Authors: Christopher Priest
“This is the basis of my certainty. Just once, and then only briefly, they met in my
presence.”
“Were you shadowing them?”
“I was shadowing one of them,” Koenig corrected me. “I followed Mr Borden from his house
one evening in August. He walked alone into Regents Park, apparently taking a leisurely
stroll. I was following at a distance of about a hundred yards. As he walked round the
Inner Circle, a man approached him from the opposite direction. As they met they paused
for about three seconds and spoke together. Then they walked on as before. Now, though,
Borden was carrying a small leather case. The man he had spoken to soon passed me, and as
he did so I could see that he looked exactly like Borden.”
I stared at Koenig thoughtfully.
“How do you know—?” I was thinking carefully of some possibility of error. “How do you
know that the man who walked on, the one now carrying the case, was not the man who had
spoken to Borden? He could simply have walked back the way he had come. And if that was
so, wouldn't it have been the Borden you had been following who passed you?”
“I know what I saw, my Lord. They were wearing different clothes, perhaps for reasons of
subterfuge, but this fact made it possible for me to distinguish between them. They met,
they passed on, they were identical.”
My mind was sharply focused. I was thinking rapidly about the mechanics of mounting a
theatrical magic performance. If it were true that they were twins then both brothers
would have to be present in the theatre at each show. This would mean that the backstage
staff would inevitably be in on the secret. I already knew that Borden did not box the
stage, and there are always people hanging around in the wings during a show, seeing too
much for their own good. All the time I was performing the switch illusion with a double I
was conscious of this. But Borden's secret, if Koenig were to be believed, had stayed
intact for many years. If Borden's act was based on identical twins, then surely the
secret would have leaked out years ago?
Otherwise, what was the explanation? It could only be that the secrecy was maintained
before and after the show. That Borden-1, so to speak, would arrive at the theatre with
his apparatus and props, with Borden-2 already concealed in one of the pieces. Borden-2
would duly make his appearance during the performance, while Borden-1 went into hiding in
the props on-stage.
It was admittedly feasible, and if that was all there was to it I might be able to accept
it. But many years of touring from one venue to the next, burdened with the sheer
practicalities of long train journeys, the employment of assistants, the finding of
lodgings, and so on, made me wonder. Borden must have a team working with him: an
ingénieur
of course, one or more assistants who appeared on stage, several carriers and shifters,
an agent. If all these people were privy to his secret then their ability to keep quiet
about it was remarkable.
On the other hand, and much more likely in view of human nature, if they were
not
to be trusted, Borden-1 and Borden-2 would have to engage in a comprehensive array of
concealment.
Beyond this, there were the day-to-day realities of theatrical life. For example, on the
days when there was a matinée performance, what would Borden-2 (the one concealed in the
apparatus) do between shows? Would he remain hidden while his brother relaxed in the green
room with the other artistes? Would he let himself out secretly, then skulk alone in the
dressing room until it was time for the next show?
How did the two of them get into and out of the theatres without being spotted? Stage door
managers are jealous guardians of the way, and in some theatres the doorman is so
notoriously punctilious about checking everyone's identity and business that, it is said,
even famous actors tremble at the thought of arriving late or of trying to smuggle in a
paramour. There are always alternative ways into the building, notably through the scenery
bay or front of house, but again this bespeaks a need for constant secrecy and
preparation, and a willingness to put up with not inconsiderable discomfort.
“I see I have given you something to ponder,” Koenig said, interrupting my train of
thought. He was holding out his empty whisky glass as if to ask for a refill, but because
I wanted time to think this through I rather brusquely took the glass away from him.
“You're sure of your facts this time?” I said.
“Copper-bottomed certain, sir. Upon my very word.”
“Last time you gave me some leads so I might check your claims myself. Are you proposing
something similar now?”
“No — I offer you only my word. I have personally seen the two men together, and as far as
I am concerned no further proof is necessary.”
“Not to you, perhaps.” I stood up, to indicate that the interview was at an end.
Koenig picked up his hat and coat, and went to the door, which I held open for him.
I said to him, as casually as I could contrive, “You show no curiosity about how I perform
my own illusion.”
“I take it that it's magic, sir.”
“You don't then suspect me of having an identical twin?”
“I know you have not.”
“So you did investigate me,” I said. “And what about Borden? Is he wondering how I work
the effect?”
Mr Koenig gave me a broad wink.
“I'm sure he and his brother would not like you to know that they're in a lather of
curiosity about you, sir.” He extended his hand, and we shook. “Once again, my
congratulations. If I may say so, it has been reassuring to see you in such good health.”
He was gone before I could respond to that, but I think I know what he meant.
7th September 1902
In London
My short season at Daly's being complete, I am able to tidy up my affairs in London for a
while, and spend my long-anticipated month with Julia and the children in Derbyshire.
Tomorrow I shall be heading north; Wilson has gone ahead of me to make the usual
arrangements for the prestige materials.
This morning I have safely secured Tesla's apparatus in my workshop, paid off my
assistants for the next few weeks, settled all my outstanding bills, and spoken at some
length with Unwin about bookings for the autumn and winter. It already seems that I shall
be busily engaged from the middle of October until March or April next year. My estimated
income from these performances, even after all my overheads have been deducted, will make
me rich beyond the wildest dreams of my youth. By the end of next year I shall, in all
probability, need never work again.
Which brings me to an explanation of Koenig's parting remark.
A few months ago, when I was in the first rush of perfecting the presentation of In a
Flash, I thought of a novel final twist to the illusion. What brought it to mind were
those early dark feelings that I was somehow surviving beyond death. I arranged, by a
combination of carefully positioned lights and use of make-up, that at the end of my act,
after I had passed through the aether, I would look more haggard than before. I would seem
worn by the rigours of the undertaking. I would be a man who had flirted with death, and
who now showed the unmistakable traces.
This effect has become a routine part of my act. Throughout my show I move carefully, as
if favouring my limbs so they should not hurt, I turn with a slight stiffness of the waist
and back, I walk with my shoulders hunched. I make the best of my condition, acting as if
I do not care. After I have performed In a Flash, and once I have been seen to have
arrived miraculously intact, then I allow the lighting to do its gruesome work. As the
final curtain falls I appear to most of the audience as if I am not long for this world.
Apart from the effect itself, I do have a long-term strategy in mind. Put plainly, I am
planning and preparing for my own death. I am, after all, no stranger to the concept. For
many years I acted the role of the dead man while Julia played the widow. And after so
many transits through Tesla's infernal device, the idea that I could stage my own death
comes easily.
Next year I wish to retire from the stage for good. I want to be free of the endless
touring, of the long journeys, the overnight stays in theatrical lodgings, the endless
tussles with theatre managements. I am sick of the need for secrecy about what I do, and I
always fear another round of attacks from Borden.
Most of all, my children are growing up and I wish to be with them as they do so. Edward
is soon to depart to university, and the girls will no doubt be married soon.
By this time next year I shall be, as I say, financially independent, and with prudent
investment the Caldlow estate should be able to provide for my family for the rest of my
life and theirs. As far as the world in general is concerned the life of The Great Danton,
of Rupert Angier, shall come to a cancerous end, brought on by the rigours of his career,
at some point in the autumn of 1903.
Meanwhile, without publicity or announcement, the 14th Earl of Colderdale will at much the
same time take up the reins of his inheritance.
Thus the explanation of Koenig's remark about my “surprising” good health. He is a sharp
man, who knows more about me than I wish he did.
On this subject, I have been reflecting a great deal about his theory that there is not
one Borden but two. I remain unsure.
This is not because the premise itself is implausible — after all, my man Cutter had
worked it out for himself — but because of the endless ramifications of living with the
deception. I had already thought about a few of those when Koenig was in my dressing room.
What about everyday life? No artiste is constantly in work, however successful his or her
career. There are periods of rest, both voluntary and involuntary. There are necessary
delays between bookings. Shows and tours can be cancelled just before they are due to
start. There are holidays, illnesses, family crises.
If Borden is not one man but two, and one of the men is always in hiding so that the other
might seem to be the “only” Alfred Borden, where and how is the hiding going on? What
happens in the life of the hidden man while he is hiding? How does he make contact with
his brother? Do they ever meet, and if so how do they arrange not to be spotted by anyone?
How many other people know about the deception, and how can Borden be certain the secret
is safe with them?
Speaking in particular of other people, what of Borden's wife? And what of his children?
If Borden is two men, they cannot both be husband to the wife, nor both be father to the
children. Which of them is husband, which the father? Borden's wife is a woman of good
background, and by all accounts no fool. What does she in fact know about Borden?
Is she being kept in the dark about his true identity?
Could concealment and deception extend successfully even to the marital home, the conjugal
bed? Would she suspect nothing, discern no difference at all between the two men?
What about family lore, private jokes and observations, shared personal memories, matters
of physical intimacy? Is it conceivable that the two men would collaborate to such an
extent that even personal matters are dragged into the precautions and secrecy that
surround a mere stage illusion?
The contrary is if anything harder to believe; that Borden's wife knows the truth of the
matter and is prepared for some reason to put up with it.
If that were true, the arrangement would surely have gone wrong years ago.
One of the two brothers would inevitably become seen as the lesser partner in the
arrangement; one of them (let me again call him Borden-2) would not be the one who
actually went through the ceremony of marriage with her. He would therefore be in her eyes
less of a husband than Borden-1, and what would follow then of matters concerning
conjugality?
Further to the point, Borden-2 would not be the actual father to the children. (I assume
for sake of normal propriety that the Borden-2 who did not marry is the same Borden-2 who
did not sire the children.) Borden-2 would therefore be uncle to the children, at a stage
removed from them, emotionally and physically. The wife, the mother, could not help but
discriminate in some way against him.
It is a situation fraught with instability.
Both of these explanations are so unlikely that I am forced to believe in a third. The
Borden brothers have deliberately not told the wife the truth, and have tried to deceive
her, but she has herself made the deception unimportant. In other words, she has worked
out what is going on (how could she not?), but for reasons of her own has decided to
acquiesce in it.
In spite of the fact that this theory contains its own mysteries I find it the most
plausible explanation, but even so the whole business beggars belief.
I would go, and do go, to considerable lengths to protect my secrets, but I would not let
secrecy become an obsession. Could Borden, and Borden's supposed brother, be as obsessive
as Koenig makes them out to be?
I am still in two minds about this!
In the end it does not matter, for a trick is a trick and everyone who sees it knows that
a deception is being performed. But Julia suffered horribly because of the feud, and my
own life came damnably close its end because of it. I believe Borden
is
such a man as to make a fetish of his secrets and it was my misfortune to tangle with him.
Also my luck, as a direct consequence of the feud, to hit upon the illusion that is making
my fortune!
27th November 1902
Somewhere between Wakefield and Leeds
After a long and beneficial holiday in Derbyshire with Julia and the children I am back on
tour. Tomorrow I open at the King William Theatre in Leeds, where I shall be performing
twice nightly until the end of next week.
Thence to Dover, where I am top of the bill at the Overcliff Theatre. Thence to
Portsmouth, for the week leading up to Christmas.