The Prestige

by Christopher Priest

  To sink to my knees, as if poleaxed, would be out of the question. To reveal even a glimpse of the millionth-second of agony I have endured would also be unconscionable.

  The point is that I have a double level of subterfuge to convey. A magician ordinarily reveals an effect that is ‘impossible’: a piano seems to disappear, a billiard ball magically reproduces itself, a lady is made to pass through a sheet of mirror glass. The audience of course knows that the impossible has not been made possible.

  IN A FLASH, by scientific method, in fact achieves the hitherto impossible. What the audience sees is actually what has happened! But I cannot allow this ever to be known, for science has in this case replaced magic.

  I must, by careful art, make my miracle less miraculous. I must emerge from the elemental transmitter as if I have not been slammed apart, and slammed together again.

  So I have been trying to learn how to prepare for and brace myself against the pain, how to react to it without keeling over, how to step forward with my arms raised and with a flashing smile to bow and acknowledge applause. To mystify sufficiently, but not too much.

  I write of what happened yesterday, because last night, when I returned home, I was in too great a despair even to think of recording what had happened. Now it is the afternoon and I am more or less myself again, but already the prospect of two more rehearsals tomorrow is daunting and depressing me.

  16th February 1901

  I am full of trepidation about tonight’s performance at the Trocadero. I have spent the morning at the theatre, setting up the apparatus, testing it, dismantling it, then locking it away again safely in its crates.

  After that, as anticipated, came the protracted negotiations with the scene-shifters, actively hostile to my intentions of boxing the stage. In the end, a straightforward cash transaction settled the matter and my wishes prevailed, but it has meant a huge dent in my income for the show. This illusion is clearly only performable if I can demand fees greatly in excess of anything I have earned before. A lot depends on the show tonight.

  Now I have an hour or two of free time, before I must go back to Holloway Road. I plan to spend part of it with Julia and the children, and try to take a short nap in whatever is left. I am so keyed up, however, that sleep seems only remotely possible.

  17th February 1901

  Last night I safely crossed the aether from the stage of the Trocadero to the royal box. The equipment worked perfectly.

  But the audience did not applaud because it did not see what was happening. When finally the applause came it was more bemused than enthusiastic.

  The trick needs a stronger build-up, a greater sense of danger. And the point of arrival must be picked out with a spotlight, to draw attention to my position as I materialise. I have talked to Adam about it, and he suggests, ingeniously, that I might be able to rig up an electrical spur from the apparatus so that turning on the light is not left to a stagehand but is commanded by me from the stage. Magic always improves.

  We perform again on Tuesday at the same theatre.

  I have left the best to last – I was able to disguise completely the shock of the impact on me. Both Julia, who saw the show from the auditorium, and Adam, who was watching from the rear of the stage through a small flap in the box screen, say my recovery was almost flawless. In this case it works to my advantage that the audience was not fully attentive, because only these two noticed the single weakness that occurred (I took one inadvertent step backwards).

  For myself, I can say that practice with the apparatus has meant the terrible shock is not nearly as terrible as before, and that it has been getting slightly better each time I try it. I can foresee that in a month or so I will be able to bear the effect with outward indifference.

  I also note that the consequent gloom I suffer is much less than after my first attempts.

  In Derbyshire 23rd February 1901

  My performance on Tuesday, much improved after the lessons of the weekend, gained me a laudatory review in The Stage, an outcome more to my favour than anything else I can imagine! On the train yesterday Julia and I read and re-read the words to each other, glorying in the undoubted effect they will have on my career. By our temporary exile here in Derbyshire we will not learn of tangible results until we are back in London early next week, when we have finished here. I can wait contented. The children are with us, the weather is cold and brilliant, and the moorland scenery is ravishing us with its muted colours.

  I feel I am at last approaching the peak years of my career.

  In London 2nd March 1901

  I have an unprecedented thirty-five confirmed bookings in my appointments diary, accepted for the period of the next four months. Three of these are for shows in my own stage name, and one of these is to be called The Great Danton Entertains; in seventeen theatres I shall top the bill; the remainder of the dates amply repay in money what they do not offer in prestige.

  With this richness of choice I have been able to demand details of technical specifications of the backstage area before accepting, as well as forcing through compliance with my need to box the stage. I have made it a standard term of contract that I am supplied with an accurate plan of the auditorium, as well as being given firm undertakings about the steadiness and reliability of the electrical supply. In two cases, the theatre managements are so anxious to attract me to their houses that they have guaranteed to convert over to electricity in advance of my show.

  I shall be roaming the country. Brighton, Exeter, Kidderminster, Portsmouth, Ayr, Folkestone, Manchester, Sheffield, Aberystwyth, York, all these and many more will greet me on my first tour, as well as the capital itself, where I have several dates.

  In spite of the travelling (which will be in first-class trains and carriages and paid for by others), the schedule is leisurely within reason, and as my little entourage criss-crosses the country we shall have abundant opportunity to make our necessary visits to Caldlow House.

  The agent is already speaking of foreign tours, with perhaps yet another trip to the USA in the offing. There would be certain extra problems here, but none is beyond the wit of a magician in his prime.

  It is all extremely satisfactory and I hope I may be forgiven for recording it in a state of unqualified self-confidence.

  In Southampton 10th July 1901

  I am in the middle of a week’s run at the Duchess Theatre here in Southampton. Julia came down to visit me yesterday, bringing with her at my request my portmanteau of papers and files, and as I therefore have access to this diary it seems like a good moment to make one of my periodic entries.

  I have been continually revising and rehearsing IN A FLASH for some months and it is now more or less a perfected skill. All my earlier hopes for it have come to fruition. I can pass through the aether without registering any reaction to the physical traumas I endure. The transition is smooth and seamless and from the point of view of the audience impossible to explain.

  Nor are the mental aftereffects, which so scourged me at the outset, a problem any more. I suffer no agonies of depression, or self-doubt. To the contrary (and I confide this to no one, and record it in no other document than in this secret and lockable diary), the wrenching apart of my body has become a pleasure to which I am almost addicted. At first I was disheartened by the imaginings of death, of living in an afterlife, but now I nightly experience my transmission as a rebirth, a renewal of self. In the early days I was concerned by the many times I should have to perform the trick to keep in practice, but now as soon as I have completed one performance I begin to crave the next.

  Three weeks ago, during a temporary break in my round of engagements, I erected the Tesla equipment in my workshop and put myself through the process. Not to try out new performance techniques, not to perfect existing ones, but purely for the physical pleasure of the experience.

  Disposal of the prestige materials produced at each show is still a problem, but after all these weeks we have developed a few routines so that the job is
done with a minimum of fuss.

  Most of the improvements I have made have been in the area of performance technique. My error at first was to assume that the sheer brilliance of the effect would be enough to dazzle my audiences. What I was neglecting was one of the oldest axioms of magic, that the miracle of the trick must be made clear by the presentation. Audiences are not easily misled, so the magician must provoke their interest, hold it, then confound every expectation by performing the apparently impossible.

  By supplementing Tesla’s apparatus with a range of magical effects and techniques (most of them familiar to professional illusionists), I make my presentation of IN A FLASH intriguing, more than a little terrifying to behold, and ultimately baffling. I do not use every effect at every performance, and deliberately vary the show to keep myself fresh and my rivals confounded, but here are some of the ways I engage and misdirect my audience.

  I allow inspection of the apparatus before it is used, and, on some occasions and in some theatres, after it has been used.

  I occasionally invite a committee of witnesses on to the stage from the audience.

  I am able to produce a personal object donated by a member of the audience, and identifiable by them, after I have taken it through transmission.

  I allow myself to be marked with flour or chalk or something similar, so that when I appear in my chosen place it can be seen that I am, beyond any doubt, the same man who was moments earlier fully visible on the stage.

  I project myself to numerous different parts of the theatre, partly depending on the physical plan of the building, partly on the degree of effect I wish to achieve. I can travel instantly to the centre or rear of the stalls, to the dress circle, to one of the loges.

  I can arrange for myself to be transmitted to other stage props or artefacts placed in view for just this purpose. Sometimes, for example, I arrive in a large net that has been dangling empty from the roof of the auditorium all through the show. Another popular effect is when I project myself to a sealed box or crate, placed on a stand fully in view of the audience and surrounded by a committee so that I might not enter through a hidden door or trap.

  However, this freedom has made me reckless. One evening, almost on a whim, I projected myself into a glass tank of water placed on the stage. This was a grave mistake, because I committed the cardinal sin of the magician: I had not rehearsed the effect and I left much of it to chance. Although my sensational and aquatically explosive arrival in the water had the audience on its feet with excitement it also nearly killed me. My lungs instantly filled with water, and within a couple of seconds I was fighting to stay alive. Only quick action by Adam Wilson saved my life. It was a gruesome reminder of one of Borden’s earlier attacks on me.

  After this unwelcome lesson in rematerialization, if I am ever tempted to try a new effect I rehearse thoroughly first.

  Of course, my act mostly consists of conventional illusions. I have a huge repertoire of tricks, and whenever I open at a new theatre I change my programme. I always present a varied show, starting with one of the familiar prestidigitations, such as CUPS AND BALLS or MYSTERIOUS WINE BOTTLES. Several card tricks of different kinds come next, and then for visual flourish I perform one of a range of tricks involving silks, flags, paper flowers or handkerchiefs. I work towards the climax through two or three illusions involving tables, cabinets or mirrors, frequently using volunteers from the audience. IN A FLASH invariably closes my show.

  In Derbyshire 14th June 1902

  I am busier than ever. I made my tour of Britain, August–October 1901. There was another trip to the USA, from November last year to February this. Until May I was in Europe, and I’m presently engaged for an extended tour of British theatres, this time concentrating on those located in seaside resorts.

  Plans for the future:

  I intend to take a long rest and spend much time with my family! Most of September is being kept clear for this, as is the first part of October.

  While in the USA I tried to locate Nikola Tesla. I have certain questions about his apparatus and suggestions for improving its performance. I also felt sure he would be interested to know how well it has served me so far. However, Tesla has gone to ground. He is rumoured to be a bankrupt, in hiding from his creditors.

  In London 3rd September 1902

  A momentous revelation!

  Early yesterday evening, while I was resting between shows at Daly’s Theatre in Islington, a man called at the stage door to see me. When I saw his card I asked for him to be shown immediately to my dressing room. It was Mr Arthur Koenig, the young journalist from the Evening Star who had given me so much food for thought about Borden. I was not surprised to learn that Mr Koenig now has the position of Deputy News Editor of that paper. The years have added a touch of grey to the whiskers on his face and several inches to his girth. He entered cordially, pumped my hand up and down and slapped me around the shoulders.

  ‘I just saw your matinée, Mr Danton!’ he said. ‘My hearty congratulations to you. For once the reviews do justice to a music hall act. I confess myself baffled and entertained in equal measure.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said, and signed for my dresser to pour Mr Koenig a small glass of whisky. When this was done I asked the dresser to leave us alone together, and to return in fifteen minutes.

  ‘Your good health, sir!’ Koenig announced, raising his glass. ‘Or should I say, my Lord?’

  I stared at him in surprise.

  ‘How the devil do you know about that?’

  ‘Why do you think I should not? The news of your brother’s death reached the press in the usual way, and was duly reported.’

  ‘I’ve seen those reports,’ I replied. ‘None of them mentioned me.’

  ‘I think it might be because few in Fleet Street know you by more than your stage name. It took a true admirer to connect you to Henry Angier.’

  ‘Nothing escapes you, does it?’ I said, with grudging admiration.

  ‘Not that kind of information, sir. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I assume it is a secret?’

  ‘I have always kept the two parts of my life separate. In that sense, it is a secret and I’d be glad if you would treat it as such.’

  ‘You have my word, my Lord. I’m grateful you are so honest with me. I accept that secrets are your stock in trade, and I’ve no wish either to discover or expose them.’

  ‘That was not always the case,’ I pointed out. ‘When last we met—’

  ‘Mr Borden, yes indeed. That, I confess, is a slightly different case. I felt he was goading me with his secrecy.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I think you do.’

  ‘Tell me, Koenig. You have seen my show today. What do you think of my final illusion?’

  ‘You have perfected what Mr Borden has merely shaped.’

  That was music to my ears, but I asked him, ‘You say you were baffled by it, but you don’t feel goaded by it too, do you?’

  ‘I do not. The sense of mystery you provoke is one I find familiar. When you watch a master illusionist at work you are curious about how the miracle is achieved, but you also realise that great disappointment would ensue if an explanation was offered.’

  He smiled as he said this, then in silence sipped happily at his whisky.

  ‘May I ask,’ I said eventually, ‘to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?’

  ‘I’ve come to apologise in the matter of Mr Borden, your rival. I confess that all my elaborate theories about him were in error, while your theory, blunt and simple, was correct.’

  ‘I don’t follow you,’ I said.

  ‘When I came to see you before, you will recall I held some hifalutin theory of Mr Borden performing a greater magic than any that had existed before.’

  ‘I remember,’ I said. ‘You wisely convinced me of it. I was grateful to you—’

  ‘You, however, had a plainer explanation. Borden is not one man but two, you said. Twins, you said. I
dentical twin brothers, each taking the place of the other as required.’

  ‘But you proved he worked alone—’

  ‘You were correct, sir! Mr Borden’s act is indeed based on the fact that he has a twin brother. Alfred Borden is a name conflated from two: Albert and Frederick, identical brothers, who perform together as one.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ I said.

  ‘But it was your own theory.’

  ‘In lieu of any other,’ I explained. ‘You swiftly disabused me. You had evidence—’

  ‘Much of which turns out to have been circumstantial, the rest of which had been falsified. I was a young reporter, not then fully practised in my profession. I have since learnt to check facts, to double-check them, then to check them once more.’

  ‘But, look Koenig,’ I said. ‘I went into the matter myself. At the time, nothing was more important to me than to establish the facts. I examined the hospital records of his birth, the register of the school he attended—’

  ‘All falsified long since, Mr Angier.’ He looked at me questioningly, as if to be sure he was addressing me correctly. I nodded, and he went on, ‘The Borden brothers have built their lives around sustaining this illusion. Nothing about them can be trusted.’

  ‘But I did investigate most carefully,’ I insisted. ‘I knew there were two brothers with those names, but one is two years younger than the other!’

  ‘Both coincidentally born in May, as I recall. It does not take much skill to forge a birth record from 8th May 1856 to 18th May 1858.’

  ‘I saw a photograph of the two brothers, taken together!’

  ‘Yes, and one so easy to find. It must have been left as a red herring for such as you and I to stumble across. As we duly did.’

  ‘But the two brothers were physically unalike. I saw the portrait myself!’

  ‘And so did I. Indeed, I have a copy of it in my office. The distinction between their facial characteristics is remarkable. But surely you of all people understand the deceptive use of stage make-up, cheek-pads, and the like?’