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 onto 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.
14th June 1902
In Derbyshire
I am busier than ever. I had my British tour, 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.)
3rd September 1902
In London
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 matinйe, 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 my 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."