Authors: Christopher Priest
Now, though, a minor miracle has occurred and I find myself apparently on the mend. The
sores and ulcers have cleared up leaving no trace, I am getting some feeling and therefore
movement in my leg, and the general sense of pain and malaise is receding. I have been at
home for the last week, and although I have been bedridden my spirits have risen a little
more every day.
Today I am out of bed and using a reclining chair in the conservatory. I have a view of
the grounds, with trees in the distance; beyond those rises the rocky crag of Curbar Edge,
where patches of snow still linger. I am in the best of spirits, and I am re-reading
Borden's notebook. These last two facts are not unconnected.
6th April 1904
I have read Borden's notes a total of three times, and have annotated and cross-referenced
them in detail. Julia is about to prepare a fair copy of my amended and greatly expanded
text.
Although the remission from my ailments continues, and for the last few days I have
continued to feel better, I must face up to the fact that overall my health is declining.
I therefore confess that in these terminal months of my life I am intending to take a last
revenge on my enemy. He it was who caused this condition, he it is who must pay.
Acquisition of his notebook has given me a way. I am planning to arrange for it to be
published.
The literature of magic is not widely available. Many books are written and published, but
with the exception of simple books for children, and a few volumes on legerdemain or
sleight of hand, these books are not produced by general publishers. They are rarely if
ever found in ordinary bookshops. Instead, they are printed by a number of specialist
publishers, for distribution only within the magic community. They often appear in
editions as short as four or five dozen copies, and are commensurately expensive.
Acquiring a collection of such books is difficult and costly, and many magicians can only
obtain copies when one of their colleagues dies and his collection is sold off by his
family. Over the years I have amassed a small library of my own, and I have referred to
these books constantly so that I might use or adapt existing illusions. In this I am no
different from other magicians. The readership of such books is small, but it is one of
the most concentrated and informed audiences imaginable.
While I was reading Borden's notebook it frequently occurred to me that it deserved to be
published for the benefit of his fellow magicians. It contains much sensible comment on
the art and technique of magic. Whatever his intentions might once have been (he declares
unconvincingly that his words are intended only for his immediate family, and a
“posterity” he fondly imagines for himself) he cannot ever publish the notebook himself.
How careless of him to have mislaid it!
I see it as my last act to arrange publication on his behalf, and when I have completed my
annotated edition I shall see to it.
If he survives me, which is likely, he will discover that my revenge is subtle and
many-layered.
For a start Borden will be appalled to discover, as he soon will, that what he sees as his
greatest professional secrets have been published without his permission. His chagrin will
be the deeper when he realizes that I was responsible. He will be further confounded when
he works out that somehow I was able to do this from beyond the grave. (He believes me
already dead, a fact I elicited from the notebook itself.) Finally, should he read the
annotated text he will discover the true subtlety of my final revenge.
In short, I have improved his text by making it less obscure, by expanding on many of the
interesting general topics which he merely adumbrates, by illustrating his absorbing
theory of acquiescence with numerous examples, by describing the methods of many of the
great illusionists. I have added detailed descriptions of every trick I know him to have
invented, as well as those others I know him to be capable of performing, and in each case
have seemed to explain each one without actually revealing the central secret.
Above all, I have heightened the mystery surrounding the illusion he calls The New
Transported Man, but have given nothing away. The fact that the Bordens were identical
twins is not even hinted at. The secret that obsessed these two men's lives remains a
secret.
The surviving Borden will therefore realize that I had the last word, that the feud is
over and that I triumphed. While invading his privacy I showed I could respect it. From
this I hope he will learn that the enmity he fostered between us was futile and
destructive, that while we sniped at each other we were squandering the talents in us
both. We should have been friends.
I will leave him this so that he may reflect on it for the remainder of his life.
And there is one extra revenge, by omission; he will never discover the secret of Tesla's
apparatus.
25th April 1904
Work on the Borden text goes well.
Last week I wrote to three specialist magic publishers, two in London, one in Worcester.
Describing myself as an
amateur
of magic, and suggesting in an unspecified sort of way that over the years I had used my
position and wealth to support or sponsor various stage magicians, I explained that I was
editing the memoirs of one of our leading illusionists (no name mentioned, at this stage).
I asked if, in principle, they would be interested in publishing the book.
Two of them have so far replied. Both letters are non-committal, but encourage me to
submit the material. These replies also remind me that I shouldn't have admitted to
personal wealth, no matter how elliptically; each letter implies that the book would be
more likely to find favour should I be able to contribute to the publisher's production
expenses.
Naturally, this does not these days present me with a problem, but even so Julia and I are
awaiting the third response before making any decisions.
18th May 1904
With the work complete, we have submitted the manuscript to the publisher of first choice.
2nd July 1904
I have agreed a publishing deal with Messrs Goodwin & Andrewson, of Old Bailey, London EC.
They will publish Borden's book before the end of this year, in an initial edition of
seventy-five copies, at a price of three guineas each. They promise abundant illustration,
and intensive advertisement by personal letter to their regular clientele. I have acceded
to the defrayment of one hundred pounds towards printing costs. Now that Mr Goodwin has
read the manuscript he has put forward several novel ideas for presentation.
4th July 1904
Over the last four weeks my remission has ended, and the earlier illness has returned in
force. First came the purplish weals, then a day or two later the ulceration of mouth and
throat. Three weeks ago I became blind in one eye; the other followed a day or two later.
For the last week I have been unable to keep down solid food, but Julia brings me a mild
broth three times a day and that is keeping me alive. I am in such pain that I cannot
raise my head from the pillow. The doctor calls twice daily, but says that I am too weak
to be transferred to hospital. My symptoms are so distressing that I am unable describe
them in detail, but the doctor explains that for some reason all my body's natural
immunity to infection has been damaged. He has confided in Julia (and she subsequently in
me) that if my chest becomes infected again I will not have the strength to resist.
5th July 1904
I had an uncomfortable night, and as dawn broke this morning I believed that I had reached
my last day on this earth. It is, however, now approaching midnight and I am clinging on.
I started to cough early this evening, and the doctor came directly to see me. He
suggested bathing with cool towels, and they have helped make me more comfortable. I am
unable to move any part of my body.
6th July 1904
At a quarter to three this morning my life was brought to its end by a sudden seizure of
the heart, following a spasm of coughing and consequent internal bleeding.
My dying was protracted, painful, messy and profoundly distressing to Julia and my
children, as well as to myself. We were all shocked by the wretchedness of dying, and have
been greatly subdued by the event.
Death uniquely surrounds my life!
Once, in harmless deception, I pretended to die so that Julia might live without scandal
as a widow. Every use of the Tesla apparatus later brought death to my experience, several
times a week. When Rupert Angier was laid falsely to rest I was alive to bear witness to
it.
I have cheated death many times. Death has therefore acquired a sense of unreality for me.
It has come to be a commonplace event that by some paradox, it seems, I can always survive.
Now I have seen myself on my deathbed, dying of multiple cancers, and afterwards, after
that vile and painful death, I am here to report it in my diary. Wednesday, 6th July 1904:
the day I died.
No man should be so wretched as to have to see what I have beheld.
#############
Later
I have borrowed a technique from Borden, so that I am I as well as myself. I who write
this am not the same as the I who died. We became two entities that night in Lowestoft,
when Borden caused the malfunctioning of the Tesla apparatus. We went our separate ways.
We have been together again since I returned to Caldlow House at the end of March, just as
my temporary remission from the cancers began.
While I yet lived, I maintained the illusion that I was one. One of me lay dying, while
the other of me recorded my final concerns. All entries in this journal since 26th March
have been written by me.
We are each the prestige of the other.
My dead prestige lies downstairs in his open casket, and will be placed in the family
vault in two days’ time. I, his living prestige, continue onward.
I am the Right Honourable Rupert David Angier, 14th Earl of Colderdale, husband to Julia,
father to Edward, Lydia and Florence, Lord of Caldlow House in the County of Derbyshire,
England.
I shall narrate my story tomorrow. The events of the day have left me, like everyone else
in the household, too forlorn for anything but sadness.
7th July 1904
The remainder of my life begins on this day. What hopes can be entertained by one such as
I! The following is my story.
i
I came into being on the evening of 19th May 1903, in an unoccupied loge in the Pavilion
Theatre in Lowestoft. My life began as I balanced on the wooden rail, from which I
promptly fell backwards. I crashed to the floor of the loge, scattering the chairs.
My preoccupation was the terrified thought which had sprung into my mind an instant
before; that Borden had somehow found his way up to the loge and was waiting for me.
Clearly not! As I floundered between the loge chairs, trying to orientate myself
physically, I realized that although Borden had sabotaged the apparatus in some way, it
had worked sufficiently for the transportation to have been completed. Borden was not here.
Bright light flooded into the loge, as the spot was turned on it. No more than two or
three seconds had elapsed. I thought: there is still a chance to save the illusion! I can
crawl back to the rail, make something of it!
I rolled over, got to my hands and knees, and was about to clamber up to the rail when to
my amazement I heard a voice on the stage calling for the curtain to be rung down. I moved
forward, keeping my head down, and peered down at the stage. The tabs were already
dropping, but before they blocked my view I briefly saw myself, my prestige!, immobile on
the stage.
Built into the base of the Tesla apparatus is a compartment into which the prestige
automatically falls as the transformation takes place. My old body, the prestige, is
therefore concealed from the audience so as to give maximum impact to the illusion.
This time, Borden's intervention must have prevented the compartment from functioning,
leaving the prestige in full view!
I thought quickly. Adam Wilson and Hester were both backstage, and would have to deal with
the emergency there behind the curtain. I was alive, strong and in full possession of my
senses. I realized it was my responsibility to get to the backstage area, and confront
Borden once and for all.
I let myself out of the loge, hurried along the corridor, then took the stairs at a run. I
passed one of the female attendants. I skidded to a halt in front of her, and said as
urgently as I could, “Have you seen anyone trying to leave the theatre?”
My voice came out as a harsh whisper!
The woman, staring straight at me, screamed in horror. I stood there helplessly for a
moment, deafened by the terrible yell she was emitting. She drew breath, her eyes popping
and rolling, then she screamed again! I realized I was wasting time, so I laid my hand on
her arm to push her gently to one side. My hand sank into the flesh of her arm!
She had collapsed on the steps, shuddering and moaning, as I reached the bottom of the
stairs and found the door to the backstage area. I shoved it open, recoiling as once again
I felt my hands and arms pushing
into
the wood. I was preoccupied with the urgent need to find Borden, and had no time to pay
much attention.
Without noticing me, Adam Wilson ran past from his position at the back of the set; I
called after him but he heard me no more than he had seen me. I paused for a moment,
trying to think clearly about where Borden was most likely to have been. He had somehow
interrupted the supply of electricity to the apparatus, and this could only mean that he
had gained access to the sub-stage mezzanine. Wilson and I had connected everything up to
the terminal the management had newly installed in the basement.
I found the stairs leading down, but as I went on to the top step I heard the sound of
feet running heavily towards me, and in a moment Borden himself appeared. He was still
wearing his ridiculous country-bumpkin clothes and greasepaint. He took the steps two at a
time. I froze. When he was no more than five feet away from me he looked up to see where
he was going. He saw me instead! Once again, I witnessed the look of terror that had
distorted the features of the female attendant. Borden's momentum carried him towards me,
but his face was contorted with shock and he stretched out his arms defensively in front
of him. Almost at once we collided.