Section 10

“T must bid my farewells to your little dog.”
He had been so quiet that they had forgotten his presence.
“Come here, Copper,” said Margaret.
The dog slowly slunk up to them, and with a terrified expression crouched at Margaret’s feet.
“What on earth’s the matter with you?” she asked.
“He’s frightened of me,” said Haddo, with that harsh laugh of his, which gue ‘such an unpleasant impression,
THE MAGICIAN 117
“ Nonsense!”
Dr. Porhoét bent down, stroked the dog’s back, and shook its paw. Margaret lifted it up and set it on a table.
_ “Now, be good,” she said, with lifted finger.
Dr. Porhoét with a smile went out, and Arthur shut the door behind him. Suddenly, as though evil had entered into it, the terrier sprang at Oliver Haddo and fixed its teeth in his hand. Haddo uttered a cry, and, shaking it off, gave it a savage kick. The dog rolled over with a loud bark that was almost a scream of pain, and lay still for a moment as if it were desperately hurt. Margaret cried out with horror and indignation. A fierce rage on a sudden seized Arthur so that he scarcely knew what he was about. The wretched brute’s suffering, Margaret’s terror, his own instinctive hatred of the man, were joined together in fren- zied passion.
* You brute,” he muttered.
He hit Haddo in the face with his clenched fist. The man collapsed bulkily to the floor, and Arthur, furiously seizing his collar, began to kick him with all his might. He shook him as a dog would shake a rat and then violently flung him down. For some reason Haddo made no resistance. He remained where he fell in utter helplessness. Arthur turned to Margaret. She was holding the poor hurt dog in her hands, crying over it, and trying to comfort it in its pain. Very gently he examined it to see if
118 THE MAGICIAN
Haddo’s brutal kick had broken a bone. They sat down beside the fire. Susie, to steady her nerves, lit a cigarette. She was horribly, acutely conscious of that man who lay in a mass on the floor behind them. She wondered what he would do. She wondered why he did not go. And she was ashamed of his humiliation. Then her heart stood still; for she realised that he was raising himself to his feet, slowly, with the difficulty of a very fat person. He leaned against the wall and stared at them. He remained there quite motionless. His stillness got on her nerves, and she could have screamed as she felt him look at them, look with those unnatural eyes, whose expression now she dared not even imagine.
At length she could no longer resist the tempta- tion to turn round just enough to see him. Haddo’s eyes were fixed upon Margaret so intently that he did not see he was himself observed. His face, distorted by passion, was horrible to look upon. That vast mass of flesh had a malignancy that was inhuman, and it was terrible to see the satanic hatred which hideously deformed it. But it changed, The redness gave way to a ghastly pal- lor. The revengeful scowl disappeared; and a tor- pid smile spread over the features, a smile that was even more terrifying than the frown of malice. What did it mean? Susie could have cried out, but her tongue cleaved to her throat. The smile
ee
THE MAGICIAN 119
passed away, and the face became once more ut- terly impassive. It seemed that Margaret and Arthur realised at last the power of those inhuman eyes, and they became quite still. The dog ceased its sobbing. The silence was so great that each one heard the beating of his heart. It was intol- erable.
Then Oliver Haddo moved. He came forward slowly.
“IT want to ask you to forgive me for what I did,” he said. “ The pain of the dog’s bite was so keen that I lost my temper. I deeply regret that I kicked it. Mr. Burdon was very right to thrash me. I feel that I deserved no less.”
He spoke in a low voice, but with great distinct- ness. Susie was astounded. An abject apology was the last thing she expected.
He paused for Margaret’s answer. But she could not bear to look at him. When she spoke, her words were scarcely audible. She did not know why his request to be forgiven made him seem more detestable.
“‘T think, if you don’t mind, you had better go away.”
Haddo bowed slightly. He looked at Burdon. _“T wish to tell you that I bear no malice for what you did. I recognise the justice of your anger.”
Arthur did not answer at all. Haddo hesitated
120 THE MAGICIAN
a moment, while his eyes rested on them quietly. To Susie it seemed that they flickered with the shadow of a smile. She watched him with bewil- dered astonishment.
He reached out for his hat, bowed again, and
went.
NIllI
SusiE could not persuade herself that Haddo’s regret was sincere. The humility of it aroused her suspicion. She could not get out of her mind the ugly slyness of that smile which succeeded on his face the first passionate look of deadly hatred. Her fancy suggested various dark means whereby Oliver Haddo might take vengeance on his enemy, and she was at pains to warn Arthur. But he only laughed.
“The man’s a funk,” he said. “Do you think if he’d had anything in him at all he would have let me kick him without trying to defend himself? ”
Haddo’s cowardice increased the disgust with which Arthur regarded him. He was amused by Susie’s trepidation.
“ What on earth do you suppose he can do? He can’t drop a brickbat on my head. If he shoots me he’ll get his head cut off, and he won’t be such an ass as to risk that!”
Margaret was glad that the incident had relieved them of Oliver’s society. She met him in the street a couple of days later, and, since he took off his hat in the French fashion without waiting for her to acknowledge him, she was able to make her cut
more pointed. I2I
122 THE MAGICIAN
She began to discuss with Arthur the date of their marriage. It seemed to her that she had got out of Paris all it could give her, and she wished to begin a new life. Her love for Arthur appeared on a sudden more urgent, and she was filled with delight at the thought of the happiness she would give him.
A day or two later Susie received a telegram. It ran as follows:
“ Please meet me at the Gare du Nord, 2:40. “Nancy CLERK.”
It was from an old friend who was apparently arriving in Paris that afternoon. A photograph of her, with a bold signature, stood on the chimney- piece, and Susie gave it an inquisitive glance. She had not seen Nancy for so long that it surprised her to receive this urgent message.
“What a bore it is!” she said. “I suppose I must go.”
They meant to have tea on the other side of the river, but the journey to the station was so long that it would not be worth Susie’s while to come back in the interval; and they arranged therefore to meet at the house to which they were invited. Susie started a little before two.
Margaret had a class that afternoon and set out two or three minutes later. As she walked through the courtyard she started nervously, for Oliver
THE MAGICIAN 123
Haddo passed slowly by. He did not seem to see her. Suddenly he stopped, put his hand to his heart, and fell heavily to the ground. The con- cierge, the only person at hand, ran forward with a cry. She knelt down and, looking round with terror, caught sight of Margaret.
“Oh, mademoiselle, venez vite,’ she cried.
Margaret was obliged to go. Her heart beat
horribly. She looked down at Oliver, and he
seemed to be dead. She forgot that she loathed him, Instinctively she knelt down by his side and loosened his collar. He opened his eyes. An ex- pression of terrible anguish came into his face.
“For the love of God, take me in for one mo- ment,” he sobbed. “I shall die in the street.”
Her heart was moved towards him. He could not go into the poky den, evil-smelling and airless, of the concierge. But with her help Margaret raised him to his feet, and together they brought him to the studio. He sank painfully into a chair.
** Shall I fetch you some water?” asked Mar- garet.
“Can you get a pastille out of my pocket?”
He swallowed a white tabloid, which she took out of a case attached to his watch-chain.
“I’m very sorry to cause you this trouble,’ he gasped. “I suffer from a disease of the heart and sometimes I am very near death.”
“I’m glad that I was able to help you,” she
said.
124 THE MAGICIAN
He seemed able to breathe more éasily. She left him to himself for a while, so that he might re- gain his strength. She took up a book and began to read. Presently, without moving from his chair, he spoke.
“You must hate me for intruding on you.”
His voice was stronger, and her pity waned as he seemed to recover. She answered with freezing indifference.
“T couldn’t do any less for you than I did. I would have brought a dog into my room if it seemed hurt.”
“T see that you wish me to go.”
He got up and moved towards the door, but he staggered and with a groan tumbled to his knees. Margaret sprang forward to help him. She re- proached herself bitterly for those scornful words. The man had barely escaped death, and she was merciless,
“Oh, please stay as long as you like,” she cried. “T’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He dragged himself with difficulty back to the chair, and she, conscience-stricken, stood over him helplessly. She poured out a glass of water, but he motioned it away as though he would not be beholden to her even for that.
“Ts there nothing I can do for you at all?” she exclaimed, painfully.
“Nothing, except allow me to sit in this chair,” he gasped.
— ae
THE MAGICIAN 125
“T hope you'll remain as long as you choose.”
He did not reply. She sat down again and pre- tended to read. In a little while he began to speak. His voice reached her as if from a long way off.
“Will you never forgive me for what I did the other day?”
She answered without looking at him, her back still turned.
“Can it matter to you if I forgive or not?”
“You have no pity. I told you then how sorry I was that a sudden uncontrollable pain drove me to do a thing which immediately I bitterly regretted. Don’t you think it must have been hard for me, under the actual circumstances, to confess my fault?”
“T wish you not to speak of it. I don’t want to think of that horrible scene.”
“Tf you knew how lonely I was and how un- happy, you would have a little mercy.”
His voice was strangely moved. She could not doubt now that he was sincere.
“You think me a charlatan because I aim at things that are unknown to you. You won’t try to understand. You won’t give me any credit for striving with all my soul to a very great end.”
She made no reply, and for a time there was silence. His voice was different now and curiously seductive.
“ You look upon me with disgust and scorn. You almost persuaded yourself to let me die in the
126 THE MAGICIAN
street rather than stretch out to me a helping hand. And if you hadn’t been merciful then, almost against your will, I should have died.”
“Tt can make no difference to you how I regard you,” she whispered.
She did not know why his soft, low tones mys- teriously wrung her heartstrings. Her pulse be- gan to beat more quickly.
“Tt makes all the difference in the world. It is horrible to think of your contempt. I feel your goodness and your purity. I can hardly bear my own unworthiness. You turn your eyes away from me as though I were unclean.”
She turned her chair a little and looked at him. She was astonished at the change in his appearance. His hideous obesity seemed no longer repellant, for his eyes wore a new expression; they were incred- ibly tender now, and they were veiled with tears. His mouth was tortured by a passionate distress. Margaret had never seen so much unhappiness on a man’s face, and an overwhelming remorse seized her.
“T don’t want to be unkind to you,” she said.
“T will go. That is how I can best repay you for what you have done.”
The words were so bitter, so humiliated, that the colour rose to her cheeks.
“TI ask you to stay. But let us talk of other things.”
For a moment he kept silence. He seemed no
: THE MAGICIAN 127
longer to see Margaret, and she watched him i
_ thoughtfully. His eyes rested on a print of La _ Gioconda which hung on the wall. Suddenly he began to speak. He recited the honeyed words _ with which Walter Pater expressed his admiration
_ for that consummate picture.
“ Hers is the head upon which all the ends of _ the world are come, and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a moment beside one of those white Greek goddesses or beautiful women of an- tiquity, and how would they be troubled by this beauty, into which the soul with all its maladies has passed. All the thoughts and experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in that which they have of power to refine and make ex- pressive the outward form, the animalism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the mysticism of the Middle Ages, with its spiritual ambition and imag- inative loves, the return of the Pagan world, the sins of the Borgias.”
His voice, poignant and musical, blended with the suave music of the words so that Margaret felt she had never before known their divine signifi- cance. She was intoxicated with their beauty. She wished him to continue, but had not the strength
128 THE MAGICIAN
to speak. As if he guessed her thought, he went — on, and now his voice had a richness in it as of an organ heard afar off. It was like an overwhelming fragrance, and she could hardly bear it.
“ She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and trafficked for strange evils with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda, was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and flutes, and lives only in the deli- cacy with which it has moulded the changing linea- ments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands.”
Oliver Haddo began then to speak of Leonardo da Vinci, mingling with his own fantasies the per- fect words of that essay which, so wonderful was his memory, he seemed almost to know by heart. He found exotic fancies in the likeness between Saint John the Baptist, with his soft flesh and waving hair, and Bacchus, with his ambiguous smile. Seen through his eyes, the seashore in the Saint Anne had the airless lethargy of some dam- asked chapel in a Spanish nunnery, and over the landscapes brooded a wan spirit of evil that was very troubling. He loved the mysterious pictures in which the painter has sought to express some-
ae?
THE MAGICIAN 129
thing beyond the limits of painting, something of unsatisfied desire and of longing for unhuman pas- sions. Oliver Haddo found this quality in unlikely places, and his words gave a new meaning to paint- ings that Margaret had passed thoughtlessly by. There was the portrait of a statuary by Bronzio in the Long Gallery of the Louvre. The features were rather large, the face rather broad. The ex- pression was sombre, almost surly in the repose of the painted canvas, and the eyes were brown, almond-shaped like those of an Oriental; the red lips were exquisitely modelled, and the sensuality was curiously disturbing; the dark, chestnut hair, cut short, curled over the head with an infinite grace. The skin was like ivory softened with a delicate carmine. There was in that beautiful countenance more than beauty, for what most fas- cinated the observer was a supreme and disdainful indifference to the passion of others. It was a vicious face, except that beauty could never be quite vicious; it was a cruel face, except that indo- lence could never be quite cruel. It was a face that haunted you, and yet your admiration was alloyed with an unreasoning terror. The hands were nervous and adroit, with long, fashioning fin- gers; and you felt that at their touch the clay al- most moulded itself into gracious forms. With Haddo’s subtle words the character of that man rose before her, cruel yet indifferent, indolent and passionate, cold yet sensual; unnatural secrets dwelt
130 THE MAGICIAN
in his mind, and mysterious crimes, and a lust for the knowledge that was arcane. Oliver Haddo was attracted by all that was unusual, deformed, and monstrous, by the pictures that represented the hideousness of man or that reminded you of his mortality. He summoned before Margaret the whole array of Ribera’s ghoulish dwarfs, with their cunning smile, the insane light of their eyes, and their malice: he dwelt with a horrible fascination upon their malformations, the humped backs, the club feet, the hydrocephalic heads. He described the picture by Valdes Leal in a certain place at Seville, which represents a priest at the altar; and the altar is sumptuous with gilt and florid carving. He wears a magnificent cope and a surplice of ex- quisite lace, but he wears them as though their weight was more than he could bear; and in the meagre trembling hands, and in the white, ashen face, in the dark hollowness of the eyes, there isa bodily corruption that is terrifying. He seems to hold together with difficulty the bonds of the flesh, but with no eager yearning of the soul to burst its prison, only with despair; it is as if the Lord Al- mighty had forsaken him and the high heavens were empty of their solace. All the beauty of life appears forgotten, and there is nothing in the world but decay. A ghastly putrefaction has attacked already the living man; the worms of the grave, the piteous horror of mortality, and the darkness before him, offer naught but fear. Beyond, dark