The Prestige

by Christopher Priest

  As I write this, Julia is drafting letters of response, trying to arrange a schedule of steady appointments for us.

  All this morning I have been practising an illusion known as the JACOBY ROPE TIE. This is a technique in which a magician is tied to a plain wooden chair with an ordinary rope, yet which still allows an escape. With a minimum of supervision from the illusionist’s assistant (Julia, in my case), any number of volunteers may tie, knot and even seal the rope, yet still permit escape. The performer, once hidden inside a cabinet, can not only release himself enough to perform apparent miracles within the cabinet, but can afterwards return to his bonds, to be found, checked and released by the same volunteers who restrained him.

  This morning I was twice unable to free one of my arms. Because nothing must be left to chance, I shall devote the rest of this afternoon and evening to further rehearsal.

  20th September 1878

  We have our two guineas, the client was literally sobbing with gratitude, and contact, I modestly say, was briefly made with the dead.

  However, tomorrow, which also happens to be my twenty-first birthday, and the day in which my adult life commences in every way, we have to conduct a séance in Deptford, and we have much to prepare!

  Our first mistake yesterday was to be punctual. Our client and her friends were waiting for us, and as we entered the house and tried to set up our equipment they were watching us. None of this must be allowed to happen again.

  We need physical assistance. Yesterday we rented a cart to convey us to the address, but the carter was totally unwilling to help us carry our apparatus into the house (which meant that Julia and I had to do it alone, and some of it is heavy and most of it bulky). When we left the client’s house the damned carter had not waited for us as instructed, and I was obliged to stand with all our magical apparatus in the street outside the house we had just left, while Julia went to find a replacement.

  And we must never again depend on being able to find in situ the domestic furniture we need for some of our effects. Today we were lucky: there was a table we could use, but we cannot chance that next time.

  Many of these improvements have already been arranged. I have today purchased a horse and cart. (The horse will have to be kept temporarily in the small yard behind my workshop until a proper stable can be rented.) And I have hired a man to drive the cart and to help us in and out with all our stuff. Mr Appleby might not be suitable in the long term (I was hoping to find a man closer to my own age, who would be physically strong) but for the time being he is a great improvement over that whey-faced churl of a carter who let us down yesterday.

  Our expenses are increasing. For a mentalist act we required only ourselves, two good memories and a blindfold; to become spiritists requires us to make outlays that threaten to overwhelm our potential earnings. Last night I lay awake a long time, thinking of this, wondering how much more expense will follow.

  Now we must travel to Deptford for our next! Deptford is one of the more inaccessible parts of London from here, being not only beyond the East End but on the far side of the river too. To get there in good time means we must leave at dawn. Julia and I have agreed that in future we shall only accept commissions from people who live within reasonable distance of us, otherwise the work is altogether too hard, the day is too long, the financial rewards too small for what we have to do.

  2nd November 1878

  Julia is with child! The baby is expected next June. With all the excitement this has caused we have cancelled a few of our appointments, and tomorrow we are departing to Southampton, so as to take the news to Julia’s mother.

  15th November 1878

  Yesterday and the day before were given over to séances; no problems at either, and the clients were satisfied. I am growing concerned, however, at the possible effects of strain on Julia, and I am thinking that I must quickly find and hire a female assistant to work with me.

  Mr Appleby, as suspected, handed in his notice after a few days. I have replaced him with one Ernest Nugent, a strongly built man in his late twenties who until last year was a corporal volunteer in Her Majesty’s Army. I find him a bit of a rough diamond but he is not stupid, he works all day without complaint, and already he has shown himself loyal. At the séance two days ago (the first since our return from Southampton), I belatedly discovered that one of the people I thought was a relative of the deceased was in fact a reporter from a newspaper. This man was on some kind of mission to expose me as a charlatan, but once we had realised his purpose, Nugent and I removed him quickly (but politely) from the house.

  So another precaution has to be added to this work – I must be on my guard against active sceptics.

  For indeed I am the sort of charlatan they seek to discredit. I am not what I say I am, but my deceptions are harmless and, I do believe, helpful at a time of personal loss. As for the money that changes hands the amounts are modest, and so far not a single client has complained to me of short measure.

  The rest of this month is filled with appointments, but there is a quiet patch before Christmas. Already we have learned that these occasions are often the result of a sudden tormented decision, and are not booked a long way ahead. So we advertise, and will have to keep advertising.

  20th November 1878

  Today Julia and I have interviewed five young women, all hopeful to replace Julia as my assistant.

  None was suitable.

  Julia has been feeling continually sick for two weeks, but says now that this is starting to improve. The thought of a baby son or daughter coming into our lives illumines our days.

  23rd November 1878

  A peculiarly unpleasant incident has occurred, and I am so engulfed in rage that I have had to wait until now (11.25 p.m., when Julia is at last asleep), before I can trust myself to record it with any equanimity.

  We had gone to an address near the Angel, in Islington. The client was a youngish man, recently bereaved by the death of his wife, and now having to cope with a family of three young children, one of them barely more than a babe. This gentleman, whose name I shall render as Mr L_____, was the very first of our spiritist clients who had come to us on the recommendation of another. For this reason, we had approached the appointment with particular care and tact, because by now we appreciate that if we are to prosper as spiritists then it must be by a spiral of gradually rising fees, sustained by the grateful recommendation of satisfied clients.

  We were just about to begin when a latecomer arrived. I was immediately suspicious of him, and I say this without hindsight. None of the family seemed to know him, and his arrival caused a feeling of nervousness in the room. I have already grown sensitive to such impressions at the start of one of these performances.

  I signalled to Julia, in our private unspoken code, that I suspected a newspaper reporter was present, and I saw by her expression that she had come to a similar conclusion. Nugent was standing before one of the screened-off windows, not privy to our silent language. I had to make a quick decision about what to do. If I were to insist on the man’s removal before the séance began, it would likely create an unpleasant ruckus of the sort of which I already have some experience. On the other hand, if I were to do nothing I would doubtless be exposed as a charlatan at the end of the performance, thus probably denying me of my fee and my client of the solace he sought.

  I was still trying to decide what to do when I realised that I had seen the man before. He had been present at an earlier séance, and I remembered him because of the way he had stared at me throughout. Was his presence here a coincidence? If so, what were the chances of his being bereaved twice in a short period, and what extra chances were there that I should be called to officiate in a séance twice in his company?

  If not a coincidence, which I suspected, what was his game? Presumably he was there to make some move against me, but he had had his chance before and had not taken it. Why not?

  So went my thoughts in the extremity of the moment. I could barely concentra
te on them, such was the need to maintain the appearance of calm preparation for communion with the departed. But my quick assessment was that on balance of probabilities I should go ahead with the séance, and so I did. Writing this now I realise I made the wrong decision.

  For one thing, without raising a hand against me he almost ruined my performance. I was so nervous that I could hardly concentrate on the matter in hand, to the extent that when Julia and one of the other men present put me in the JACOBY TIE, I allowed one of my hands to be restrained more tightly than I wanted. Inside the cabinet, thankfully away from the baleful staring of my silent adversary’s eyes, I had a protracted struggle before I was able to free my hands.

  Once the cabinet illusion was done with, my enemy sprang his trap. He left the table, shouldered poor Nugent aside, and snatched down one of the window blinds. A great deal of shouting ensued, causing intense and uncontrollable grief for my client and his children. Nugent was struggling with the man, and Julia was trying to comfort Mr L_____’s children, when disaster struck.

  The man, in his madness, grabbed hold of Julia by her shoulders, dragged her back, swung her around, and pushed her to the floor! She fell heavily on the uncarpeted boards, while I, in the greatest distress, stood up from the table where I had been performing and tried to reach her. The assailant was between us.

  Again Nugent grabbed him, this time restraining from behind, clasping his arms at the back.

  ‘What shall I do with him, sir?’ Nugent cried valorously.

  ‘Into the street with him!’ I yelled. ‘No, wait!’

  The light from the window was falling directly on his face. Behind him I saw the sight I then most wanted to see: dearest Julia was rising once more to her feet. She signalled quickly to me that she was not hurt, and so I turned my attention on the man.

  ‘Who are you, sir?’ I questioned him. ‘What interest do you have in my affairs?’

  ‘Get your ruffian to release me!’ he muttered, breathing stertorously. ‘Then I will depart.’

  ‘You will depart when I decide!’ I said. I stepped closer to him, for now I recognised him. ‘You are Borden, are you not? Borden!’

  ‘That is not correct!’

  ‘Alfred Borden, indeed! I have seen your work! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘What’s your business with me, Borden?’

  He made no answer, but instead struggled violently against Nugent’s hold.

  ‘Get rid of him!’ I ordered. ‘Throw him where he belongs, into the gutter!’

  Then it was done, and with commendable despatch Nugent dragged the wretch out of the room, and returned alone a few moments later.

  By this time I had taken Julia into my arms and was holding her close, trying to reassure myself that she was indeed unharmed, even after being thrown so roughly to the floor.

  ‘If he has hurt you or the baby—’ I whispered to her.

  ‘I am not injured,’ Julia replied. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Later, my dear,’ I said softly, because I was all too aware that we were still in the shambles of the ruined séance, with an angry or humiliated client, his miserable children, his four adult relatives and friends now visibly shocked.

  I said to them all with as much gravity and dignity as I could muster, ‘You understand I cannot continue?’

  They showed their assent.

  The children were led away, and Mr L_____ and I went into private conference. He was indeed a sympathetic, intelligent man, proposing at once that we should leave all matters as they presently stood, and that we should meet again in a day or two to decide our next move. I assented gratefully, and after Nugent and I had transported our apparatus back to the cart we set off for home. While Nugent drove, Julia and I huddled together behind him in a state of distress and introspection.

  I voiced my suspicions as we trundled along in the gathering twilight.

  ‘That was Alfred Borden,’ I explained. ‘I know little of him other than that he is a magician, barely distinguished in the business. Since his interruption I have been trying to recall how I know him. I think I must have seen him perform on the stage. But he is hardly a major figure in our field. Perhaps he was deputing for another when I saw him.’

  I was speaking as much to myself as to Julia, trying to make the assailant comprehensible. I could only explain his attack on me in terms of professional jealousy. What other motive could there be? We were virtual strangers to each other, and unless there was a lapse in my memory our paths had never crossed before. Yet his whole demeanour was that of a man bent on a mission of revenge.

  Julia was hunched beside me in the foggy evening air. I questioned her about her health many times, trying to reassure myself she had not been harmed by the fall, but she said only that she was anxious to return home.

  Soon enough we were here in Idmiston Villas, and I made her go straight to bed. She looked exhausted and strained, but she continued to assert that all she required was rest. I sat with her until she fell asleep, and after a hastily prepared bowl of soup, and a quick and energetic walk through local side-streets to try to clear my mind, I returned to write this account of the day.

  I have twice broken off to see Julia, and she is sleeping peacefully.

  24th November 1878

  The worst day of my life.

  27th November 1878

  Julia is home from hospital, once more she is sleeping, and once again I come to this diary, such barely adequate source of temporary distraction and comfort as it is.

  Briefly, Julia wakened in the small hours of the 24th. She was bleeding heavily and racked with pain. This seemed to course through her like a series of waves, making her scream and contort in agony before giving her temporary surcease, then beginning again.

  I dressed at once, roused my neighbours, and begged Mrs Janson to leave her own bed and sit with Julia while I sought help. She agreed without complaint, allowing me to rush off into the night. Luck, if that is the word, was briefly with me. I came across a hackney cabman, apparently returning to his home at the end of a night of work, and I pleaded with him to help me. This he did. Within an hour Julia was in St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington, and the surgeons did their necessary work.

  Our baby was lost. I almost lost Julia too.

  She remained in the public ward for the rest of the day, and for the two days following until this morning, when I was allowed at last to collect her.

  There is a single name that has now unexpectedly entered my life, and it is one I shall never forget. It is Alfred Borden’s.

  3rd December 1878

  Julia is still weak, but she says she hopes to be able to help me with my séances from next week. I have not yet told her, but I have already decided that never again shall she be put at risk. I have advertised once more for a female assistant. Meanwhile, this evening I have a stage performance to carry out, and have had to search through my repertoire to put together an act that does not require assistance.

  11th December 1878

  I came across Borden’s name today. He is advertised as a guest magician in a variety show in Brentford. I checked with Hesketh Unwin, the man whom I have recently appointed as my agent, and learned to my satisfaction that Borden was a replacement for another illusionist who had been suddenly taken ill, and in the process caused the magical act to be moved from second on the bill to the graveyard of all magicians: the first act after the interval! I showed this to Julia.

  31st December 1878

  Total Income From Magic for 1878: £326 19s 3d. From this must be deducted expenses, including the hiring of Appleby and Nugent, the purchase and stabling of the horse, purchase of costumes, and much apparatus.

  12th January 1879

  My first séance of the new year, and the first in which I was assisted by Letitia Swinton. Letitia was formerly in the chorus at the Alexandria and has much to learn about the magic profession, but I am hopeful she will improve. At the end of the séance I asked Nugent to hurry me
back to Idmiston Villas, where I have been with Julia, telling her of my day.

  A letter was waiting for me here. Mr L_____ has decided, in the event, that he no longer requires a séance in his home, but that in careful consideration of what happened he has decided I should be paid the full fee, as agreed. His payment was enclosed.

  13th January 1879

  Today Julia locked herself in the bedroom, ignored all my knocking and pleading and admitted only the maid, who took her tea and some bread. I was not working today and had been planning to be at the workshop, but in view of Julia’s strange mood felt I should remain at home. Julia emerged after 8.00 p.m., and said nothing of what she had done or why she had done it. I am perplexed by all this. She says she is no longer in pain, but other than this refuses to discuss what happened.

  15th January 1879

  Nugent, Letitia Swinton and I conducted a séance this afternoon. Already it has become a routine event for me, the only novelties being, firstly, the unavoidable need to work with an assistant new to magic, secondly, the particular circumstances of whatever bereavement I am attending, and, thirdly, the physical layout of the room in which the séance takes place. These last two do not in general present problems to me, and even Letitia is showing herself to be a quick learner.

  Returning afterwards I asked Nugent to let me off in the West End. I walked to the Empress Theatre in High Holborn, bought a ticket, and sat in the deep recesses of the rear stalls.

  Borden’s act was in the first half of the programme and I watched intently what he did. He performed a total of seven tricks and, of these, three were ones whose explanation I do not know. (By tomorrow evening I shall have them!) He is a fairly plausible performer, and carried out his tricks smoothly, but for some reason he addresses the audience in an unconvincing French accent. It made me wish to taunt him as an impostor!