jokes at his singular appearance. He threw himself into his favourite attitude of proud command. Margaret wished to take the opportunity of leaving him, but Miss Boyd insisted on staying.

      “He’s the most ridiculous creature I’ve ever seen in my life,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t let him out of my sight for worlds.”

      When the silhouette was done he presented it with a low bow to Margaret.

      “I implore your acceptance of the only portrait now in existence of Oliver Haddo,” he said.

      “Thank you,” she answered, frigidly.

      She was unwilling to take it, but had not the presence of mind to put him off by a jest, and would not be frankly rude. As though certain she set much store on it, he placed it carefully in an envelope. They walked on and suddenly came to a canvas booth on which was an Eastern name. Roughly painted on sail-cloth was a picture of an Arab charming snakes, and above were certain words in Arabic. At the entrance a native sat cross-legged, listlessly beating a drum. When he saw them stop, he addressed them in bad French.

      ​“Does not this remind you of the turbid Nile, Dr. Porhoët?” said Haddo. “Let us go in and see what the fellow has to show.”

      Dr. Porhoët stepped forward and addressed the charmer, who brightened on hearing the language of his own country.

      “He is an Egyptian from Assiut,” said the doctor.

      “I will buy tickets for you all,” said Haddo.

      He held up the flap that gave access to the booth, and Susie went in. Margaret and Arthur Burdon, somewhat against their will, were obliged to follow. The native closed the opening behind them. They found themselves in a dirty little tent, ill-lit by two smoking lamps; a dozen stools were placed in a circle on the bare ground. In one corner sat a fellah woman, motionless, in ample robes of dingy black. Her face was hidden by a long veil, which was held in place by a queer ornament of brass in the middle of the forehead, between the eyes. These alone were visible, large and sombre, and the lashes were darkened with kohl: her fingers were brightly stained with henna. She moved slightly as the visitors entered, and the man gave her his drum. She began to rub it with her hands, curiously, and made a droning sound, which was odd and mysterious. There was a peculiar odour in the СКАЧАТЬ