Smith and the Pharaohs, and other Tales — Inside the Classic

Opening Gambit: Skepticism and the Supernatural

The first chapter of 'Smith and the Pharaohs' sets up a philosophical debate about human nature. The narrator mocks scientists who claim to know everything about man, reducing him to an animal shaped by environment. Then, almost as a counterexample, an incident in Mr. Smith's life is introduced—something that 'might well occasion such reflections.' The reader is primed to expect a story that challenges reductive views. Smith himself is described as 'a person who knows when to be silent,' suggesting he has secrets worth guarding. This opening works as a thesis: the tales that follow will test the boundaries of materialist explanation.

African Interlude: Menzi and the Missionary

In the excerpt from 'Magepa' or a related story, the setting shifts to Portuguese Territory, where law is absent. Thomas, the missionary, is greeted by Menzi, a witch-doctor who carries a snuff-box in his earlobe and speaks with 'a gentle and refined voice.' Their exchange is a battle of wills: Thomas declares war on Menzi's spirits, while Menzi responds with a mysterious smile and a look at the river named Death. The narrative voice here is more direct, but the supernatural tension is palpable. Menzi's plucking of a white lily—a rare and beautiful flower—suggests a ritualistic or symbolic act, though its meaning is left ambiguous. This section contrasts with the opening's philosophical tone, grounding the supernatural in a specific cultural conflict.

Narrative Voice and Structure Across Tales

The excerpts reveal two distinct narrative modes. The opening tale uses a detached, ironic narrator who addresses the reader directly ('Perchance the dream is true'). The African story employs a more conventional third-person limited perspective, focusing on Thomas's reactions and Menzi's enigmatic behavior. This variety suggests the collection may experiment with different genres—from philosophical fantasy to adventure. The table of contents lists titles like 'The Blue Curtains,' 'Only a Dream,' and 'Barbara Who Came Back,' hinting at further shifts in tone and setting. Readers should expect each story to establish its own rules for the supernatural, rather than a unified mythology.

Clues from the Closing: The River and the Lily

Near the end of the African excerpt, Menzi looks at the river 'Death' and plucks a white lily, which he presents to someone. The lily is described as 'rare and beautiful,' and the river is 'very deep and still.' These details carry symbolic weight, but the excerpt cuts off before their significance is explained. A first-time reader might note them as potential foreshadowing: the lily could represent purity, death, or a token of fate. The river's name is ominous, and Menzi's earlier threat—'we are at war over this matter of Spirits'—suggests the conflict may turn deadly. Without the full story, the reader is left to speculate, which is precisely the effect Haggard seems to cultivate: a sense of unresolved mystery that lingers beyond the page.

These excerpts show Haggard's skill at planting questions without immediate answers. The opening challenges scientific certainty; the African tale pits a missionary against a witch-doctor in a landscape where law is absent. Readers should pay attention to recurring motifs—snuff-boxes, lilies, rivers—that may carry symbolic weight across stories. The collection rewards those who read with an eye for detail and a tolerance for ambiguity.

Smith and the Pharaohs left me sitting quietly afterward, that strange weight of old places and voices. There's something in the way those stories shift, almost without you noticing, that feels familiar. I found myself thinking of the gentle strangeness in The ninth vibration and other stories — Story, Setting & Ideas, a similar current running underneath. It stayed with me, soft and unresolved.