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diff --git a/2698-0.txt b/2698-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5f07fd --- /dev/null +++ b/2698-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9108 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Mortal Antipathy, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. + +[The Physician and Poet, not his son the Jurist O. W. Holmes, Jr.] + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost +no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use +it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this +eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Mortal Antipathy + +Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. + +Release Date: August 16, 2006 [EBook #2698] +Last Updated: February 18, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MORTAL ANTIPATHY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + + +A MORTAL ANTIPATHY + +By Oliver Wendell Holmes + + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PREFACE. + + INTRODUCTION. + + THE NEW PORTFOLIO: FIRST OPENING. + + A MORTAL ANTIPATHY. + + + + I. GETTING READY. + + II. THE BOAT-RACE. + + III. THE WHITE CANOE. + + IV. THE YOUNG SOLITARY + + V. THE ENIGMA STUDIED. + + VI. STILL AT FAULT. + + VII. A RECORD OF ANTIPATHIES + + VIII. THE PANSOPHIAN SOCIETY. + + IX. THE SOCIETY AND ITS NEW SECRETARY. + + X. A NEW ARRIVAL. + + XI. THE INTERVIEWER ATTACKS THE SPHINX. + + XII. MISS VINCENT AS A MEDICAL STUDENT. + + XIII. DR. BUTTS READS A PAPER. + + XIV. MISS VINCENT'S STARTLING DISCOVERY. + + XV. DR. BUTTS CALLS ON EUTHYMIA. + + XVI. MISS VINCENT WRITES A LETTER. + + XVII. Dr. BUTTS'S PATIENT. + + XVIII. MAURICE KIRKWOOD'S STORY OF HIS LIFE. + + XIX. THE REPORT OF THE BIOLOGICAL COMMITTEE. + + XX. DR. BUTTS REFLECTS. + + XXI. AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION. + + XXII. EUTHYMIA. + + XXIII. THE MEETING OF MAURICE AND EUTHYMIA. + + XXIV. THE INEVITABLE. + + POSTSCRIPT: AFTER-GLIMPSES. + + MISS LURIDA VINCENT TO MRS. EUTHYMIA KIRKWOOD. + + DR. BUTTS TO MRS. EUTHYMIA KIRKWOOD. + + DR. BUTTS TO MRS. BUTTS. + + + + + + + + + +PREFACE. + +“A MORTAL ANTIPATHY” was a truly hazardous experiment. A very wise and +very distinguished physician who is as much at home in literature as he +is in science and the practice of medicine, wrote to me in referring +to this story: “I should have been afraid of my subject.” He did +not explain himself, but I can easily understand that he felt the +improbability of the physiological or pathological occurrence on which +the story is founded to be so great that the narrative could hardly be +rendered plausible. I felt the difficulty for myself as well as for my +readers, and it was only by recalling for our consideration a series of +extraordinary but well-authenticated facts of somewhat similar character +that I could hope to gain any serious attention to so strange a +narrative. + +I need not recur to these wonderful stories. There is, however, one, not +to be found on record elsewhere, to which I would especially call the +reader's attention. It is that of the middle-aged man, who assured +me that he could never pass a tall hall clock without an indefinable +terror. While an infant in arms the heavy weight of one of these tall +clocks had fallen with a loud crash and produced an impression on his +nervous system which he had never got over. + +The lasting effect of a shock received by the sense of sight or that of +hearing is conceivable enough. + +But there is another sense, the nerves of which are in close +relation with the higher organs of consciousness. The strength of the +associations connected with the function of the first pair of nerves, +the olfactory, is familiar to most persons in their own experience and +as related by others. Now we know that every human being, as well as +every other living organism, carries its own distinguishing atmosphere. +If a man's friend does not know it, his dog does, and can track him +anywhere by it. This personal peculiarity varies with the age and +conditions of the individual. It may be agreeable or otherwise, a source +of attraction or repulsion, but its influence is not less real, though +far less obvious and less dominant, than in the lower animals. It was +an atmospheric impression of this nature which associated itself with +a terrible shock experienced by the infant which became the subject of +this story. The impression could not be outgrown, but it might possibly +be broken up by some sudden change in the nervous system effected by a +cause as potent as the one which had produced the disordered condition. + +This is the best key that I can furnish to a story which must have +puzzled some, repelled others, and failed to interest many who did not +suspect the true cause of the mysterious antipathy. + +BEVERLY FARMS, MASS., August, 1891. O. W. H. + + + + + + + + + + + +A MORTAL ANTIPATHY. + +FIRST OPENING OF THE NEW PORTFOLIO. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + +“And why the New Portfolio, I would ask?” + +Pray, do you remember, when there was an accession to the nursery in +which you have a special interest, whether the new-comer was commonly +spoken of as a baby? Was it not, on the contrary, invariably, under all +conditions, in all companies, by the whole household, spoken of as the +baby? And was the small receptacle provided for it commonly spoken of +as a cradle; or was it not always called the cradle, as if there were no +other in existence? + +Now this New Portfolio is the cradle in which I am to rock my new-born +thoughts, and from which I am to lift them carefully and show them to +callers, namely, to the whole family of readers belonging to my list of +intimates, and such other friends as may drop in by accident. And so +it shall have the definite article, and not be lost in the mob of its +fellows as a portfolio. + +There are a few personal and incidental matters of which I wish to say +something before reaching the contents of the Portfolio, whatever these +may be. I have had other portfolios before this,--two, more especially, +and the first thing I beg leave to introduce relates to these. + +Do not throw this volume down, or turn to another page, when I tell you +that the earliest of them, that of which I now am about to speak, was +opened more than fifty years ago. This is a very dangerous confession, +for fifty years make everything hopelessly old-fashioned, without giving +it the charm of real antiquity. If I could say a hundred years, now, my +readers would accept all I had to tell them with a curious interest; but +fifty years ago,--there are too many talkative old people who know all +about that time, and at best half a century is a half-baked bit of ware. +A coin-fancier would say that your fifty-year-old facts have just enough +of antiquity to spot them with rust, and not enough to give them--the +delicate and durable patina which is time's exquisite enamel. + +When the first Portfolio was opened the coin of the realm bore for its +legend,--or might have borne if the more devout hero-worshippers could +have had their way,--Andreas Jackson, Populi Gratia, Imp. Caesar. Aug. +Div., Max., etc., etc. I never happened to see any gold or silver with +that legend, but the truth is I was not very familiarly acquainted with +the precious metals at that period of my career, and, there might have +been a good deal of such coin in circulation without my handling it, or +knowing much about it. + +Permit me to indulge in a few reminiscences of that far-off time. + +In those days the Athenaeum Picture Gallery was a principal centre of +attraction to young Boston people and their visitors. Many of us got +our first ideas of art, to say nothing of our first lessons in the +comparatively innocent flirtations of our city's primitive period, in +that agreeable resort of amateurs and artists. + +How the pictures on those walls in Pearl Street do keep their places in +the mind's gallery! Trumbull's Sortie of Gibraltar, with red enough in +it for one of our sunset after-glows; and Neagle's full-length portrait +of the blacksmith in his shirt-sleeves; and Copley's long-waistcoated +gentlemen and satin-clad ladies,--they looked like gentlemen and +ladies, too; and Stuart's florid merchants and high-waisted matrons; and +Allston's lovely Italian scenery and dreamy, unimpassioned women, +not forgetting Florimel in full flight on her interminable +rocking-horse,--you may still see her at the Art Museum; and the rival +landscapes of Doughty and Fisher, much talked of and largely praised in +those days; and the Murillo,--not from Marshal Soup's collection; and +the portrait of Annibale Caracci by himself, which cost the Athenaeum +a hundred dollars; and Cole's allegorical pictures, and his immense +and dreary canvas, in which the prostrate shepherds and the angel in +Joseph's coat of many colors look as if they must have been thrown in +for nothing; and West's brawny Lear tearing his clothes to pieces. But +why go on with the catalogue, when most of these pictures can be seen +either at the Athenaeum building in Beacon Street or at the Art Gallery, +and admired or criticised perhaps more justly, certainly not more +generously, than in those earlier years when we looked at them through +the japanned fish-horns? + +If one happened to pass through Atkinson Street on his way to the +Athenaeum, he would notice a large, square, painted, brick house, in +which lived a leading representative of old-fashioned coleopterous +Calvinism, and from which emerged one of the liveliest of literary +butterflies. The father was editor of the “Boston Recorder,” a very +respectable, but very far from amusing paper, most largely patronized by +that class of the community which spoke habitually of the first day of +the week as “the Sahbuth.” The son was the editor of several different +periodicals in succession, none of them over severe or serious, and of +many pleasant books, filled with lively descriptions of society, which +he studied on the outside with a quick eye for form and color, and with +a certain amount of sentiment, not very deep, but real, though somewhat +frothed over by his worldly experiences. + +Nathaniel Parker Willis was in full bloom when I opened my first +Portfolio. He had made himself known by his religious poetry, published +in his father's paper, I think, and signed “Roy.” He had started the +“American Magazine,” afterwards merged in the “New York Mirror.” He had +then left off writing scripture pieces, and taken to lighter forms of +verse. He had just written + + + “I'm twenty-two, I'm twenty-two, + They idly give me joy, + As if I should be glad to know + That I was less a boy.” + +He was young, therefore, and already famous. He came very near being +very handsome. He was tall; his hair, of light brown color, waved in +luxuriant abundance; his cheek was as rosy as if it had been painted to +show behind the footlights; he dressed with artistic elegance. He was +something between a remembrance of Count D'Orsay and an anticipation of +Oscar Wilde. There used to be in the gallery of the Luxembourg a picture +of Hippolytus and Phxdra, in which the beautiful young man, who had +kindled a passion in the heart of his wicked step-mother, always +reminded me of Willis, in spite of the shortcomings of the living face +as compared with the ideal. The painted youth is still blooming on the +canvas, but the fresh-cheeked, jaunty young author of the year 1830 has +long faded out of human sight. I took the leaves which lie before me +at this moment, as I write, from his coffin, as it lay just outside the +door of Saint Paul's Church, on a sad, overclouded winter's day, in the +year 1867. At that earlier time, Willis was by far the most prominent +young American author. Cooper, Irving, Bryant, Dana, Halleck, Drake, had +all done their best work. Longfellow was not yet conspicuous. Lowell was +a school-boy. Emerson was unheard of. Whittier was beginning to make his +way against the writers with better educational advantages whom he was +destined to outdo and to outlive. Not one of the great histories, +which have done honor to our literature, had appeared. Our school-books +depended, so far as American authors were concerned, on extracts +from the orations and speeches of Webster and Everett; on Bryant's +Thanatopsis, his lines To a Waterfowl, and the Death of the Flowers, +Halleck's Marco Bozzaris, Red Jacket, and Burns; on Drake's American +Flag, and Percival's Coral Grove, and his Genius Sleeping and Genius +Waking,--and not getting very wide awake, either. These could be +depended upon. A few other copies of verses might be found, but Dwight's +“Columbia, Columbia,” and Pierpont's Airs of Palestine, were already +effaced, as many of the favorites of our own day and generation must +soon be, by the great wave which the near future will pour over the +sands in which they still are legible. + +About this time, in the year 1832, came out a small volume entitled +“Truth, a Gift for Scribblers,” which made some talk for a while, and +is now chiefly valuable as a kind of literary tombstone on which may be +read the names of many whose renown has been buried with their bones. +The “London Athenaeum” spoke of it as having been described as a +“tomahawk sort of satire.” As the author had been a trapper in Missouri, +he was familiarly acquainted with that weapon and the warfare of its +owners. Born in Boston, in 1804, the son of an army officer, educated +at West Point, he came back to his native city about the year 1830. He +wrote an article on Bryant's Poems for the “North American Review,” and +another on the famous Indian chief, Black Hawk. In this last-mentioned +article he tells this story as the great warrior told it himself. It was +an incident of a fight with the Osages. + +“Standing by my father's side, I saw him kill his antagonist and +tear the scalp from his head. Fired with valor and ambition, I rushed +furiously upon another, smote him to the earth with my tomahawk, ran my +lance through his body, took off his scalp, and returned in triumph to +my father. He said nothing, but looked pleased.” + +This little red story describes very well Spelling's style of literary +warfare. His handling of his most conspicuous victim, Willis, was very +much like Black Hawk's way of dealing with the Osage. He tomahawked +him in heroics, ran him through in prose, and scalped him in barbarous +epigrams. Bryant and Halleck were abundantly praised; hardly any one +else escaped. + +If the reader wishes to see the bubbles of reputation that were +floating, some of them gay with prismatic colors, half a century ago, +he will find in the pages of “Truth” a long catalogue of celebrities he +never heard of. I recognize only three names, of all which are mentioned +in the little book, as belonging to persons still living; but as I have +not read the obituaries of all the others, some of them may be still +flourishing in spite of Mr. Spelling's exterminating onslaught. Time +dealt as hardly with poor Spelling, who was not without talent and +instruction, as he had dealt with our authors. I think he found shelter +at last under a roof which held numerous inmates, some of whom had seen +better and many of whom had known worse days than those which they were +passing within its friendly and not exclusive precincts. Such, at least, +was the story I heard after he disappeared from general observation. + +That was the day of Souvenirs, Tokens, Forget-me-nots, Bijous, and +all that class of showy annuals. Short stories, slender poems, steel +engravings, on a level with the common fashion-plates of advertising +establishments, gilt edges, resplendent binding,--to manifestations of +this sort our lighter literature had very largely run for some years. +The “Scarlet Letter” was an unhinted possibility. The “Voices of the +Night” had not stirred the brooding silence; the Concord seer was still +in the lonely desert; most of the contributors to those yearly volumes, +which took up such pretentious positions on the centre table, have +shrunk into entire oblivion, or, at best, hold their place in literature +by a scrap or two in some omnivorous collection. + +What dreadful work Spelling made among those slight reputations, +floating in swollen tenuity on the surface of the stream, and mirroring +each other in reciprocal reflections! Violent, abusive as he was, unjust +to any against whom he happened to have a prejudice, his castigation of +the small litterateurs of that day was not harmful, but rather of use. +His attack on Willis very probably did him good; he needed a little +discipline, and though he got it too unsparingly, some cautions came +with it which were worth the stripes he had to smart under. One noble +writer Spelling treated with rudeness, probably from some accidental +pique, or equally insignificant reason. I myself, one of the three +survivors before referred to, escaped with a love-pat, as the youngest +son of the Muse. Longfellow gets a brief nod of acknowledgment. Bailey, +an American writer, “who made long since a happy snatch at fame,” which +must have been snatched away from him by envious time, for I cannot +identify him; Thatcher, who died early, leaving one poem, The Last +Request, not wholly unremembered; Miss Hannah F. Gould, a very bright +and agreeable writer of light verse,--all these are commended to the +keeping of that venerable public carrier, who finds his scythe and +hour-glass such a load that he generally drops the burdens committed to +his charge, after making a show of paying every possible attention to +them so long as he is kept in sight. + +It was a good time to open a portfolio. But my old one had boyhood +written on every page. A single passionate outcry when the old warship +I had read about in the broadsides that were a part of our kitchen +literature, and in the “Naval Monument,” was threatened with demolition; +a few verses suggested by the sight of old Major Melville in his cocked +hat and breeches, were the best scraps that came out of that first +Portfolio, which was soon closed that it should not interfere with the +duties of a profession authorized to claim all the time and thought +which would have been otherwise expended in filling it. + +During a quarter of a century the first Portfolio remained closed for +the greater part of the time. Only now and then it would be taken up +and opened, and something drawn from it for a special occasion, more +particularly for the annual reunions of a certain class of which I was a +member. + +In the year 1857, towards its close, the “Atlantic Monthly,” which I had +the honor of naming, was started by the enterprising firm of Phillips +& Sampson, under the editorship of Mr. James Russell Lowell. He thought +that I might bring something out of my old Portfolio which would be not +unacceptable in the new magazine. I looked at the poor old receptacle, +which, partly from use and partly from neglect, had lost its freshness, +and seemed hardly presentable to the new company expected to welcome +the new-comer in the literary world of Boston, the least provincial of +American centres of learning and letters. The gilded covering where +the emblems of hope and aspiration had looked so bright had faded; not +wholly, perhaps, but how was the gold become dim!---how was the most +fine gold changed! Long devotion to other pursuits had left little time +for literature, and the waifs and strays gathered from the old Portfolio +had done little more than keep alive the memory that such a source of +supply was still in existence. I looked at the old Portfolio, and said +to myself, “Too late! too late. This tarnished gold will never brighten, +these battered covers will stand no more wear and tear; close them, and +leave them to the spider and the book-worm.” + +In the mean time the nebula of the first quarter of the century had +condensed into the constellation of the middle of the same period. +When, a little while after the establishment of the new magazine, the +“Saturday Club” gathered about the long table at “Parker's,” such a +representation of all that was best in American literature had never +been collected within so small a compass. Most of the Americans whom +educated foreigners cared to see-leaving out of consideration +official dignitaries, whose temporary importance makes them objects of +curiosity--were seated at that board. But the club did not yet exist, +and the “Atlantic Monthly” was an experiment. There had already been +several monthly periodicals, more or less successful and permanent, +among which “Putnam's Magazine” was conspicuous, owing its success +largely to the contributions of that very accomplished and delightful +writer, Mr. George William Curtis. That magazine, after a somewhat +prolonged and very honorable existence, had gone where all periodicals +go when they die, into the archives of the deaf, dumb, and blind +recording angel whose name is Oblivion. It had so well deserved to live +that its death was a surprise and a source of regret. Could another +monthly take its place and keep it when that, with all its attractions +and excellences, had died out, and left a blank in our periodical +literature which it would be very hard to fill as well as that had +filled it? + +This was the experiment which the enterprising publishers ventured upon, +and I, who felt myself outside of the charmed circle drawn around the +scholars and poets of Cambridge and Concord, having given myself to +other studies and duties, wondered somewhat when Mr. Lowell insisted +upon my becoming a contributor. And so, yielding to a pressure which I +could not understand, and yet found myself unable to resist, I promised +to take a part in the new venture, as an occasional writer in the +columns of the new magazine. + +That was the way in which the second Portfolio found its way to my +table, and was there opened in the autumn of the year 1857. I was +already at least + + + 'Nel mezzo del cammin di mia, vita,' + +when I risked myself, with many misgivings, in little-tried paths of +what looked at first like a wilderness, a selva oscura, where, if I did +not meet the lion or the wolf, I should be sure to find the critic, the +most dangerous of the carnivores, waiting to welcome me after his own +fashion. + +The second Portfolio is closed and laid away. Perhaps it was hardly +worth while to provide and open a new one; but here it lies before me, +and I hope I may find something between its covers which will justify me +in coming once more before my old friends. But before I open it I want +to claim a little further indulgence. + +There is a subject of profound interest to almost every writer, I +might say to almost every human being. No matter what his culture or +ignorance, no matter what his pursuit, no matter what his character, the +subject I refer to is one of which he rarely ceases to think, and, if +opportunity is offered, to talk. On this he is eloquent, if on nothing +else. The slow of speech becomes fluent; the torpid listener becomes +electric with vivacity, and alive all over with interest. + +The sagacious reader knows well what is coming after this prelude. He +is accustomed to the phrases with which the plausible visitor, who has a +subscription book in his pocket, prepares his victim for the depressing +disclosure of his real errand. He is not unacquainted with the +conversational amenities of the cordial and interesting stranger, who, +having had the misfortune of leaving his carpet-bag in the cars, or of +having his pocket picked at the station, finds himself without the means +of reaching that distant home where affluence waits for him with its +luxurious welcome, but to whom for the moment the loan of some five and +twenty dollars would be a convenience and a favor for which his heart +would ache with gratitude during the brief interval between the loan and +its repayment. + +I wish to say a few words in my own person relating to some passages in +my own history, and more especially to some of the recent experiences +through which I have been passing. + +What can justify one in addressing himself to the general public as if +it were his private correspondent? There are at least three sufficient +reasons: first, if he has a story to tell that everybody wants to +hear,--if he has been shipwrecked, or has been in a battle, or has +witnessed any interesting event, and can tell anything new about it; +secondly, if he can put in fitting words any common experiences not +already well told, so that readers will say, “Why, yes! I have had +that sensation, thought, emotion, a hundred times, but I never heard +it spoken of before, and I never saw any mention of it in print;” and +thirdly, anything one likes, provided he can so tell it as to make it +interesting. + +I have no story to tell in this Introduction which can of itself claim +any general attention. My first pages relate the effect of a certain +literary experience upon myself,--a series of partial metempsychoses +of which I have been the subject. Next follows a brief tribute to the +memory of a very dear and renowned friend from whom I have recently been +parted. The rest of the Introduction will be consecrated to the memory +of my birthplace. + +I have just finished a Memoir, which will appear soon after this page is +written, and will have been the subject of criticism long before it is +in the reader's hands. The experience of thinking another man's thoughts +continuously for a long time; of living one's self into another man's +life for a month, or a year, or more, is a very curious one. No matter +how much superior to the biographer his subject may be, the man who +writes the life feels himself, in a certain sense, on the level of the +person whose life he is writing. One cannot fight over the battles of +Marengo or Austerlitz with Napoleon without feeling as if he himself +had a fractional claim to the victory, so real seems the transfer of his +personality into that of the conqueror while he reads. Still more must +this identification of “subject” and “object” take place when one is +writing of a person whose studies or occupations are not unlike his own. + +Here are some of my metempsychoses: Ten years ago I wrote what I called +A Memorial Outline of a remarkable student of nature. He was a born +observer, and such are far from common. He was also a man of great +enthusiasm and unwearying industry. His quick eye detected what others +passed by without notice: the Indian relic, where another would see only +pebbles and fragments; the rare mollusk, or reptile, which his companion +would poke with his cane, never suspecting that there was a prize at the +end of it. Getting his single facts together with marvellous sagacity +and long-breathed patience, he arranged them, classified them, described +them, studied them in their relations, and before those around him were +aware of it the collector was an accomplished naturalist. When--he died +his collections remained, and they still remain, as his record in the +hieratic language of science. In writing this memoir the spirit of his +quiet pursuits, the even temper they bred in him, gained possession of +my own mind, so that I seemed to look at nature through his gold-bowed +spectacles, and to move about his beautifully ordered museum as if I had +myself prepared and arranged its specimens. I felt wise with his wisdom, +fair-minded with his calm impartiality; it seemed as if for the time his +placid, observant, inquiring, keen-sighted nature “slid into my soul,” + and if I had looked at myself in the glass I should almost have expected +to see the image of the Hersey professor whose life and character I was +sketching. + +A few years hater I lived over the life of another friend in writing +a Memoir of which he was the subject. I saw him, the beautiful, +bright-eyed boy, with dark, waving hair; the youthful scholar, first +at Harvard, then at Gottingen and Berlin, the friend and companion of +Bismarck; the young author, making a dash for renown as a novelist, and +showing the elements which made his failures the promise of success in a +larger field of literary labor; the delving historian, burying his fresh +young manhood in the dusty alcoves of silent libraries, to come forth in +the face of Europe and America as one of the leading historians of +the time; the diplomatist, accomplished, of captivating presence and +manners, an ardent American, and in the time of trial an impassioned and +eloquent advocate of the cause of freedom; reaching at last the summit +of his ambition as minister at the Court of Saint James. All this I +seemed to share with him as I tracked his career from his birthplace in +Dorchester, and the house in Walnut Street where he passed his boyhood, +to the palaces of Vienna and London. And then the cruel blow which +struck him from the place he adorned; the great sorrow that darkened his +later years; the invasion of illness, a threat that warned of danger, +and after a period of invalidism, during a part of which I shared his +most intimate daily life, the sudden, hardly unwelcome, final summons. +Did not my own consciousness migrate, or seem, at least, to transfer +itself into this brilliant life history, as I traced its glowing record? +I, too, seemed to feel the delight of carrying with me, as if they were +my own, the charms of a presence which made its own welcome everywhere. +I shared his heroic toils, I partook of his literary and social +triumphs, I was honored by the marks of distinction which gathered about +him, I was wronged by the indignity from which he suffered, mourned with +him in his sorrow, and thus, after I had been living for months with his +memory, I felt as if I should carry a part of his being with me so +long as my self-consciousness might remain imprisoned in the ponderable +elements. + +The years passed away, and the influences derived from the +companionships I have spoken of had blended intimately with my own +current of being. Then there came to me a new experience in my relations +with an eminent member of the medical profession, whom I met habitually +for a long period, and to whose memory I consecrated a few pages as a +prelude to a work of his own, written under very peculiar circumstances. +He was the subject of a slow, torturing, malignant, and almost +necessarily fatal disease. Knowing well that the mind would feed upon +itself if it were not supplied with food from without, he determined +to write a treatise on a subject which had greatly interested him, and +which would oblige him to bestow much of his time and thought upon it, +if indeed he could hold out to finish the work. During the period +while he was engaged in writing it, his wife, who had seemed in perfect +health, died suddenly of pneumonia. Physical suffering, mental distress, +the prospect of death at a near, if uncertain, time always before him, +it was hard to conceive a more terrible strain than that which he had to +endure. When, in the hour of his greatest need, his faithful companion, +the wife of many years of happy union, whose hand had smoothed his +pillow, whose voice had consoled and cheered him, was torn from him +after a few days of illness, I felt that my friend's trial was such that +the cry of the man of many afflictions and temptations might well have +escaped from his lips: “I was at ease, but he hath broken me asunder; he +hath also taken me by my neck and shaken me to pieces, and set me up +for his mark. His archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reins +asunder, and doth not spare; he poureth out my gall upon the ground.” + +I had dreaded meeting him for the first time after this crushing blow. +What a lesson he gave me of patience under sufferings which the fearful +description of the Eastern poet does not picture too vividly! We have +been taught to admire the calm philosophy of Haller, watching his +faltering pulse as he lay dying; we have heard the words of pious +resignation said to have been uttered with his last breath by Addison: +but here was a trial, not of hours, or days, or weeks, but of months, +even years, of cruel pain, and in the midst of its thick darkness the +light of love, which had burned steadily at his bedside, was suddenly +extinguished. + +There were times in which the thought would force itself upon my +consciousness, How long is the universe to look upon this dreadful +experiment of a malarious planet, with its unmeasurable freight of +suffering, its poisonous atmosphere, so sweet to breathe, so sure to +kill in a few scores of years at farthest, and its heart-breaking woes +which make even that brief space of time an eternity? There can be but +one answer that will meet this terrible question, which must arise in +every thinking nature that would fain “justify the ways of God to men.” + So must it be until that + + + “one far-off divine event + To which the whole creation moves” + +has become a reality, and the anthem in which there is no discordant +note shall be joined by a voice from every life made “perfect through +sufferings.” + +Such was the lesson into which I lived in those sad yet placid years of +companionship with my suffering and sorrowing friend, in retracing which +I seemed to find another existence mingled with my own. + +And now for many months I have been living in daily relations of +intimacy with one who seems nearer to me since he has left us than while +he was here in living form and feature. I did not know how difficult a +task I had undertaken in venturing upon a memoir of a man whom all, or +almost all, agree upon as one of the great lights of the New World, and +whom very many regard as an unpredicted Messiah. Never before was I so +forcibly reminded of Carlyle's description of the work of a newspaper +editor,--that threshing of straw already thrice beaten by the flails of +other laborers in the same field. What could be said that had not been +said of “transcendentalism” and of him who was regarded as its prophet; +of the poet whom some admired without understanding, a few understood, +or thought they did, without admiring, and many both understood and +admired,--among these there being not a small number who went far beyond +admiration, and lost themselves in devout worship? While one exalted him +as “the greatest man that ever lived,” another, a friend, famous in the +world of letters, wrote expressly to caution me against the danger +of overrating a writer whom he is content to recognize as an American +Montaigne, and nothing more. + +After finishing this Memoir, which has but just left my hands, I would +gladly have let my brain rest for a while. The wide range of thought +which belonged to the subject of the Memoir, the occasional mysticism +and the frequent tendency toward it, the sweep of imagination and the +sparkle of wit which kept his reader's mind on the stretch, the union +of prevailing good sense with exceptional extravagances, the modest +audacity of a nature that showed itself in its naked truthfulness and +was not ashamed, the feeling that I was in the company of a sibylline +intelligence which was discounting the promises of the remote future +long before they were due,--all this made the task a grave one. But when +I found myself amidst the vortices of uncounted, various, bewildering +judgments, Catholic and Protestant, orthodox and liberal, scholarly from +under the tree of knowledge and instinctive from over the potato-hill; +the passionate enthusiasm of young adorers and the cool, if not cynical, +estimate of hardened critics, all intersecting each other as they +whirled, each around its own centre, I felt that it was indeed very +difficult to keep the faculties clear and the judgment unbiassed. + +It is a great privilege to have lived so long in the society of such a +man. “He nothing common” said, “or mean.” He was always the same pure +and high-souled companion. After being with him virtue seemed as natural +to man as its opposite did according to the old theologies. But how to +let one's self down from the high level of such a character to one's own +poor standard? I trust that the influence of this long intellectual and +spiritual companionship never absolutely leaves one who has lived in +it. It may come to him in the form of self-reproach that he falls so +far short of the superior being who has been so long the object of +his contemplation. But it also carries him at times into the other's +personality, so that he finds himself thinking thoughts that are not his +own, using phrases which he has unconsciously borrowed, writing, it may +be, as nearly like his long-studied original as Julio Romano's painting +was like Raphael's; and all this with the unquestioning conviction that +he is talking from his own consciousness in his own natural way. So far +as tones and expressions and habits which belonged to the idiosyncrasy +of the original are borrowed by the student of his life, it is a +misfortune for the borrower. But to share the inmost consciousness of +a noble thinker, to scan one's self in the white light of a pure +and radiant soul,--this is indeed the highest form of teaching and +discipline. + +I have written these few memoirs, and I am grateful for all that they +have taught me. But let me write no more. There are but two biographers +who can tell the story of a man's or a woman's life. One is the person +himself or herself; the other is the Recording Angel. The autobiographer +cannot be trusted to tell the whole truth, though he may tell nothing +but the truth, and the Recording Angel never lets his book go out of +his own hands. As for myself, I would say to my friends, in the Oriental +phrase, “Live forever!” Yes, live forever, and I, at least, shall not +have to wrong your memories by my imperfect record and unsatisfying +commentary. + +In connection with these biographies, or memoirs, more properly, in +which I have written of my departed friends, I hope my readers will +indulge me in another personal reminiscence. I have just lost my dear +and honored contemporary of the last century. A hundred years ago this +day, December 13, 1784, died the admirable and ever to be remembered +Dr. Samuel Johnson. The year 1709 was made ponderous and illustrious +in English biography by his birth. My own humble advent to the world of +protoplasm was in the year 1809 of the present century. Summer was just +ending when those four letters, “son b.” were written under the date +of my birth, August 29th. Autumn had just begun when my great +pre-contemporary entered this un-Christian universe and was made a +member of the Christian church on the same day, for he was born and +baptized on the 18th of September. + +Thus there was established a close bond of relationship between the +great English scholar and writer and myself. Year by year, and almost +month by month, my life has kept pace in this century with his life in +the last century. I had only to open my Boswell at any time, and I knew +just what Johnson at my age, twenty or fifty or seventy, was thinking +and doing; what were his feelings about life; what changes the years +had wrought in his body, his mind, his feelings, his companionships, his +reputation. It was for me a kind of unison between two instruments, both +playing that old familiar air, “Life,”--one a bassoon, if you will, and +the other an oaten pipe, if you care to find an image for it, but still +keeping pace with each other until the players both grew old and gray. +At last the thinner thread of sound is heard by itself, and its deep +accompaniment rolls out its thunder no more. + +I feel lonely now that my great companion and friend of so many years +has left me. I felt more intimately acquainted with him than I do with +many of my living friends. I can hardly remember when I did not know +him. I can see him in his bushy wig, exactly like that of the Reverend +Dr. Samuel Cooper (who died in December, 1783) as Copley painted +him,--he hangs there on my wall, over the revolving bookcase. His ample +coat, too, I see, with its broad flaps and many buttons and generous +cuffs, and beneath it the long, still more copiously buttoned waistcoat, +arching in front of the fine crescentic, almost semi-lunar Falstaffian +prominence, involving no less than a dozen of the above-mentioned +buttons, and the strong legs with their sturdy calves, fitting columns +of support to the massive body and solid, capacious brain enthroned over +it. I can hear him with his heavy tread as he comes in to the Club, and +a gap is widened to make room for his portly figure. “A fine day,” says +Sir Joshua. “Sir,” he answers, “it seems propitious, but the atmosphere +is humid and the skies are nebulous,” at which the great painter smiles, +shifts his trumpet, and takes a pinch of snuff. + +Dear old massive, deep-voiced dogmatist and hypochondriac of the +eighteenth century, how one would like to sit at some ghastly Club, +between you and the bony, “mighty-mouthed,” harsh-toned termagant and +dyspeptic of the nineteenth! The growl of the English mastiff and the +snarl of the Scotch terrier would make a duet which would enliven the +shores of Lethe. I wish I could find our “spiritualist's” paper in the +Portfolio, in which the two are brought together, but I hardly know what +I shall find when it is opened. + +Yes, my life is a little less precious to me since I have lost that dear +old friend; and when the funeral train moves to Westminster Abbey next +Saturday, for I feel as if this were 1784, and not 1884,--I seem to find +myself following the hearse, one of the silent mourners. + +Among the events which have rendered the past year memorable to me +has been the demolition of that venerable and interesting old +dwelling-house, precious for its intimate association with the earliest +stages of the war of the Revolution, and sacred to me as my birthplace +and the home of my boyhood. + +The “Old Gambrel-roofed House” exists no longer. I remember saying +something, in one of a series of papers published long ago, about the +experience of dying out of a house,--of leaving it forever, as the +soul dies out of the body. We may die out of many houses, but the house +itself can die but once; and so real is the life of a house to one who +has dwelt in it, more especially the life of the house which held him +in dreamy infancy, in restless boyhood, in passionate youth,--so real, +I say, is its life, that it seems as if something like a soul of it must +outlast its perishing frame. + +The slaughter of the Old Gambrel-roofed House was, I am ready to admit, +a case of justifiable domicide. Not the less was it to be deplored +by all who love the memories of the past. With its destruction are +obliterated some of the footprints of the heroes and martyrs who took +the first steps in the long and bloody march which led us through the +wilderness to the promised land of independent nationality. Personally, +I have a right to mourn for it as a part of my life gone from me. My +private grief for its loss would be a matter for my solitary digestion, +were it not that the experience through which I have just passed is one +so familiar to my fellow-countrymen that, in telling my own reflections +and feelings, I am repeating those of great numbers of men and women who +have had the misfortune to outlive their birthplace. + +It is a great blessing to be born surrounded by a natural horizon. The +Old Gambrel-roofed House could not boast an unbroken ring of natural +objects encircling it. Northerly it looked upon its own outbuildings and +some unpretending two-story houses which had been its neighbors for a +century and more. To the south of it the square brick dormitories and +the bellfried hall of the university helped to shut out the distant +view. But the west windows gave a broad outlook across the common, +beyond which the historical “Washington elm” and two companions in line +with it, spread their leaves in summer and their networks in winter. And +far away rose the hills that bounded the view, with the glimmer here and +there of the white walls or the illuminated casements of some embowered, +half-hidden villa. Eastwardly also, the prospect was, in my earlier +remembrance, widely open, and I have frequently seen the sunlit sails +gliding along as if through the level fields, for no water was visible. +So there were broad expanses on two sides at least, for my imagination +to wander over. + +I cannot help thinking that we carry our childhood's horizon with us +all our days. Among these western wooded hills my day-dreams built their +fairy palaces, and even now, as I look at them from my library window, +across the estuary of the Charles, I find myself in the familiar home of +my early visions. The “clouds of glory” which we trail with us in after +life need not be traced to a pre-natal state. There is enough to account +for them in that unconsciously remembered period of existence before we +have learned the hard limitations of real life. Those earliest months +in which we lived in sensations without words, and ideas not fettered in +sentences, have all the freshness of proofs of an engraving “before +the letter.” I am very thankful that the first part of my life was not +passed shut in between high walls and treading the unimpressible and +unsympathetic pavement. + +Our university town was very much like the real country, in those +days of which I am thinking. There were plenty of huckleberries and +blueberries within half a mile of the house. Blackberries ripened in the +fields, acorns and shagbarks dropped from the trees, squirrels ran among +the branches, and not rarely the hen-hawk might be seen circling over +the barnyard. Still another rural element was not wanting, in the form +of that far-diffused, infragrant effluvium, which, diluted by a good +half mile of pure atmosphere, is no longer odious, nay is positively +agreeable, to many who have long known it, though its source and centre +has an unenviable reputation. I need not name the animal whose Parthian +warfare terrifies and puts to flight the mightiest hunter that ever +roused the tiger from his jungle or faced the lion of the desert. +Strange as it may seem, an aerial hint of his personality in the far +distance always awakens in my mind pleasant remembrances and tender +reflections. A whole neighborhood rises up before me: the barn, with +its haymow, where the hens laid their eggs to hatch, and we boys hid our +apples to ripen, both occasionally illustrating the sic vos non vobis; +the shed, where the annual Tragedy of the Pig was acted with a realism +that made Salvini's Othello seem but a pale counterfeit; the rickety old +outhouse, with the “corn-chamber” which the mice knew so well; the paved +yard, with its open gutter,--these and how much else come up at the +hint of my far-off friend, who is my very near enemy. Nothing is more +familiar than the power of smell in reviving old memories. There was +that quite different fragrance of the wood-house, the smell of fresh +sawdust. It comes back to me now, and with it the hiss of the saw; the +tumble of the divorced logs which God put together and man has just put +asunder; the coming down of the axe and the hah! that helped it,--the +straight-grained stick opening at the first appeal of the implement as +if it were a pleasure, and the stick with a knot in the middle of it +that mocked the blows and the hahs! until the beetle and wedge made it +listen to reason,--there are just such straight-grained and just such +knotty men and women. All this passes through my mind while Biddy, whose +parlor-name is Angela, contents herself with exclaiming “egh!*******!” + +How different distances were in those young days of which I am thinking! +From the old house to the old yellow meeting-house, where the head of +the family preached and the limbs of the family listened, was not much +more than two or three times the width of Commonwealth Avenue. But of +a hot summer's afternoon, after having already heard one sermon, +which could not in the nature of things have the charm of novelty of +presentation to the members of the home circle, and the theology of +which was not too clear to tender apprehensions; with three hymns more +or less lugubrious, rendered by a village-choir, got into voice by many +preliminary snuffles and other expiratory efforts, and accompanied by +the snort of a huge bassviol which wallowed through the tune like a +hippopotamus, with other exercises of the customary character,--after +all this in the forenoon, the afternoon walk to the meeting-house in the +hot sun counted for as much, in my childish dead-reckoning, as from old +Israel Porter's in Cambridge to the Exchange Coffeehouse in Boston +did in after years. It takes a good while to measure the radius of the +circle that is about us, for the moon seems at first as near as the +watchface. Who knows but that, after a certain number of ages, the +planet we live on may seem to us no bigger than our neighbor Venus +appeared when she passed before the sun a few months ago, looking as +if we could take her between our thumb and finger, like a bullet or a +marble? And time, too; how long was it from the serious sunrise to the +joyous “sun-down” of an old-fashioned, puritanical, judaical first day +of the week, which a pious fraud christened “the Sabbath”? Was it a +fortnight, as we now reckon duration, or only a week? Curious entities, +or non-entities, space and tithe? When you see a metaphysician trying to +wash his hands of them and get rid of these accidents, so as to lay his +dry, clean palm on the absolute, does it not remind you of the hopeless +task of changing the color of the blackamoor by a similar proceeding? +For space is the fluid in which he is washing, and time is the soap +which he is using up in the process, and he cannot get free from them +until he can wash himself in a mental vacuum. + +In my reference to the old house in a former paper, published years ago, +I said, + +“By and by the stony foot of the great University will plant itself +on this whole territory, and the private recollections which clung so +tenaciously to the place and its habitations will have died with those +who cherished them.” + +What strides the great University has taken since those words were +written! During all my early years our old Harvard Alma Mater sat still +and lifeless as the colossi in the Egyptian desert. Then all at once, +like the statue in Don Giovanni, she moved from her pedestal. The fall +of that “stony foot” has effected a miracle like the harp that Orpheus +played, like the teeth which Cadmus sowed. The plain where the moose and +the bear were wandering while Shakespeare was writing Hamlet, where a +few plain dormitories and other needed buildings were scattered about +in my school-boy days, groans under the weight of the massive edifices +which have sprung up all around them, crowned by the tower of that noble +structure which stands in full view before me as I lift my eyes from the +portfolio on the back of which I am now writing. + +For I must be permitted to remind you that I have not yet opened it. I +have told you that I have just finished a long memoir, and that it has +cost me no little labor to overcome some of its difficulties,--if I have +overcome them, which others must decide. And I feel exactly as honest +Dobbin feels when his harness is slipped off after a long journey with +a good deal of up-hill work. He wants to rest a little, then to feed +a little; then, if you will turn him loose in the pasture, he wants to +roll. I have left my starry and ethereal companionship,--not for a +long time, I hope, for it has lifted me above my common self, but for a +while. And now I want, so to speak, to roll in the grass and among the +dandelions with the other pachyderms. So I have kept to the outside of +the portfolio as yet, and am disporting myself in reminiscences, and +fancies, and vagaries, and parentheses. + +How well I understand the feeling which led the Pisans to load their +vessels with earth from the Holy Land, and fill the area of the Campo +Santo with that sacred soil! The old house stood upon about as perverse +a little patch of the planet as ever harbored a half-starved earth-worm. +It was as sandy as Sahara and as thirsty as Tantalus. The rustic +aid-de-camps of the household used to aver that all fertilizing matters +“leached” through it. I tried to disprove their assertion by gorging it +with the best of terrestrial nourishment, until I became convinced that +I was feeding the tea-plants of China, and then I gave over the attempt. +And yet I did love, and do love, that arid patch of ground. I wonder if +a single flower could not be made to grow in a pot of earth from that +Campo Santo of my childhood! One noble product of nature did not +refuse to flourish there,--the tall, stately, beautiful, soft-haired, +many-jointed, generous maize or Indian corn, which thrives on sand and +defies the blaze of our shrivelling summer. What child but loves to +wander in its forest-like depths, amidst the rustling leaves and with +the lofty tassels tossing their heads high above him! There are two +aspects of the cornfield which always impress my imagination: the first +when it has reached its full growth, and its ordered ranks look like an +army on the march with its plumed and bannered battalions; the second +when, after the battle of the harvest, the girdled stacks stand on the +field of slaughter like so many ragged Niobes,--say rather like the +crazy widows and daughters of the dead soldiery. + +Once more let us come back to the old house. It was far along in its +second century when the edict went forth that it must stand no longer. + +The natural death of a house is very much like that of one of its human +tenants. The roof is the first part to show the distinct signs of age. +Slates and tiles loosen and at last slide off, and leave bald the boards +that supported them; shingles darken and decay, and soon the garret or +the attic lets in the rain and the snow; by and by the beams sag, the +floors warp, the walls crack, the paper peels away, the ceilings scale +off and fall, the windows are crusted with clinging dust, the doors drop +from their rusted hinges, the winds come in without knocking and howl +their cruel death-songs through the empty rooms and passages, and at +last there comes a crash, a great cloud of dust rises, and the home that +had been the shelter of generation after generation finds its grave in +its own cellar. Only the chimney remains as its monument. Slowly, little +by little, the patient solvents that find nothing too hard for their +chemistry pick out the mortar from between the bricks; at last a mighty +wind roars around it and rushes against it, and the monumental relic +crashes down among the wrecks it has long survived. So dies a human +habitation left to natural decay, all that was seen above the surface of +the soil sinking gradually below it, + + + Till naught remains the saddening tale to tell + Save home's last wrecks, the cellar and the well. + +But if this sight is saddening, what is it to see a human dwelling fall +by the hand of violence! The ripping off of the shelter that has kept +out a thousand storms, the tearing off of the once ornamental woodwork, +the wrench of the inexorable crowbar, the murderous blows of the axe, +the progressive ruin, which ends by rending all the joints asunder and +flinging the tenoned and mortised timbers into heaps that will be sawed +and split to warm some new habitation as firewood,--what a brutal act of +destruction it seems! + +Why should I go over the old house again, having already described it +more than ten years ago? Alas! how many remember anything they read but +once, and so long ago as that? How many would find it out if one should +say over in the same words that which he said in the last decade? But +there is really no need of telling the story a second time, for it can +be found by those who are curious enough to look it up in a volume of +which it occupies the opening chapter. + +In order, however, to save any inquisitive reader that trouble, let me +remind him that the old house was General Ward's headquarters at the +breaking out of the Revolution; that the plan for fortifying Bunker's +Hill was laid, as commonly believed, in the southeast lower room, the +floor of which was covered with dents, made, it was alleged, by the +butts of the soldiers' muskets. In that house, too, General Warren +probably passed the night before the Bunker Hill battle, and over its +threshold must the stately figure of Washington have often cast its +shadow. + +But the house in which one drew his first breath, and where he one day +came into the consciousness that he was a personality, an ego, a little +universe with a sky over him all his own, with a persistent identity, +with the terrible responsibility of a separate, independent, inalienable +existence,--that house does not ask for any historical associations to +make it the centre of the earth for him. + +If there is any person in the world to be envied, it is the one who is +born to an ancient estate, with a long line of family traditions and +the means in his hands of shaping his mansion and his domain to his own +taste, without losing sight of all the characteristic features which +surrounded his earliest years. The American is, for the most part, a +nomad, who pulls down his house as the Tartar pulls up his tent-poles. +If I had an ideal life to plan for him it would be something like this: + +His grandfather should be a wise, scholarly, large-brained, +large-hearted country minister, from whom he should inherit the +temperament that predisposes to cheerfulness and enjoyment, with the +finer instincts which direct life to noble aims and make it rich with +the gratification of pure and elevated tastes and the carrying out of +plans for the good of his neighbors and his fellow-creatures. He should, +if possible, have been born, at any rate have passed some of his early +years, or a large part of them, under the roof of the good old minister. +His father should be, we will say, a business man in one of our great +cities,--a generous manipulator of millions, some of which have adhered +to his private fortunes, in spite of his liberal use of his means. His +heir, our ideally placed American, shall take possession of the old +house, the home of his earliest memories, and preserve it sacredly, +not exactly like the Santa Casa, but, as nearly as may be, just as +he remembers it. He can add as many acres as he will to the narrow +house-lot. He can build a grand mansion for himself, if he chooses, in +the not distant neighborhood. But the old house, and all immediately +round it, shall be as he recollects it when he had to stretch his little +arm up to reach the door-handles. Then, having well provided for his +own household, himself included, let him become the providence of the +village or the town where he finds himself during at least a portion +of every year. Its schools, its library, its poor,--and perhaps the new +clergyman who has succeeded his grandfather's successor may be one of +them,--all its interests, he shall make his own. And from this centre +his beneficence shall radiate so far that all who hear of his wealth +shall also hear of him as a friend to his race. + +Is not this a pleasing programme? Wealth is a steep hill, which the +father climbs slowly and the son often tumbles down precipitately; but +there is a table-land on a level with it, which may be found by those +who do not lose their head in looking down from its sharply cloven +summit.---Our dangerously rich men can make themselves hated, held as +enemies of the race, or beloved and recognized as its benefactors. +The clouds of discontent are threatening, but if the gold-pointed +lightning-rods are rightly distributed the destructive element may be +drawn off silently and harmlessly. For it cannot be repeated too often +that the safety of great wealth with us lies in obedience to the new +version of the Old World axiom, RICHESS oblige. + + + + + + + + + + + +THE NEW PORTFOLIO: FIRST OPENING. + + + + +A MORTAL ANTIPATHY. + + + + +I. GETTING READY. + +It is impossible to begin a story which must of necessity tax the powers +of belief of readers unacquainted with the class of facts to which its +central point of interest belongs without some words in the nature of +preparation. Readers of Charles Lamb remember that Sarah Battle insisted +on a clean-swept hearth before sitting down to her favorite game of +whist. + +The narrator wishes to sweep the hearth, as it were, in these opening +pages, before sitting down to tell his story. He does not intend to +frighten the reader away by prolix explanation, but he does mean to warn +him against hasty judgments when facts are related which are not within +the range of every-day experience. Did he ever see the Siamese twins, or +any pair like them? Probably not, yet he feels sure that Chang and +Eng really existed; and if he has taken the trouble to inquire, he has +satisfied himself that similar cases have been recorded by credible +witnesses, though at long intervals and in countries far apart from each +other. + +This is the first sweep of the brush, to clear the hearth of the +skepticism and incredulity which must be got out of the way before we +can begin to tell and to listen in peace with ourselves and each other. + +One more stroke of the brush is needed before the stage will be ready +for the chief characters and the leading circumstances to which the +reader's attention is invited. If the principal personages made their +entrance at once, the reader would have to create for himself the whole +scenery of their surrounding conditions. In point of fact, no matter +how a story is begun, many of its readers have already shaped its chief +actors out of any hint the author may have dropped, and provided from +their own resources a locality and a set of outward conditions to +environ these imagined personalities. These are all to be brushed away, +and the actual surroundings of the subject of the narrative represented +as they were, at the risk of detaining the reader a little while from +the events most likely to interest him. The choicest egg that ever +was laid was not so big as the nest that held it. If a story were so +interesting that a maiden would rather hear it than listen to the praise +of her own beauty, or a poet would rather read it than recite his +own verses, still it would have to be wrapped in some tissue of +circumstance, or it would lose half its effectiveness. + +It may not be easy to find the exact locality referred to in this +narrative by looking into the first gazetteer that is at hand. Recent +experiences have shown that it is unsafe to be too exact in designating +places and the people who live in them. There are, it may be added, +so many advertisements disguised under the form of stories and other +literary productions that one naturally desires to avoid the suspicion +of being employed by the enterprising proprietors of this or that +celebrated resort to use his gifts for their especial benefit. There are +no doubt many persons who remember the old sign and the old tavern and +its four chief personages presently to be mentioned. It is to be hoped +that they will not furnish the public with a key to this narrative, +and perhaps bring trouble to the writer of it, as has happened to other +authors. If the real names are a little altered, it need not interfere +with the important facts relating to those who bear them. It might not +be safe to tell a damaging story about John or James Smythe; but if +the slight change is made of spelling the name Smith, the Smythes would +never think of bringing an action, as if the allusion related to any of +them. The same gulf of family distinction separates the Thompsons with a +p from the Thomsons without that letter. + +There are few pleasanter places in the Northern States for a summer +residence than that known from the first period of its settlement by the +name of Arrowhead Village. The Indians had found it out, as the relics +they left behind them abundantly testified. The commonest of these were +those chipped stones which are the medals of barbarism, and from +which the place took its name,--the heads of arrows, of various sizes, +material, and patterns: some small enough for killing fish and little +birds, some large enough for such game as the moose and the bear, to say +nothing of the hostile Indian and the white settler; some of flint, now +and then one of white quartz, and others of variously colored jasper. +The Indians must have lived here for many generations, and it must have +been a kind of factory village of the stone age,--which lasted up to +near the present time, if we may judge from the fact that many of these +relics are met with close to the surface of the ground. + +No wonder they found this a pleasant residence, for it is to-day one +of the most attractive of all summer resorts; so inviting, indeed, that +those who know it do not like to say too much about it, lest the swarms +of tourists should make it unendurable to those who love it for itself, +and not as a centre of fashionable display and extramural cockneyism. + +There is the lake, in the first place,--Cedar Lake,--about five miles +long, and from half a mile to a mile and a half wide, stretching +from north to south. Near the northern extremity are the buildings of +Stoughton University, a flourishing young college with an ambitious +name, but well equipped and promising, the grounds of which reach the +water. At the southern end of the lake are the edifices of the Corinna +Institute, a favorite school for young ladies, where large numbers of +the daughters of America are fitted, so far as education can do it, for +all stations in life, from camping out with a husband at the mines in +Nevada to acting the part of chief lady of the land in the White House +at Washington. + +Midway between the two extremities, on the eastern shore of the lake, +is a valley between two hills, which come down to the very edge of the +lake, leaving only room enough for a road between their base and the +water. This valley, half a mile in width, has been long settled, and +here for a century or more has stood the old Anchor Tavern. A famous +place it was so long as its sign swung at the side of the road: famous +for its landlord, portly, paternal, whose welcome to a guest that +looked worthy of the attention was like that of a parent to a returning +prodigal, and whose parting words were almost as good as a marriage +benediction; famous for its landlady, ample in person, motherly, seeing +to the whole household with her own eyes, mistress of all culinary +secrets that Northern kitchens are most proud of; famous also for its +ancient servant, as city people would call her,--help, as she was called +in the tavern and would have called herself,--the unchanging, seemingly +immortal Miranda, who cared for the guests as if she were their nursing +mother, and pressed the specially favorite delicacies on their attention +as a connoisseur calls the wandering eyes of an amateur to the beauties +of a picture. Who that has ever been at the old Anchor Tavern forgets +Miranda's + + + “A little of this fricassee?-it is ver-y nice;” + +or + + + “Some of these cakes? You will find them ver-y good.” + +Nor would it be just to memory to forget that other notable and noted +member of the household,--the unsleeping, unresting, omnipresent Pushee, +ready for everybody and everything, everywhere within the limits of the +establishment at all hours of the day and night. He fed, nobody could +say accurately when or where. There were rumors of a “bunk,” in which he +lay down with his clothes on, but he seemed to be always wide awake, +and at the service of as many guest, at once as if there had been half a +dozen of him. + +So much for old reminiscences. + +The landlord of the Anchor Tavern had taken down his sign. He had had +the house thoroughly renovated and furnished it anew, and kept it open +in summer for a few boarders. It happened more than once that the summer +boarders were so much pleased with the place that they stayed on through +the autumn, and some of them through the winter. The attractions of +the village were really remarkable. Boating in summer, and skating in +winter; ice-boats, too, which the wild ducks could hardly keep up with; +fishing, for which the lake was renowned; varied and beautiful walks +through the valley and up the hillsides; houses sheltered from the north +and northeasterly winds, and refreshed in the hot summer days by +the breeze which came over the water,--all this made the frame for a +pleasing picture of rest and happiness. But there was a great deal more +than this. There was a fine library in the little village, presented +and richly endowed by a wealthy native of the place. There was a small +permanent population of a superior character to that of an everyday +country town; there was a pretty little Episcopal church, with a +good-hearted rector, broad enough for the Bishop of the diocese to be +a little afraid of, and hospitable to all outsiders, of whom, in the +summer season, there were always some who wanted a place of worship to +keep their religion from dying out during the heathen months, while +the shepherds of the flocks to which they belonged were away from their +empty folds. + +What most helped to keep the place alive all through the year was +the frequent coming together of the members of a certain literary +association. Some time before the tavern took down its sign the landlord +had built a hall, where many a ball had been held, to which the young +folks of all the country round had resorted. It was still sometimes used +for similar occasions, but it was especially notable as being the place +of meeting of the famous PANSOPHIAN SOCIETY. + +This association, the name of which might be invidiously interpreted as +signifying that its members knew everything, had no such pretensions, +but, as its Constitution said very plainly and modestly, held itself +open to accept knowledge on any and all subjects from such as had +knowledge to impart. Its President was the rector of the little chapel, +a man who, in spite of the Thirty-Nine Articles, could stand fire from +the widest-mouthed heretical blunderbuss without flinching or losing +his temper. The hall of the old Anchor Tavern was a convenient place +of meeting for the students and instructors of the University and +the Institute. Sometimes in boat-loads, sometimes in carriage-loads, +sometimes in processions of skaters, they came to the meetings in +Pansophian Hall, as it was now commonly called. + +These meetings had grown to be occasions of great interest. It was +customary to have papers written by members of the Society, for the +most part, but now and then by friends of the members, sometimes by +the students of the College or the Institute, and in rarer instances +by anonymous personages, whose papers, having been looked over and +discussed by the Committee appointed for that purpose, were thought +worth listening to. The variety of topics considered was very great. +The young ladies of the village and the Institute had their favorite +subjects, the young gentlemen a different set of topics, and the +occasional outside contributors their own; so that one who happened +to be admitted to a meeting never knew whether he was going to hear an +account of recent arctic discoveries, or an essay on the freedom of the +will, or a psychological experience, or a story, or even a poem. + +Of late there had been a tendency to discuss the questions relating to +the true status and the legitimate social functions of woman. The most +conflicting views were held on the subject. Many of the young ladies +and some of the University students were strong in defence of all the +“woman's rights” doctrines. Some of these young people were extreme +in their views. They had read about Semiramis and Boadicea and Queen +Elizabeth, until they were ready, if they could get the chance, to +vote for a woman as President of the United States or as General of +the United States Army. They were even disposed to assert the physical +equality of woman to man, on the strength of the rather questionable +history of the Amazons, and especially of the story, believed to be +authentic, of the female body-guard of the King of Dahomey,--females +frightful enough to need no other weapon than their looks to scare off +an army of Cossacks. + +Miss Lurida Vincent, gold medallist of her year at the Corinna +Institute, was the leader of these advocates of virile womanhood. It was +rather singular that she should have elected to be the apostle of this +extreme doctrine, for she was herself far better equipped with +brain than muscles. In fact, she was a large-headed, large-eyed, +long-eyelashed, slender-necked, slightly developed young woman; looking +almost like a child at an age when many of the girls had reached their +full stature and proportions. In her studies she was so far in advance +of her different classes that there was always a wide gap between her +and the second scholar. So fatal to all rivalry had she proved herself +that she passed under the school name of The Terror. She learned so +easily that she undervalued her own extraordinary gifts, and felt the +deepest admiration for those of her friends endowed with faculties of an +entirely different and almost opposite nature. After sitting at her desk +until her head was hot and her feet were like ice, she would go and look +at the blooming young girls exercising in the gymnasium of the school, +and feel as if she would give all her knowledge, all her mathematics and +strange tongues and history, all those accomplishments that made her the +encyclopaedia of every class she belonged to, if she could go through +the series of difficult and graceful exercises in which she saw her +schoolmates delighting. + +One among them, especially, was the object of her admiration, as she was +of all who knew her exceptional powers in the line for which nature had +specially organized her. All the physical perfections which Miss Lurida +had missed had been united in Miss Euthymia Tower, whose school name was +The Wonder. Though of full womanly stature, there were several taller +girls of her age. While all her contours and all her movements betrayed +a fine muscular development, there was no lack of proportion, and her +finely shaped hands and feet showed that her organization was one of +those carefully finished masterpieces of nature which sculptors are +always in search of, and find it hard to detect among the imperfect +products of the living laboratory. + +This girl of eighteen was more famous than she cared to be for her +performances in the gymnasium. She commonly contented herself with +the same exercises that her companions were accustomed to. Only her +dumb-bells, with which she exercised easily and gracefully, were too +heavy for most of the girls to do more with than lift them from the +floor. She was fond of daring feats on the trapeze, and had to be +checked in her indulgence in them. The Professor of gymnastics at the +University came over to the Institute now and then, and it was a source +of great excitement to watch some of the athletic exercises in which the +young lady showed her remarkable muscular strength and skill in managing +herself in the accomplishment of feats which looked impossible at first +sight. How often The Terror had thought to herself that she would gladly +give up all her knowledge of Greek and the differential and integral +calculus if she could only perform the least of those feats which were +mere play to The Wonder! Miss Euthymia was not behind the rest in her +attainments in classical or mathematical knowledge, and she was one of +the very best students in the out-door branches,--botany, mineralogy, +sketching from nature,--to be found among the scholars of the Institute. + +There was an eight-oared boat rowed by a crew of the young ladies, of +which Miss Euthymia was the captain and pulled the bow oar. Poor little +Lurida could not pull an oar, but on great occasions, when there were +many boats out, she was wanted as coxswain, being a mere feather-weight, +and quick-witted enough to serve well in the important office where +brains are more needed than muscle. + +There was also an eight-oared boat belonging to the University, and +rowed by a picked crew of stalwart young fellows. The bow oar and +captain of the University crew was a powerful young man, who, like the +captain of the girls' boat, was a noted gymnast. He had had one or two +quiet trials with Miss Euthymia, in which, according to the ultras of +the woman's rights party, he had not vindicated the superiority of his +sex in the way which might have been expected. Indeed, it was claimed +that he let a cannon-ball drop when he ought to have caught it, and +it was not disputed that he had been ingloriously knocked over by a +sand-bag projected by the strong arms of the young maiden. This was of +course a story that was widely told and laughingly listened to, and +the captain of the University crew had become a little sensitive on +the subject. When there was a talk, therefore, about a race between the +champion boats of the two institutions there was immense excitement in +both of them, as well as among the members of the Pansophian Society and +all the good people of the village. + +There were many objections to be overcome. Some thought it unladylike +for the young maidens to take part in a competition which must attract +many lookers-on, and which it seemed to them very hoidenish to venture +upon. Some said it was a shame to let a crew of girls try their strength +against an equal number of powerful young men. These objections were +offset by the advocates of the race by the following arguments. They +maintained that it was no more hoidenish to row a boat than it was to +take a part in the calisthenic exercises, and that the girls had nothing +to do with the young men's boat, except to keep as much ahead of it as +possible. As to strength, the woman's righters believed that, weight +for weight, their crew was as strong as the other, and of course due +allowance would be made for the difference of weight and all other +accidental hindrances. It was time to test the boasted superiority +of masculine muscle. Here was a chance. If the girls beat, the whole +country would know it, and after that female suffrage would be only +a question of time. Such was the conclusion, from rather insufficient +premises, it must be confessed; but if nature does nothing per +saltum,--by jumps,--as the old adage has it, youth is very apt to take +long leaps from a fact to a possible sequel or consequence. So it had +come about that a contest between the two boat-crews was looked forward +to with an interest almost equal to that with which the combat between +the Horatii and Curiatii was regarded. + +The terms had been at last arranged between the two crews, after +cautious protocols and many diplomatic discussions. It was so novel in +its character that it naturally took a good deal of time to adjust it +in such a way as to be fair to both parties. The course must not be too +long for the lighter and weaker crew, for the staying power of the young +persons who made it up could not be safely reckoned upon. A certain +advantage must be allowed them at the start, and this was a delicate +matter to settle. The weather was another important consideration. June +would be early enough, in all probability, and if the lake should be +tolerably smooth the grand affair might come off some time in that +month. Any roughness of the water would be unfavorable to the weaker +crew. The rowing-course was on the eastern side of the lake, the +starting-point being opposite the Anchor Tavern; from that three +quarters of a mile to the south, where the turning-stake was fixed, so +that the whole course of one mile and a half would bring the boats back +to their starting-point. + +The race was to be between the Algonquin, eight-oared boat with +outriggers, rowed by young men, students of Stoughton University, and +the Atalanta, also eight-oared and outrigger boat, by young ladies from +the Corinna Institute. Their boat was three inches wider than the other, +for various sufficient reasons, one of which was to make it a little +less likely to go over and throw its crew into the water, which was a +sound precaution, though all the girls could swim, and one at least, the +bow oar, was a famous swimmer, who had pulled a drowning man out of the +water after a hard struggle to keep him from carrying her down with him. + +Though the coming trial had not been advertised in the papers, so as to +draw together a rabble of betting men and ill-conditioned lookers-on, +there was a considerable gathering, made up chiefly of the villagers +and the students of the two institutions. Among them were a few who were +disposed to add to their interest in the trial by small wagers. The bets +were rather in favor of the “Quins,” as the University boat was commonly +called, except where the natural sympathy of the young ladies or the +gallantry of some of the young men led them to risk their gloves or +cigars, or whatever it might be, on the Atalantas. The elements of +judgment were these: average weight of the Algonquins one hundred and +sixty-five pounds; average weight of the Atalantas, one hundred and +forty-eight pounds; skill in practice about equal; advantage of the +narrow boat equal to three lengths; whole distance allowed the Atalantas +eight lengths,--a long stretch to be made up in a mile and a half. And +so both crews began practising for the grand trial. + + + + + + +II. THE BOAT-RACE. + +The 10th of June was a delicious summer day, rather warm, but still and +bright. The water was smooth, and the crews were in the best possible +condition. All was expectation, and for some time nothing but +expectation. No boat-race or regatta ever began at the time appointed +for the start. Somebody breaks an oar, or somebody fails to appear in +season, or something is the matter with a seat or an outrigger; or if +there is no such excuse, the crew of one or both or all the boats to +take part in the race must paddle about to get themselves ready for +work, to the infinite weariness of all the spectators, who naturally ask +why all this getting ready is not attended to beforehand. The Algonquins +wore plain gray flannel suits and white caps. The young ladies were all +in dark blue dresses, touched up with a red ribbon here and there, and +wore light straw hats. The little coxswain of the Atalanta was the last +to step on board. As she took her place she carefully deposited at her +feet a white handkerchief wrapped about something or other, perhaps a +sponge, in case the boat should take in water. + +At last the Algonquin shot out from the little nook where she lay, +--long, narrow, shining, swift as a pickerel when he darts from the +reedy shore. It was a beautiful sight to see the eight young fellows in +their close-fitting suits, their brown muscular arms bare, bending their +backs for the stroke and recovering, as if they were parts of a single +machine. + +“The gals can't stan' it agin them fellers,” said the old blacksmith +from the village. + +“You wait till the gals get a-goin',” said the carpenter, who had often +worked in the gymnasium of the Corinna Institute, and knew something of +their muscular accomplishments. “Y' ought to see 'em climb ropes, and +swing dumb-bells, and pull in them rowin'-machines. Ask Jake there +whether they can't row a mild in double-quick time,--he knows all abaout +it.” + +Jake was by profession a fisherman, and a freshwater fisherman in a +country village is inspector-general of all that goes on out-of-doors, +being a lazy, wandering sort of fellow, whose study of the habits and +habitats of fishes gives him a kind of shrewdness of observation, just +as dealing in horses is an education of certain faculties, and breeds a +race of men peculiarly cunning, suspicious, wary, and wide awake, with a +rhetoric of appreciation and depreciation all its own. + +Jake made his usual preliminary signal, and delivered himself to the +following effect: + +“Wahl, I don' know jest what to say. I've seed 'em both often enough +when they was practisin', an' I tell ye the' wa'n't no slouch abaout +neither on 'em. But them bats is all-fired long, 'n' eight on 'em +stretched in a straight line eendways makes a consid'able piece aout 'f +a mile 'n' a haaf. I'd bate on them gals if it wa'n't that them fellers +is naterally longer winded, as the gals 'll find aout by the time they +git raound the stake 'n' over agin the big ellum. I'll go ye a quarter +on the pahnts agin the petticoats.” + +The fresh-water fisherman had expressed the prevailing belief that the +young ladies were overmatched. Still there were not wanting those who +thought the advantage allowed the “Lantas,” as they called the Corinna +boatcrew, was too great, and that it would be impossible for the “Quins” + to make it up and go by them. + +The Algonquins rowed up and down a few times before the spectators. They +appeared in perfect training, neither too fat nor too fine, mettlesome +as colts, steady as draught-horses, deep-breathed as oxen, disciplined +to work together as symmetrically as a single sculler pulls his pair of +oars. The fisherman offered to make his quarter fifty cents. No takers. + +Five minutes passed, and all eyes were strained to the south, looking +for the Atalanta. A clump of trees hid the edge of the lake along which +the Corinna's boat was stealing towards the starting-point. Presently +the long shell swept into view, with its blooming rowers, who, with +their ample dresses, seemed to fill it almost as full as Raphael fills +his skiff on the edge of the Lake of Galilee. But how steadily the +Atalanta came on!---no rocking, no splashing, no apparent strain; the +bow oar turning to look ahead every now and then, and watching her +course, which seemed to be straight as an arrow, the beat of the strokes +as true and regular as the pulse of the healthiest rower among them +all. And if the sight of the other boat and its crew was beautiful, how +lovely was the look of this! Eight young girls,--young ladies, for those +who prefer that more dignified and less attractive expression,--all +in the flush of youth, all in vigorous health; every muscle taught its +duty; each rower alert, not to be a tenth of a second out of time, +or let her oar dally with the water so as to lose an ounce of its +propelling virtue; every eye kindling with the hope of victory. Each +of the boats was cheered as it came in sight, but the cheers for the +Atalanta were naturally the loudest, as the gallantry of one sex and the +clear, high voices of the other gave it life and vigor. + +“Take your places!” shouted the umpire, five minutes before the half +hour. The two boats felt their way slowly and cautiously to their +positions, which had been determined by careful measurement. After a +little backing and filling they got into line, at the proper distance +from each other, and sat motionless, their bodies bent forward, their +arms outstretched, their oars in the water, waiting for the word. + +“Go!” shouted the umpire. + +Away sprang the Atalanta, and far behind her leaped the Algonquin, +her oars bending like so many long Indian bows as their blades flashed +through the water. + +“A stern chase is a long chase,” especially when one craft is a great +distance behind the other. It looked as if it would be impossible for +the rear boat to overcome the odds against it. Of course the Algonquin +kept gaining, but could it possibly gain enough? That was the question. +As the boats got farther and farther away, it became more and more +difficult to determine what change there was in the interval between +them. But when they came to rounding the stake it was easier to guess at +the amount of space which had been gained. It was clear that something +like half the distance, four lengths, as nearly as could be estimated, +had been made up in rowing the first three quarters of a mile. Could +the Algonquins do a little better than this in the second half of the +race-course, they would be sure of winning. + +The boats had turned the stake, and were coming in rapidly. Every minute +the University boat was getting nearer the other. + +“Go it, Quins!” shouted the students. + +“Pull away, Lantas!” screamed the girls, who were crowding down to the +edge of the water. + +Nearer,--nearer,--the rear boat is pressing the other more and more +closely,--a few more strokes, and they will be even, for there is but +one length between them, and thirty rods will carry them to the line. +It looks desperate for the Atalantas. The bow oar of the Algonquin turns +his head. He sees the little coxswain leaning forward at every stroke, +as if her trivial weight were of such mighty consequence,--but a few +ounces might turn the scale of victory. As he turned he got a glimpse of +the stroke oar of the Atalanta. What a flash of loveliness it was! Her +face was like the reddest of June roses, with the heat and the +strain and the passion of expected triumph. The upper button of her +close-fitting flannel suit had strangled her as her bosom heaved with +exertion, and it had given way before the fierce clutch she made at it. +The bow oar was a staunch and steady rower, but he was human. The blade +of his oar lingered in the water; a little more and he would have caught +a crab, and perhaps lost the race by his momentary bewilderment. + +The boat, which seemed as if it had all the life and nervousness of a +Derby three-year-old, felt the slight check, and all her men bent more +vigorously to their oars. The Atalantas saw the movement, and made a +spurt to keep their lead and gain upon it if they could. It was of +no use. The strong arms of the young men were too much for the young +maidens; only a few lengths remained to be rowed, and they would +certainly pass the Atalanta before she could reach the line. + +The little coxswain saw that it was all up with the girls' crew if she +could not save them by some strategic device. + + + “Dolus an virtus quis in hoste requirat?” + +she whispered to herself,--for The Terror remembered her Virgil as she +did everything else she ever studied. As she stooped, she lifted the +handkerchief at her feet, and took from it a flaming bouquet. “Look!” + she cried, and flung it just forward of the track of the Algonquin. The +captain of the University boat turned his head, and there was the lovely +vision which had a moment before bewitched him. The owner of all that +loveliness must, he thought, have flung the bouquet. It was a challenge: +how could he be such a coward as to decline accepting it. + +He was sure he could win the race now, and he would sweep past the line +in triumph with the great bunch of flowers at the stem of his boat, +proud as Van Tromp in the British channel with the broom at his +mast-head. + +He turned the boat's head a little by backing water. He came up with the +floating flowers, and near enough to reach them. He stooped and snatched +them up, with the loss perhaps of a second in all,--no more. He felt +sure of his victory. + +How can one tell the story of the finish in cold-blooded preterites? +Are we not there ourselves? Are not our muscles straining with those of +these sixteen young creatures, full of hot, fresh blood, their nerves +all tingling like so many tight-strained harp-strings, all their life +concentrating itself in this passionate moment of supreme effort? No! We +are seeing, not telling about what somebody else once saw! + +--The bow of the Algonquin passes the stern of the Atalanta! + +--The bow of the Algonquin is on a level with the middle of the +Atalanta! + +--Three more lengths' rowing and the college crew will pass the girls! + +--“Hurrah for the Quins!” The Algonquin ranges up alongside of the +Atalanta! + +“Through with her!” shouts the captain of the Algonquin. + +“Now, girls!” shrieks the captain of the Atalanta. + +They near the line, every rower straining desperately, almost madly. + +--Crack goes the oar of the Atalanta's captain, and up flash its +splintered fragments, as the stem of her boat springs past the line, +eighteen inches at least ahead of the Algonquin. + +Hooraw for the Lantas! Hooraw for the Girls! Hooraw for the Institoot! +shout a hundred voices. + +“Hurrah for woman's rights and female suffrage!” pipes the small voice +of The Terror, and there is loud laughing and cheering all round. + +She had not studied her classical dictionary and her mythology for +nothing. “I have paid off one old score,” she said. “Set down my damask +roses against the golden apples of Hippomenes!” + +It was that one second lost in snatching up the bouquet which gave the +race to the Atalantas. + + + + + + +III. THE WHITE CANOE. + +While the two boats were racing, other boats with lookers-on in them +were rowing or sailing in the neighborhood of the race-course. The scene +on the water was a gay one, for the young people in the boats were, many +of them, acquainted with each other. There was a good deal of lively +talk until the race became too exciting. Then many fell silent, until, +as the boats neared the line, and still more as they crossed it, the +shouts burst forth which showed how a cramp of attention finds its +natural relief in a fit of convulsive exclamation. + +But far away, on the other side of the lake, a birchbark canoe was to be +seen, in which sat a young man, who paddled it skillfully and swiftly. +It was evident enough that he was watching the race intently, but the +spectators could see little more than that. One of them, however, who +sat upon the stand, had a powerful spy-glass, and could distinguish his +motions very minutely and exactly. It was seen by this curious observer +that the young man had an opera-glass with him, which he used a good +deal at intervals. The spectator thought he kept it directed to the +girls' boat, chiefly, if not exclusively. He thought also that the +opera-glass was more particularly pointed towards the bow of the boat, +and came to the natural conclusion that the bow oar, Miss Euthymia +Tower, captain of the Atalantas, “The Wonder” of the Corinna Institute, +was the attraction which determined the direction of the instrument. + +“Who is that in the canoe over there?” asked the owner of the spy-glass. + +“That's just what we should like to know,” answered the old landlord's +wife. “He and his man boarded with us when they first came, but we could +never find out anything about him only just his name and his ways of +living. His name is Kirkwood, Maurice Kirkwood, Esq., it used to come +on his letters. As for his ways of living, he was the solitariest human +being that I ever came across. His man carried his meals up to him. He +used to stay in his room pretty much all day, but at night he would be +off, walking, or riding on horseback, or paddling about in the lake, +sometimes till nigh morning. There's something very strange about that +Mr. Kirkwood. But there don't seem to be any harm in him. Only nobody +can guess what his business is. They got up a story about him at one +time. What do you think? They said he was a counterfeiter! And so they +went one night to his room, when he was out, and that man of his was +away too, and they carried keys, and opened pretty much everything; and +they found--well, they found just nothing at all except writings and +letters,--letters from places in America and in England, and some with +Italian postmarks: that was all. Since that time the sheriff and +his folks have let him alone and minded their own business. He was a +gentleman,--anybody ought to have known that; and anybody that knew +about his nice ways of living and behaving, and knew the kind of wear he +had for his underclothing, might have known it. I could have told those +officers that they had better not bother him. I know the ways of real +gentlemen and real ladies, and I know those fellows in store clothes +that look a little too fine,--outside. Wait till washing-day comes!” + +The good lady had her own standards for testing humanity, and they were +not wholly unworthy of consideration; they were quite as much to be +relied on as the judgments of the travelling phrenologist, who sent his +accomplice on before him to study out the principal personages in the +village, and in the light of these revelations interpreted the bumps, +with very little regard to Gall and Spurzheim, or any other authorities. + +Even with the small amount of information obtained by the search among +his papers and effects, the gossips of the village had constructed +several distinct histories for the mysterious stranger. He was an agent +of a great publishing house; a leading contributor to several important +periodicals; the author of that anonymously published novel which had +made so much talk; the poet of a large clothing establishment; a spy of +the Italian, some said the Russian, some said the British, Government; +a proscribed refugee from some country where he had been plotting; a +school-master without a school, a minister without a pulpit, an actor +without an engagement; in short, there was no end to the perfectly +senseless stories that were told about him, from that which made him out +an escaped convict to the whispered suggestion that he was the eccentric +heir to a great English title and estate. + +The one unquestionable fact was that of his extraordinary seclusion. +Nobody in the village, no student in the University, knew his history. +No young lady in the Corinna Institute had ever had a word from +him. Sometimes, as the boats of the University or the Institute were +returning at dusk, their rowers would see the canoe stealing into the +shadows as they drew near it. Sometimes on a moonlight night, when a +party of the young ladies were out upon the lake, they would see the +white canoe gliding ghost-like in the distance. And it had happened more +than once that when a boat's crew had been out with singers among them, +while they were in the midst of a song, the white canoe would suddenly +appear and rest upon the water,--not very near them, but within hearing +distance,--and so remain until the singing was over, when it would steal +away and be lost sight of in some inlet or behind some jutting rock. + +Naturally enough, there was intense curiosity about this young man. The +landlady had told her story, which explained nothing. There was nobody +to be questioned about him except his servant, an Italian, whose name +was Paolo, but who to the village was known as Mr. Paul. + +Mr. Paul would have seemed the easiest person in the world to worm a +secret out of. He was good-natured, child-like as a Heathen Chinee, +talked freely with everybody in such English as he had at command, knew +all the little people of the village, and was followed round by them +partly from his personal attraction for them, and partly because he was +apt to have a stick of candy or a handful of peanuts or other desirable +luxury in his pocket for any of his little friends he met with. He had +that wholesome, happy look, so uncommon in our arid countrymen,--a look +hardly to be found except where figs and oranges ripen in the open air. +A kindly climate to grow up in, a religion which takes your money and +gives you a stamped ticket good at Saint Peter's box office, a roomy +chest and a good pair of lungs in it, an honest digestive apparatus, a +lively temperament, a cheerful acceptance of the place in life assigned +to one by nature and circumstance,--these are conditions under which +life may be quite comfortable to endure, and certainly is very pleasant +to contemplate. All these conditions were united in Paolo. He was the +easiest; pleasantest creature to talk with that one could ask for a +companion. His southern vivacity, his amusing English, his simplicity +and openness, made him friends everywhere. + +It seemed as if it would be a very simple matter to get the history of +his master out of this guileless and unsophisticated being. He had +been tried by all the village experts. The rector had put a number of +well-studied careless questions, which failed of their purpose. The old +librarian of the town library had taken note of all the books he carried +to his master, and asked about his studies and pursuits. Paolo found +it hard to understand his English, apparently, and answered in the most +irrelevant way. The leading gossip of the village tried her skill in +pumping him for information. It was all in vain. + +His master's way of life was peculiar,--in fact, eccentric. He had hired +rooms in an old-fashioned three-story house. He had two rooms in the +second and third stories of this old wooden building: his study in +the second, his sleeping-room in the one above it. Paolo lived in the +basement, where he had all the conveniences for cooking, and played the +part of chef for his master and himself. This was only a part of his +duty, for he was a man-of-all-work, purveyor, steward, chambermaid,--as +universal in his services for one man as Pushee at the Anchor Tavern +used to be for everybody. + +It so happened that Paolo took a severe cold one winter's day, and had +such threatening symptoms that he asked the baker, when he called, to +send the village physician to see him. In the course of his visit the +doctor naturally inquired about the health of Paolo's master. + +“Signor Kirkwood well,--molto bene,” said Paolo. “Why does he keep out +of sight as he does?” asked the doctor. + +“He always so,” replied Paolo. “Una antipatia.” + +Whether Paolo was off his guard with the doctor, whether he revealed it +to him as to a father confessor, or whether he thought it time that the +reason of his master's seclusion should be known, the doctor did not +feel sure. At any rate, Paolo was not disposed to make any further +revelations. Una antipatia,--an antipathy,--that was all the doctor +learned. He thought the matter over, and the more he reflected the +more he was puzzled. What could an antipathy be that made a young man +a recluse! Was it a dread of blue sky and open air, of the smell of +flowers, or some electrical impression to which he was unnaturally +sensitive? + +Dr. Butts carried these questions home with him. His wife was a +sensible, discreet woman, whom he could trust with many professional +secrets. He told her of Paolo's revelation, and talked it over with +her in the light of his experience and her own; for she had known some +curious cases of constitutional likes and aversions. + +Mrs. Butts buried the information in the grave of her memory, where +it lay for nearly a week. At the end of that time it emerged in a +confidential whisper to her favorite sister-in-law, a perfectly safe +person. Twenty-four hours later the story was all over the village that +Maurice Kirkwood was the subject of a strange, mysterious, unheard-of +antipathy to something, nobody knew what; and the whole neighborhood +naturally resolved itself into an unorganized committee of +investigation. + + + + + + +IV. THE YOUNG SOLITARY + +What is a country village without its mysterious personage? Few are now +living who can remember the advent of the handsome young man who was the +mystery of our great university town “sixty years since,”--long enough +ago for a romance to grow out of a narrative, as Waverley may remind us. +The writer of this narrative remembers him well, and is not sure that +he has not told the strange story in some form or other to the last +generation, or to the one before the last. No matter: if he has told it +they have forgotten it,--that is, if they have ever read it; and whether +they have or have not, the story is singular enough to justify running +the risk of repetition. + +This young man, with a curious name of Scandinavian origin, appeared +unheralded in the town, as it was then, of Cantabridge. He wanted +employment, and soon found it in the shape of manual labor, which he +undertook and performed cheerfully. But his whole appearance showed +plainly enough that he was bred to occupations of a very different +nature, if, in deed, he had been accustomed to any kind of toil for his +living. His aspect was that of one of gentle birth. His hands were not +those of a laborer, and his features were delicate and refined, as well +as of remarkable beauty. Who he was, where he came from, why he had +come to Cantabridge, was never clearly explained. He was alone, +without friends, except among the acquaintances he had made in his new +residence. If he had any correspondents, they were not known to the +neighborhood where he was living. But if he had neither friends nor +correspondents, there was some reason for believing that he had enemies. +Strange circumstances occurred which connected themselves with him in +an ominous and unaccountable way. A threatening letter was slipped under +the door of a house where he was visiting. He had a sudden attack of +illness, which was thought to look very much like the effect of poison. +At one time he disappeared, and was found wandering, bewildered, in a +town many miles from that where he was residing. When questioned how he +came there; he told a coherent story that he had been got, under some +pretext, or in some not incredible way, into a boat, from which, at a +certain landing-place, he had escaped and fled for his life, which he +believed was in danger from his kidnappers. + +Whoever his enemies may have been,--if they really existed,--he did not +fall a victim to their plots, so far as known to or remembered by this +witness. + +Various interpretations were put upon his story. Conjectures were as +abundant as they were in the case of Kaspar Hauser. That he was of +good family seemed probable; that he was of distinguished birth, not +impossible; that he was the dangerous rival of a candidate for a greatly +coveted position in one of the northern states of Europe was a favorite +speculation of some of the more romantic young persons. There was no +dramatic ending to this story,--at least none is remembered by the +present writer. + +“He left a name,” like the royal Swede, of whose lineage he may have +been for aught that the village people knew, but not a name at which +anybody “grew pale;” for he had swindled no one, and broken no woman's +heart with false vows. Possibly some withered cheeks may flush faintly +as they recall the handsome young man who came before the Cantabridge +maidens fully equipped for a hero of romance when the century was in its +first quarter. + +The writer has been reminded of the handsome Swede by the incidents +attending the advent of the unknown and interesting stranger who had +made his appearance at Arrowhead Village. + +It was a very insufficient and unsatisfactory reason to assign for the +young man's solitary habits that he was the subject of an antipathy. +For what do we understand by that word? When a young lady screams at +the sight of a spider, we accept her explanation that she has a natural +antipathy to the creature. When a person expresses a repugnance to some +wholesome article of food, agreeable to most people, we are satisfied if +he gives the same reason. And so of various odors, which are pleasing to +some persons and repulsive to others. We do not pretend to go behind +the fact. It is an individual, and it may be a family, peculiarity. Even +between different personalities there is an instinctive elective dislike +as well as an elective affinity. We are not bound to give a reason why +Dr. Fell is odious to us any more than the prisoner who peremptorily +challenges a juryman is bound to say why he does it; it is enough that +he “does not like his looks.” + +There was nothing strange, then, that Maurice Kirkwood should have +his special antipathy; a great many other people have odd likes and +dislikes. But it was a very curious thing that this antipathy should +be alleged as the reason for his singular mode of life. All sorts of +explanations were suggested, not one of them in the least satisfactory, +but serving to keep the curiosity of inquirers active until they were +superseded by a new theory. One story was that Maurice had a great fear +of dogs. It grew at last to a connected narrative, in which a fright +in childhood from a rabid mongrel was said to have given him such +a sensitiveness to the near presence of dogs that he was liable to +convulsions if one came close to him. + +This hypothesis had some plausibility. No other creature would be so +likely to trouble a person who had an antipathy to it. Dogs are very apt +to make the acquaintance of strangers, in a free and easy way. They +are met with everywhere,--in one's daily walk, at the thresholds of the +doors one enters, in the gentleman's library, on the rug of my lady's +sitting-room and on the cushion of her carriage. It is true that there +are few persons who have an instinctive repugnance to this “friend of +man.” But what if this so-called antipathy were only a fear, a terror, +which borrowed the less unmanly name? It was a fair question, if, +indeed, the curiosity of the public had a right to ask any questions at +all about a harmless individual who gave no offence, and seemed entitled +to the right of choosing his way of living to suit himself, without +being submitted to espionage. + +There was no positive evidence bearing on the point as yet. But one +of the village people had a large Newfoundland dog, of a very sociable +disposition, with which he determined to test the question. He watched +for the time when Maurice should leave his house for the woods or the +lake, and started with his dog to meet him. The animal walked up to the +stranger in a very sociable fashion, and began making his acquaintance, +after the usual manner of well-bred dogs; that is, with the courtesies +and blandishments by which the canine Chesterfield is distinguished from +the ill-conditioned cur. Maurice patted him in a friendly way, and spoke +to him as one who was used to the fellowship of such companions. That +idle question and foolish story were disposed of, therefore, and some +other solution must be found, if possible. + +A much more common antipathy is that which is entertained with regard to +cats. This has never been explained. It is not mere aversion to the +look of the creature, or to any sensible quality known to the common +observer. The cat is pleasing in aspect, graceful in movement, nice +in personal habits, and of amiable disposition. No cause of offence is +obvious, and yet there are many persons who cannot abide the presence of +the most innocent little kitten. They can tell, in some mysterious way, +that there is a cat in the room when they can neither see nor hear the +creature. Whether it is an electrical or quasi-magnetic phenomenon, or +whatever it may be, of the fact of this strange influence there are too +many well-authenticated instances to allow its being questioned. But +suppose Maurice Kirkwood to be the subject of this antipathy in its +extremest degree, it would in no manner account for the isolation to +which he had condemned himself. He might shun the firesides of the old +women whose tabbies were purring by their footstools, but these worthy +dames do not make up the whole population. + +These two antipathies having been disposed of, a new suggestion was +started, and was talked over with a curious sort of half belief, very +much as ghost stories are told in a circle of moderately instructed and +inquiring persons. This was that Maurice was endowed with the unenviable +gift of the evil eye. He was in frequent communication with Italy, as +his letters showed, and had recently been residing in that country, as +was learned from Paolo. Now everybody knows that the evil eye is not +rarely met with in Italy. Everybody who has ever read Mr. Story's “Roba +di Roma” knows what a terrible power it is which the owner of the evil +eye exercises. It can blight and destroy whatever it falls upon. No +person's life or limb is safe if the jettatura, the withering glance of +the deadly organ, falls upon him. It must be observed that this malign +effect may follow a look from the holiest personages, that is, if we may +assume that a monk is such as a matter of course. Certainly we have +a right to take it for granted that the late Pope, Pius Ninth, was an +eminently holy man, and yet he had the name of dispensing the mystic and +dreaded jettatura as well as his blessing. If Maurice Kirkwood carried +that destructive influence, so that his clear blue eyes were more to be +feared than the fascinations of the deadliest serpent, it could easily +be understood why he kept his look away from all around him whom he +feared he might harm. + +No sensible person in Arrowhead Village really believed in the evil +eye, but it served the purpose of a temporary hypothesis, as do many +suppositions which we take as a nucleus for our observations without +putting any real confidence in them. It was just suited to the romantic +notions of the more flighty persons in the village, who had meddled more +or less with Spiritualism, and were ready for any new fancy, if it were +only wild enough. + +The riddle of the young stranger's peculiarity did not seem likely to +find any very speedy solution. Every new suggestion furnished talk for +the gossips of the village and the babble of the many tongues in the two +educational institutions. Naturally, the discussion was liveliest among +the young ladies. Here is an extract from a letter of one of these young +ladies, who, having received at her birth the ever-pleasing name of +Mary, saw fit to have herself called Mollie in the catalogue and in her +letters. The old postmaster of the town to which her letter was directed +took it up to stamp, and read on the envelope the direction to “Miss +Lulu Pinrow.” He brought the stamp down with a vicious emphasis, coming +very near blotting out the nursery name, instead of cancelling the +postage-stamp. “Lulu!” he exclaimed. “I should like to know if that +great strapping girl isn't out of her cradle yet! I suppose Miss Louisa +will think that belongs to her, but I saw her christened and I heard +the name the minister gave her, and it was n't 'Lulu,' or any such baby +nonsense.” And so saying, he gave it a fling to the box marked P, as if +it burned his fingers. Why a grown-up young woman allowed herself to be +cheapened in the way so many of them do by the use of names which become +them as well as the frock of a ten-year-old schoolgirl would become a +graduate of the Corinna Institute, the old postmaster could not guess. +He was a queer old man. + +The letter thus scornfully treated runs over with a young girl's written +loquacity: + +“Oh, Lulu, there is such a sensation as you never saw or heard of 'in +all your born days,' as mamma used to say. He has been at the village +for some time, but lately we have had--oh, the weirdest stories about +him! 'The Mysterious Stranger is the name some give him, but we girls +call him the Sachem, because he paddles about in an Indian canoe. If I +should tell you all the things that are said about him I should use up +all my paper ten times over. He has never made a visit to the Institute, +and none of the girls have ever spoken to him, but the people at the +village say he is very, very handsome. We are dying to get a look at +him, of course--though there is a horrid story about him--that he has +the evil eye did you ever hear about the evil eye? If a person who is +born with it looks at you, you die, or something happens--awful--is n't +it? + +“The rector says he never goes to church, but then you know a good many +of the people that pass the summer at the village never do--they +think their religion must have vacations--that's what I've heard they +say--vacations, just like other hard work--it ought not to be hard work, +I'm sure, but I suppose they feel so about it. Should you feel afraid to +have him look at you? Some of the girls say they would n't have him +for the whole world, but I shouldn't mind it--especially if I had on my +eyeglasses. Do you suppose if there is anything in the evil eye it would +go through glass? I don't believe it. Do you think blue eye-glasses +would be better than common ones? Don't laugh at me--they tell such +weird stories! The Terror--Lurida Vincent, you know-makes fun of all +they say about it, but then she 'knows everything and doesn't believe +anything,' the girls say--Well, I should be awfully scared, I know, +if anybody that had the evil eye should look at me--but--oh, I +don't know--but if it was a young man--and if he was very--very +good-looking--I think--perhaps I would run the risk--but don't tell +anybody I said any such horrid thing--and burn this letter right +up--there 's a dear good girl.” + +It is to be hoped that no reader will doubt the genuineness of this +letter. There are not quite so many “awfuls” and “awfullys” as one +expects to find in young ladies' letters, but there are two “weirds,” + which may be considered a fair allowance. How it happened that “jolly” + did not show itself can hardly be accounted for; no doubt it turns up +two or three times at least in the postscript. + +Here is an extract from another letter. This was from one of the +students of Stoughton University to a friend whose name as it was +written on the envelope was Mr. Frank Mayfield. The old postmaster +who found fault with Miss “Lulu's” designation would probably have +quarrelled with this address, if it had come under his eye. “Frank” is +a very pretty, pleasant-sounding name, and it is not strange that many +persons use it in common conversation all their days when speaking of a +friend. Were they really christened by that name, any of these numerous +Franks? Perhaps they were, and if so there is nothing to be said. But +if not, was the baptismal name Francis or Franklin? The mind is apt to +fasten in a very perverse and unpleasant way upon this question, which +too often there is no possible way of settling. One might hope, if he +outlived the bearer of the appellation, to get at the fact; but since +even gravestones have learned to use the names belonging to childhood +and infancy in their solemn record, the generation which docks its +Christian names in such an un-Christian way will bequeath whole +churchyards full of riddles to posterity. How it will puzzle and +distress the historians and antiquarians of a coming generation to +settle what was the real name of Dan and Bert and Billy, which last is +legible on a white marble slab, raised in memory of a grown person, in a +certain burial-ground in a town in Essex County, Massachusetts! + +But in the mean time we are forgetting the letter directed to Mr. Frank +Mayfield. + +“DEAR FRANK,--Hooray! Hurrah! Rah! + +“I have made the acquaintance of 'The Mysterious Stranger'! It happened +by a queer sort of accident, which came pretty near relieving you of +the duty of replying to this letter. I was out in my little boat, which +carries a sail too big for her, as I know and ought to have remembered. +One of those fitful flaws of wind to which the lake is so liable struck +the sail suddenly, and over went my boat. My feet got tangled in the +sheet somehow, and I could not get free. I had hard work to keep my head +above water, and I struggled desperately to escape from my toils; for if +the boat were to go down I should be dragged down with her. I thought +of a good many things in the course of some four or five minutes, I can +tell you, and I got a lesson about time better than anything Kant and +all the rest of them have to say of it. After I had been there about an +ordinary lifetime, I saw a white canoe making toward me, and I knew that +our shy young gentleman was coming to help me, and that we should become +acquainted without an introduction. So it was, sure enough. He saw what +the trouble was, managed to disentangle my feet without drowning me in +the process or upsetting his little flimsy craft, and, as I was somewhat +tired with my struggle, took me in tow and carried me to the landing +where he kept his canoe. I can't say that there is anything odd about +his manners or his way of talk. I judge him to be a native of one of our +Northern States,--perhaps a New Englander. He has lived abroad during +some parts of his life. He is not an artist, as it was at one time +thought he might be. He is a good-looking fellow, well developed, manly +in appearance, with nothing to excite special remark unless it be a +certain look of anxiety or apprehension which comes over him from time +to time. You remember our old friend Squire B., whose companion was +killed by lightning when he was standing close to him. You know the look +he had whenever anything like a thundercloud came up in the sky. Well, I +should say there was a look like that came over this Maurice Kirkwood's +face every now and then. I noticed that he looked round once or twice as +if to see whether some object or other was in sight. There was a little +rustling in the grass as if of footsteps, and this look came over his +features. A rabbit ran by us, and I watched to see if he showed any sign +of that antipathy we have heard so much of, but he seemed to be pleased +watching the creature. + +“If you ask me what my opinion is about this Maurice Kirkwood, I think +he is eccentric in his habit of life, but not what they call a 'crank' +exactly. He talked well enough about such matters as we spoke of,--the +lake, the scenery in general, the climate. I asked him to come over +and take a look at the college. He did n't promise, but I should not be +surprised if I should get him over there some day. I asked him why he +did n't go to the Pansophian meetings. He did n't give any reason, but +he shook his head in a very peculiar way, as much as to say that it was +impossible. + +“On the whole, I think it is nothing more than the same feeling of dread +of human society, or dislike for it, which under the name of religion +used to drive men into caves and deserts. What a pity that Protestantism +does not make special provision for all the freaks of individual +character! If we had a little more faith and a few more caverns, or +convenient places for making them, we should have hermits in these holes +as thick as woodchucks or prairie dogs. I should like to know if you +never had the feeling, + + + “'Oh, that the desert were my dwelling-place!' + +“I know what your answer will be, of course. You will say, 'Certainly, + + + “'With one fair spirit for my minister;'” + +“but I mean alone,--all alone. Don't you ever feel as if you should like +to have been a pillar-saint in the days when faith was as strong as +lye (spelt with a y), instead of being as weak as dish-water? (Jerry is +looking over my shoulder, and says this pun is too bad to send, and a +disgrace to the University--but never mind.) I often feel as if I should +like to roost on a pillar a hundred feet high,--yes, and have it soaped +from top to bottom. Wouldn't it be fun to look down at the bores and +the duns? Let us get up a pillar-roosters' association. (Jerry--still +looking over says there is an absurd contradiction in the idea.) + +“What a matter-of-fact idiot Jerry is! + +“How do you like looking over, Mr. Inspector general?” + +The reader will not get much information out of this lively young +fellow's letter, but he may get a little. It is something to know that +the mysterious resident of Arrowhead Village did not look nor talk like +a crazy person; that he was of agreeable aspect and address, helpful +when occasion offered, and had nothing about him, so far as yet +appeared, to prevent his being an acceptable member of society. + +Of course the people in the village could never be contented without +learning everything there was to be learned about their visitor. All +the city papers were examined for advertisements. If a cashier had +absconded, if a broker had disappeared, if a railroad president was +missing, some of the old stories would wake up and get a fresh currency, +until some new circumstance gave rise to a new hypothesis. Unconscious +of all these inquiries and fictions, Maurice Kirkwood lived on in his +inoffensive and unexplained solitude, and seemed likely to remain an +unsolved enigma. The “Sachem” of the boating girls became the “Sphinx” + of the village ramblers, and it was agreed on all hands that Egypt did +not hold any hieroglyphics harder to make out than the meaning of this +young man's odd way of living. + + + + + + +V. THE ENIGMA STUDIED. + +It was a curious, if it was not a suspicious, circumstance that a young +man, seemingly in good health, of comely aspect, looking as if made for +companionship, should keep himself apart from all the world around him +in a place where there was a general feeling of good neighborhood and a +pleasant social atmosphere. The Public Library was a central point which +brought people together. The Pansophian Society did a great deal to make +them acquainted with each other for many of the meetings were open to +outside visitors, and the subjects discussed in the meetings furnished +the material for conversation in their intervals. A card of invitation +had been sent by the Secretary to Maurice, in answer to which Paolo +carried back a polite note of regret. The paper had a narrow rim of +black, implying apparently some loss of relative or friend, but not +any very recent and crushing bereavement. This refusal to come to the +meetings of the society was only what was expected. It was proper to ask +him, but his declining the invitation showed that he did not wish for +attentions or courtesies. There was nothing further to be done to bring +him out of his shell, and seemingly nothing more to be learned about him +at present. + +In this state of things it was natural that all which had been +previously gathered by the few who had seen or known anything of him +should be worked over again. When there is no new ore to be dug, the old +refuse heaps are looked over for what may still be found in them. The +landlord of the Anchor Tavern, now the head of the boarding-house, +talked about Maurice, as everybody in the village did at one time or +another. He had not much to say, but he added a fact or two. + +The young gentleman was good pay,--so they all said. Sometimes he paid +in gold; sometimes in fresh bills, just out of the bank. He trusted his +man, Mr. Paul, with the money to pay his bills. He knew something about +horses; he showed that by the way he handled that colt,--the one that +threw the hostler and broke his collar-bone. “Mr. Paul come down to the +stable. 'Let me see that cult you all 'fraid of,' says he. 'My master, +he ride any hoss,' says Paul. 'You saddle him,' says he; and so they +did, and Paul, he led that colt--the kickinest and ugliest young beast +you ever see in your life--up to the place where his master, as he calls +him, and he lives. What does that Kirkwood do but clap on a couple of +long spurs and jump on to that colt's back, and off the beast goes, tail +up, heels flying, standing up on end, trying all sorts of capers, and at +last going it full run for a couple of miles, till he'd got about enough +of it. That colt went off as ferce as a wild-cat, and come back as quiet +as a cosset lamb. A man that pays his bills reg'lar, in good money, and +knows how to handle a hoss is three quarters of a gentleman, if he is +n't a whole one,--and most likely he is a whole one.” + +So spake the patriarch of the Anchor Tavern. His wife had already given +her favorable opinion of her former guest. She now added something to +her description as a sequel to her husband's remarks. + +“I call him,” she said, “about as likely a young gentleman as ever I +clapped my eyes on. He is rather slighter than I like to see a young +man of his age; if he was my son, I should like to see him a little +more fleshy. I don't believe he weighs more than a hundred and thirty +or forty pounds. Did y' ever look at those eyes of his, M'randy? Just as +blue as succory flowers. I do like those light-complected young fellows, +with their fresh cheeks and their curly hair; somehow, curly hair doos +set off anybody's face. He is n't any foreigner, for all that he talks +Italian with that Mr. Paul that's his help. He looks just like our +kind of folks, the college kind, that's brought up among books, and is +handling 'em, and reading of 'em, and making of 'em, as like as not, all +their lives. All that you say about his riding the mad colt is just what +I should think he was up to, for he's as spry as a squirrel; you ought +to see him go over that fence, as I did once. I don't believe there's +any harm in that young gentleman,--I don't care what people say. I +suppose he likes this place just as other people like it, and cares more +for walking in the woods and paddling about in the water than he doos +for company; and if he doos, whose business is it, I should like to +know?” + +The third of the speakers was Miranda, who had her own way of judging +people. + +“I never see him but two or three times,” Miranda said. “I should like +to have waited on him, and got a chance to look stiddy at him when he +was eatin' his vittles. That 's the time to watch folks, when their jaws +get a-goin' and their eyes are on what's afore 'em. Do you remember that +chap the sheriff come and took away when we kep' tahvern? Eleven year +ago it was, come nex' Thanksgivin' time. A mighty grand gentleman from +the City he set up for. I watched him, and I watched him. Says I, I +don't believe you're no gentleman, says I. He eat with his knife, and +that ain't the way city folks eats. Every time I handed him anything +I looked closeter and closeter. Them whiskers never grooved on them +cheeks, says I to myself. Them 's paper collars, says I. That dimun in +your shirt-front hain't got no life to it, says I. I don't believe it's +nothin' more 'n a bit o' winderglass. So says I to Pushee, 'You jes' +step out and get the sheriff to come in and take a look at that chap.' +I knowed he was after a fellah. He come right in, an' he goes up to the +chap. 'Why, Bill,' says he, 'I'm mighty glad to see yer. We've had the +hole in the wall you got out of mended, and I want your company to +come and look at the old place,' says he, and he pulls out a couple of +handcuffs and has 'em on his wrists in less than no time, an' off +they goes together! I know one thing about that young gentleman, +anyhow,--there ain't no better judge of what's good eatin' than he is. +I cooked him some maccaroni myself one day, and he sends word to me by +that Mr. Paul, 'Tell Miss Miranda,' says he, I that the Pope o' Rome +don't have no better cooked maccaroni than what she sent up to me +yesterday,' says he. I don' know much about the Pope o' Rome except that +he's a Roman Catholic, and I don' know who cooks for him, whether it's a +man or a woman; but when it comes to a dish o' maccaroni, I ain't afeard +of their shefs, as they call 'em,--them he-cooks that can't serve up a +cold potater without callin' it by some name nobody can say after 'em. +But this gentleman knows good cookin', and that's as good a sign of a +gentleman as I want to tell 'em by.” + + + + + + +VI. STILL AT FAULT. + +The house in which Maurice Kirkwood had taken up his abode was not +a very inviting one. It was old, and had been left in a somewhat +dilapidated and disorderly condition by the tenants who had lived in the +part which Maurice now occupied. They had piled their packing-boxes +in the cellar, with broken chairs, broken china, and other household +wrecks. A cracked mirror lay on an old straw mattress, the contents +of which were airing themselves through wide rips and rents. A lame +clothes-horse was saddled with an old rug fringed with a ragged border, +out of which all the colors had been completely trodden. No woman would +have gone into a house in such a condition. But the young man did not +trouble himself much about such matters, and was satisfied when the +rooms which were to be occupied by himself and his servant were made +decent and tolerably comfortable. During the fine season all this was +not of much consequence, and if Maurice made up his mind to stay through +the winter he would have his choice among many more eligible places. + +The summer vacation of the Corinna Institute had now arrived, and the +young ladies had scattered to their homes. Among the graduates of the +year were Miss Euthymia Tower and Miss Lurida Vincent, who had now +returned to their homes in Arrowhead Village. They were both glad to +rest after the long final examinations and the exercises of the closing +day, in which each of them had borne a conspicuous part. It was a +pleasant life they led in the village, which was lively enough at +this season. Walking, riding, driving, boating, visits to the Library, +meetings of the Pansophian Society, hops, and picnics made the time +pass very cheerfully, and soon showed their restoring influences. The +Terror's large eyes did not wear the dull, glazed look by which they had +too often betrayed the after effects of over-excitement of the strong +and active brain behind them. The Wonder gained a fresher bloom, and +looked full enough of life to radiate vitality into a statue of ice. +They had a boat of their own, in which they passed many delightful +hours on the lake, rowing, drifting, reading, telling of what had been, +dreaming of what might be. + +The Library was one of the chief centres of the fixed population, and +visited often by strangers. The old Librarian was a peculiar character, +as these officials are apt to be. They have a curious kind of knowledge, +sometimes immense in its way. They know the backs of books, their +title-pages, their popularity or want of it, the class of readers who +call for particular works, the value of different editions, and a good +deal besides. Their minds catch up hints from all manner of works on all +kinds of subjects. They will give a visitor a fact and a reference which +they are surprised to find they remember and which the visitor might +have hunted for a year. Every good librarian, every private book-owner, +who has grown into his library, finds he has a bunch of nerves going to +every bookcase, a branch to every shelf, and a twig to every book. These +nerves get very sensitive in old librarians, sometimes, and they do not +like to have a volume meddled with any more than they would like to have +their naked eyes handled. They come to feel at last that the books of +a great collection are a part, not merely of their own property, though +they are only the agents for their distribution, but that they are, as +it were, outlying portions of their own organization. The old Librarian +was getting a miserly feeling about his books, as he called them. +Fortunately, he had a young lady for his assistant, who was never so +happy as when she could find the work any visitor wanted and put it in +his hands,--or her hands, for there were more readers among the wives +and--daughters, and especially among the aunts, than there were among +their male relatives. The old Librarian knew the books, but the books +seemed to know the young assistant; so it looked, at least, to the +impatient young people who wanted their services. + +Maurice had a good many volumes of his own,--a great many, according to +Paolo's account; but Paolo's ideas were limited, and a few well-filled +shelves seemed a very large collection to him. His master frequently +sent him to the Public Library for books, which somewhat enlarged his +notions; still, the Signor was a very learned man, he was certain, and +some of his white books (bound in vellum and richly gilt) were more +splendid, according to Paolo, than anything in the Library. + +There was no little curiosity to know what were the books that Maurice +was in the habit of taking out, and the Librarian's record was carefully +searched by some of the more inquisitive investigators. The list proved +to be a long and varied one. It would imply a considerable knowledge +of modern languages and of the classics; a liking for mathematics and +physics, especially all that related to electricity and magnetism; a +fancy for the occult sciences, if there is any propriety in coupling +these words; and a whim for odd and obsolete literature, like +the Parthenologia of Fortunius Licetus, the quaint treatise 'De +Sternutatione,' books about alchemy, and witchcraft, apparitions, and +modern works relating to Spiritualism. With these were the titles of +novels and now and then of books of poems; but it may be taken for +granted that his own shelves held the works he was most frequently in +the habit of reading or consulting. Not much was to be made out of this +beyond the fact of wide scholarship,--more or less deep it might be, but +at any rate implying no small mental activity; for he appeared to read +very rapidly, at any rate exchanged the books he had taken out for new +ones very frequently. To judge by his reading, he was a man of letters. +But so wide-reading a man of letters must have an object, a literary +purpose in all probability. Why should not he be writing a novel? Not +a novel of society, assuredly, for a hermit is not the person to +report the talk and manners of a world which he has nothing to do with. +Novelists and lawyers understand the art of “cramming” better than any +other persons in the world. Why should not this young man be working +up the picturesque in this romantic region to serve as a background for +some story with magic, perhaps, and mysticism, and hints borrowed from +science, and all sorts of out-of-the-way knowledge which his odd and +miscellaneous selection of books furnished him? That might be, or +possibly he was only reading for amusement. Who could say? + +The funds of the Public Library of Arrowhead Village allowed the +managers to purchase many books out of the common range of reading. The +two learned people of the village were the rector and the doctor. These +two worthies kept up the old controversy between the professions, which +grows out of the fact that one studies nature from below upwards, and +the other from above downwards. The rector maintained that physicians +contracted a squint which turns their eyes inwardly, while the muscles +which roll their eyes upward become palsied. The doctor retorted +that theological students developed a third eyelid,--the nictitating +membrane, which is so well known in birds, and which serves to shut +out, not all light, but all the light they do not want. Their little +skirmishes did not prevent their being very good friends, who had +a common interest in many things and many persons. Both were on the +committee which had the care of the Library and attended to the purchase +of books. Each was scholar enough to know the wants of scholars, and +disposed to trust the judgment of the other as to what books should +be purchased. Consequently, the clergyman secured the addition to the +Library of a good many old theological works which the physician would +have called brimstone divinity, and held to be just the thing to kindle +fires with,--good books still for those who know how to use them, +oftentimes as awful examples of the extreme of disorganization the +whole moral system may undergo when a barbarous belief has strangled the +natural human instincts. The physician, in the mean time, acquired for +the collection some of those medical works where one may find recorded +various rare and almost incredible cases, which may not have their like +for a whole century, and then repeat themselves, so as to give a new +lease of credibility to stories which had come to be looked upon as +fables. + +Both the clergyman and the physician took a very natural interest in the +young man who had come to reside in their neighborhood for the present, +perhaps for a long period. The rector would have been glad to see him +at church. He would have liked more especially to have had him hear his +sermon on the Duties of Young Men to Society. The doctor, meanwhile, was +meditating on the duties of society to young men, and wishing that he +could gain the young man's confidence, so as to help him out of any +false habit of mind or any delusion to which he might be subject, if he +had the power of being useful to him. + +Dr. Butts was the leading medical practitioner, not only of Arrowhead +Village, but of all the surrounding region. He was an excellent specimen +of the country doctor, self-reliant, self-sacrificing, working a great +deal harder for his living than most of those who call themselves the +laboring classes,--as if none but those whose hands were hardened by the +use of farming or mechanical implements had any work to do. He had that +sagacity without which learning is a mere incumbrance, and he had also +a fair share of that learning without which sagacity is like a +traveller with a good horse, but who cannot read the directions on the +guideboards. He was not a man to be taken in by names. He well knew that +oftentimes very innocent-sounding words mean very grave disorders; that +all, degrees of disease and disorder are frequently confounded under the +same term; that “run down” may stand for a fatigue of mind or body from +which a week or a month of rest will completely restore the over-worked +patient, or an advanced stage of a mortal illness; that “seedy” + may signify the morning's state of feeling, after an evening's +over-indulgence, which calls for a glass of soda-water and a cup of +coffee, or a dangerous malady which will pack off the subject of it, at +the shortest notice, to the south of France. He knew too well that what +is spoken lightly of as a “nervous disturbance” may imply that the whole +machinery of life is in a deranged condition, and that every individual +organ would groan aloud if it had any other language than the terrible +inarticulate one of pain by which to communicate with the consciousness. + +When, therefore, Dr. Butts heard the word antipatia he did not smile, +and say to himself that this was an idle whim, a foolish fancy, which +the young man had got into his head. Neither was he satisfied to +set down everything to the account of insanity, plausible as that +supposition might seem. He was prepared to believe in some exceptional, +perhaps anomalous, form of exaggerated sensibility, relating to what +class of objects he could not at present conjecture, but which was as +vital to the subject of it as the insulating arrangement to a piece +of electrical machinery. With this feeling he began to look into the +history of antipathies as recorded in all the books and journals on +which he could lay his hands. + + + ------------------------------ + +The holder of the Portfolio asks leave to close it for a brief interval. +He wishes to say a few words to his readers, before offering them some +verses which have no connection with the narrative now in progress. + +If one could have before him a set of photographs taken annually, +representing the same person as he or she appeared for thirty or forty +or fifty years, it would be interesting to watch the gradual changes of +aspect from the age of twenty, or even of thirty or forty, to that of +threescore and ten. The face might be an uninteresting one; still, +as sharing the inevitable changes wrought by time, it would be worth +looking at as it passed through the curve of life,--the vital parabola, +which betrays itself in the symbolic changes of the features. An +inscription is the same thing, whether we read it on slate-stone, or +granite, or marble. To watch the lights and shades, the reliefs and +hollows, of a countenance through a lifetime, or a large part of it, by +the aid of a continuous series of photographs would not only be curious; +it would teach us much more about the laws of physiognomy than we could +get from casual and unconnected observations. + +The same kind of interest, without any assumption of merit to be found +in them, I would claim for a series of annual poems, beginning in middle +life and continued to what many of my correspondents are pleased to +remind me--as if I required to have the fact brought to my knowledge--is +no longer youth. Here is the latest of a series of annual poems +read during the last thirty-four years. There seems to have been one +interruption, but there may have been other poems not recorded or +remembered. This, the latest poem of the series, was listened to by the +scanty remnant of what was a large and brilliant circle of classmates +and friends when the first of the long series was read before them, then +in the flush of ardent manhood:-- + + + THE OLD SONG. + + The minstrel of the classic lay + Of love and wine who sings + Still found the fingers run astray + That touched the rebel strings. + + Of Cadmus he would fair have sung, + Of Atreus and his line; + But all the jocund echoes rung + With songs of love and wine. + + Ah, brothers! I would fair have caught + Some fresher fancy's gleam; + My truant accents find, unsought, + The old familiar theme. + + Love, Love! but not the sportive child + With shaft and twanging bow, + Whose random arrows drove us wild + Some threescore years ago; + + Not Eros, with his joyous laugh, + The urchin blind and bare, + But Love, with spectacles and staff, + And scanty, silvered hair. + + Our heads with frosted locks are white, + Our roofs are thatched with snow, + But red, in chilling winter's spite, + Our hearts and hearthstones glow. + + Our old acquaintance, Time, drops in, + And while the running sands + Their golden thread unheeded spin, + He warms his frozen hands. + + Stay, winged hours, too swift, too sweet, + And waft this message o'er + To all we miss, from all we meet + On life's fast-crumbling shore: + + Say that to old affection true + We hug the narrowing chain + That binds our hearts,--alas, how few + The links that yet remain! + + The fatal touch awaits them all + That turns the rocks to dust; + From year to year they break and fall, + They break, but never rust. + + Say if one note of happier strain + This worn-out harp afford, + --One throb that trembles, not in vain, + Their memory lent its chord. + + Say that when Fancy closed her wings + And Passion quenched his fire, + Love, Love, still echoed from the strings + As from Anacreon's lyre! + + January 8, 1885. + + + + + +VII. A RECORD OF ANTIPATHIES + +In thinking the whole matter over, Dr. Butts felt convinced that, with +care and patience and watching his opportunity, he should get at the +secret, which so far had yielded nothing but a single word. It might +be asked why he was so anxious to learn what, from all appearances, the +young stranger was unwilling to explain. He may have been to some extent +infected by the general curiosity of the persons around him, in which +good Mrs. Butts shared, and which she had helped to intensify by +revealing the word dropped by Paolo. But this was not really his +chief motive. He could not look upon this young man, living a life +of unwholesome solitude, without a natural desire to do all that his +science and his knowledge of human nature could help him to do towards +bringing him into healthy relations with the world about him. Still, +he would not intrude upon him in any way. He would only make certain +general investigations, which might prove serviceable in case +circumstances should give him the right to counsel the young man as +to his course of life. The first thing to be done was to study +systematically the whole subject of antipathies. Then, if any further +occasion offered itself, he would be ready to take advantage of it. +The resources of the Public Library of the place and his own private +collection were put in requisition to furnish him the singular and +widely scattered facts of which he was in search. + +It is not every reader who will care to follow Dr. Butts in his study +of the natural history of antipathies. The stories told about them are, +however, very curious; and if some of them may be questioned, there is +no doubt that many of the strangest are true, and consequently take away +from the improbability of others which we are disposed to doubt. + +But in the first place, what do we mean by an antipathy? It is an +aversion to some object, which may vary in degree from mere dislike to +mortal horror. What the cause of this aversion is we cannot say. It +acts sometimes through the senses, sometimes through the imagination, +sometimes through an unknown channel. The relations which exist between +the human being and all that surrounds him vary in consequence of some +adjustment peculiar to each individual. The brute fact is expressed in +the phrase “One man's meat is another man's poison.” + +In studying the history of antipathies the doctor began with those +referable to the sense of taste, which are among the most common. In +any collection of a hundred persons there will be found those who cannot +make use of certain articles of food generally acceptable. This may be +from the disgust they occasion or the effects they have been found to +produce. Every one knows individuals who cannot venture on honey, or +cheese, or veal, with impunity. Carlyle, for example, complains of +having veal set before him,--a meat he could not endure. There is a +whole family connection in New England, and that a very famous one, to +many of whose members, in different generations, all the products of the +dairy are the subjects of a congenital antipathy. Montaigne says there +are persons who dread the smell of apples more than they would dread +being exposed to a fire of musketry. The readers of the charming story +“A Week in a French Country-House” will remember poor Monsieur Jacque's +piteous cry in the night: “Ursula, art thou asleep? Oh, Ursula, thou +sleepest, but I cannot close my eyes. Dearest Ursula, there is such +a dreadful smell! Oh, Ursula, it is such a smell! I do so wish thou +couldst smell it! Good-night, my angel!----Dearest! I have found them! +They are apples!” The smell of roses, of peonies, of lilies, has been +known to cause faintness. The sight of various objects has had singular +effects on some persons. A boar's head was a favorite dish at the table +of great people in Marshal d'Albret's time; yet he used to faint at the +sight of one. It is not uncommon to meet with persons who faint at the +sight of blood. One of the most inveterately pugnacious of Dr. Butts's +college-mates confessed that he had this infirmity. Stranger and far +more awkward than this is the case mentioned in an ancient collection, +where the subject of the antipathy fainted at the sight of any object of +a red color. There are sounds, also, which have strange effects on +some individuals. Among the obnoxious noises are the crumpling of silk +stuffs, the sound of sweeping, the croaking of frogs. The effects +in different cases have been spasms, a sense of strangling, profuse +sweating,--all showing a profound disturbance of the nervous system. + +All these effects were produced by impressions on the organs of sense, +seemingly by direct agency on certain nerve centres. But there is +another series of cases in which the imagination plays a larger part +in the phenomena. Two notable examples are afforded in the lives of two +very distinguished personages. + +Peter the Great was frightened, when an infant, by falling from a bridge +into the water. Long afterward, when he had reached manhood, this hardy +and resolute man was so affected by the sound of wheels rattling over a +bridge that he had to discipline himself by listening to the sound, in +spite of his dread of it, in order to overcome his antipathy. The story +told by Abbe Boileau of Pascal is very similar to that related of Peter. +As he was driving in his coach and four over the bridge at Neuilly, +his horses took fright and ran away, and the leaders broke from their +harness and sprang into the river, leaving the wheel-horses and the +carriage on the bridge. Ever after this fright it is said that Pascal +had the terrifying sense that he was just on the edge of an abyss, ready +to fall over. + +What strange early impression was it which led a certain lady always to +shriek aloud if she ventured to enter a church, as it is recorded? The +old and simple way of accounting for it would be the scriptural one, +that it was an unclean spirit who dwelt in her, and who, when she +entered the holy place and brought her spiritual tenant into the +presence of the sacred symbols, “cried with a loud voice, and came out +of” her. A very singular case, the doctor himself had recorded, and +which the reader may accept as authentic, is the following: At the head +of the doctor's front stairs stood, and still stands, a tall clock, of +early date and stately presence. A middle-aged visitor, noticing it +as he entered the front door, remarked that he should feel a great +unwillingness to pass that clock. He could not go near one of those tall +timepieces without a profound agitation, which he dreaded to undergo. +This very singular idiosyncrasy he attributed to a fright when he was an +infant in the arms of his nurse. + +She was standing near one of those tall clocks, when the cord which +supported one of its heavy leaden weights broke, and the weight came +crashing down to the bottom of the case. Some effect must have been +produced upon the pulpy nerve centres from which they never recovered. +Why should not this happen, when we know that a sudden mental shock +may be the cause of insanity? The doctor remembered the verse of “The +Ancient Mariner:” + + + “I moved my lips; the pilot shrieked + And fell down in a fit; + The holy hermit raised his eyes + And prayed where he did sit. + I took the oars; the pilot's boy, + Who now doth crazy go, + Laughed loud and long, and all the while + His eyes went to and fro.” + +This is only poetry, it is true, but the poet borrowed the description +from nature, and the records of our asylums could furnish many cases +where insanity was caused by a sudden fright. + +More than this, hardly a year passes that we do not read of some +person, a child commonly, killed outright by terror,--scared to death, +literally. Sad cases they often are, in which, nothing but a surprise +being intended, the shock has instantly arrested the movements on which +life depends. If a mere instantaneous impression can produce effects +like these, such an impression might of course be followed by +consequences less fatal or formidable, but yet serious in their nature. +If here and there a person is killed, as if by lightning, by a sudden +startling sight or sound, there must be more numerous cases in which +a terrible shock is produced by similar apparently insignificant +causes,--a shock which falls short of overthrowing the reason and does +not destroy life, yet leaves a lasting effect upon the subject of it. + +This point, then, was settled in the mind of Dr. Butts, namely, that, +as a violent emotion caused by a sudden shock can kill or craze a human +being, there is no perversion of the faculties, no prejudice, no change +of taste or temper, no eccentricity, no antipathy, which such a cause +may not rationally account for. He would not be surprised, he said to +himself, to find that some early alarm, like that which was experienced +by Peter the Great or that which happened to Pascal, had broken some +spring in this young man's nature, or so changed its mode of action as +to account for the exceptional remoteness of his way of life. But how +could any conceivable antipathy be so comprehensive as to keep a young +man aloof from all the world, and make a hermit of him? He did not +hate the human race; that was clear enough. He treated Paolo with great +kindness, and the Italian was evidently much attached to him. He had +talked naturally and pleasantly with the young man he had helped out of +his dangerous situation when his boat was upset. Dr. Butts heard that +he had once made a short visit to this young man, at his rooms in the +University. It was not misanthropy, therefore, which kept him solitary. +What could be broad enough to cover the facts of the case? Nothing that +the doctor could think of, unless it were some color, the sight of which +acted on him as it did on the individual before mentioned, who could not +look at anything red without fainting. Suppose this were a case of the +same antipathy. How very careful it would make the subject of it as to +where he went and with whom he consorted! Time and patience would be +pretty sure to bring out new developments, and physicians, of all men in +the world, know how to wait as well as how to labor. + +Such were some of the crude facts as Dr. Butts found them in books or +gathered them from his own experience. He soon discovered that the story +had got about the village that Maurice Kirkwood was the victim of an +“antipathy,” whatever that word might mean in the vocabulary of the +people of the place. If he suspected the channel through which it had +reached the little community, and, spreading from that centre, the +country round, he did not see fit to make out of his suspicions a +domestic casus belli. Paolo might have mentioned it to others as well +as to himself. Maurice might have told some friend, who had divulged it. +But to accuse Mrs. Butts, good Mrs. Butts, of petit treason in telling +one of her husband's professional secrets was too serious a matter to be +thought of. He would be a little more careful, he promised himself, the +next time, at any rate; for he had to concede, in spite of every wish to +be charitable in his judgment, that it was among the possibilities that +the worthy lady had forgotten the rule that a doctor's patients must put +their tongues out, and a doctor's wife must keep her tongue in. + + + + + + +VIII. THE PANSOPHIAN SOCIETY. + +The Secretary of this association was getting somewhat tired of the +office, and the office was getting somewhat tired of him. It occurred +to the members of the Society that a little fresh blood infused into +it might stir up the general vitality of the organization. The woman +suffragists saw no reason why the place of Secretary need as a matter of +course be filled by a person of the male sex. They agitated, they +made domiciliary visits, they wrote notes to influential citizens, and +finally announced as their candidate the young lady who had won and +worn the school name of “The Terror,” who was elected. She was just the +person for the place: wide awake, with all her wits about her, full of +every kind of knowledge, and, above all, strong on points of order and +details of management, so that she could prompt the presiding officer, +to do which is often the most essential duty of a Secretary. The +President, the worthy rector, was good at plain sailing in the track of +the common moralities and proprieties, but was liable to get muddled +if anything came up requiring swift decision and off-hand speech. The +Terror had schooled herself in the debating societies of the Institute, +and would set up the President, when he was floored by an awkward +question, as easily as if he were a ninepin which had been bowled over. + +It has been already mentioned that the Pansophian Society received +communications from time to time from writers outside of its own +organization. Of late these had been becoming more frequent. Many of +them were sent in anonymously, and as there were numerous visitors to +the village, and two institutions not far removed from it, both full +of ambitious and intelligent young persons, it was often impossible +to trace the papers to their authors. The new Secretary was alive with +curiosity, and as sagacious a little body as one might find if in want +of a detective. She could make a pretty shrewd guess whether a paper was +written by a young or old person, by one of her own sex or the other, by +an experienced hand or a novice. + +Among the anonymous papers she received was one which exercised her +curiosity to an extraordinary degree. She felt a strong suspicion that +“the Sachem,” as the boat-crews used to call him, “the Recluse,” “the +Night-Hawk,” “the Sphinx,” as others named him, must be the author of +it. It appeared to her the production of a young person of a reflective, +poetical turn of mind. It was not a woman's way of writing; at least, +so thought the Secretary. The writer had travelled much; had resided in +Italy, among other places. But so had many of the summer visitors and +residents of Arrowhead Village. The handwriting was not decisive; it +had some points of resemblance with the pencilled orders for books +which Maurice sent to the Library, but there were certain differences, +intentional or accidental, which weakened this evidence. There was an +undertone in the essay which was in keeping with the mode of life of the +solitary stranger. It might be disappointment, melancholy, or only the +dreamy sadness of a young person who sees the future he is to climb, not +as a smooth ascent, but as overhanging him like a cliff, ready to crush +him, with all his hopes and prospects. This interpretation may have been +too imaginative, but here is the paper, and the reader can form his own +opinion: + + + MY THREE COMPANIONS. + +“I have been from my youth upwards a wanderer. I do not mean constantly +flitting from one place to another, for my residence has often been +fixed for considerable periods. From time to time I have put down in a +notebook the impressions made upon me by the scenes through which I +have passed. I have long hesitated whether to let any of my notes appear +before the public. My fear has been that they were too subjective, to +use the metaphysician's term,--that I have seen myself reflected in +Nature, and not the true aspects of Nature as she was meant to be +understood. One who should visit the Harz Mountains would see--might +see, rather his own colossal image shape itself on the morning mist. But +if in every mist that rises from the meadows, in every cloud that hangs +upon the mountain, he always finds his own reflection, we cannot accept +him as an interpreter of the landscape. + +“There must be many persons present at the meetings of the Society to +which this paper is offered who have had experiences like that of its +author. They have visited the same localities, they have had many of +the same thoughts and feelings. Many, I have no doubt. Not all,--no, not +all. Others have sought the companionship of Nature; I have been driven +to it. Much of my life has been passed in that communion. These pages +record some of the intimacies I have formed with her under some of her +various manifestations. + +“I have lived on the shore of the great ocean, where its waves broke +wildest and its voice rose loudest. + +“I have passed whole seasons on the banks of mighty and famous rivers. + +“I have dwelt on the margin of a tranquil lake, and floated through many +a long, long summer day on its clear waters. + +“I have learned the 'various language' of Nature, of which poetry has +spoken,--at least, I have learned some words and phrases of it. I will +translate some of these as I best may into common speech. + +“The OCEAN says to the dweller on its shores:-- + +“You are neither welcome nor unwelcome. I do not trouble myself with the +living tribes that come down to my waters. I have my own people, of +an older race than yours, that grow to mightier dimensions than your +mastodons and elephants; more numerous than all the swarms that fill +the air or move over the thin crust of the earth. Who are you that build +your palaces on my margin? I see your white faces as I saw the dark +faces of the tribes that came before you, as I shall look upon the +unknown family of mankind that will come after you. And what is your +whole human family but a parenthesis in a single page of my history? The +raindrops stereotyped themselves on my beaches before a living creature +left his footprints there. This horseshoe-crab I fling at your feet is +of older lineage than your Adam,--perhaps, indeed, you count your Adam +as one of his descendants. What feeling have I for you? Not scorn, +not hatred,--not love,--not loathing. No!---indifference,--blank +indifference to you and your affairs that is my feeling, say rather +absence of feeling, as regards you.---Oh yes, I will lap your feet, I +will cool you in the hot summer days, I will bear you up in my strong +arms, I will rock you on my rolling undulations, like a babe in his +cradle. Am I not gentle? Am I not kind? Am I not harmless? But hark! The +wind is rising, and the wind and I are rough playmates! What do you +say to my voice now? Do you see my foaming lips? Do you feel the rocks +tremble as my huge billows crash against them? Is not my anger terrible +as I dash your argosy, your thunder-bearing frigate, into fragments, +as you would crack an eggshell?--No, not anger; deaf, blind, unheeding +indifference,--that is all. Out of me all things arose; sooner or later, +into me all things subside. All changes around me; I change not. I +look not at you, vain man, and your frail transitory concerns, save in +momentary glimpses: I look on the white face of my dead mistress, whom +I follow as the bridegroom follows the bier of her who has changed her +nuptial raiment for the shroud. + +“Ye whose thoughts are of eternity, come dwell at my side. Continents +and islands grow old, and waste and disappear. The hardest rock +crumbles; vegetable and animal kingdoms come into being, wax great, +decline, and perish, to give way to others, even as human dynasties and +nations and races come and go. Look on me! 'Time writes no wrinkle' on +my forehead. Listen to me! All tongues are spoken on my shores, but I +have only one language: the winds taught me their vowels the crags and +the sands schooled me in my rough or smooth consonants. Few words are +mine but I have whispered them and sung them and shouted them to men of +all tribes from the time when the first wild wanderer strayed into my +awful presence. Have you a grief that gnaws at your heart-strings? Come +with it to my shore, as of old the priest of far-darting Apollo carried +his rage and anguish to the margin of the loud-roaring sea. There, if +anywhere you will forget your private and short-lived woe, for my voice +speaks to the infinite and the eternal in your consciousness. + +“To him who loves the pages of human history, who listens to the voices +of the world about him, who frequents the market and the thoroughfare, +who lives in the study of time and its accidents rather than in the +deeper emotions, in abstract speculation and spiritual contemplation, +the RIVER addresses itself as his natural companion. + +“Come live with me. I am active, cheerful, communicative, a natural +talker and story-teller. I am not noisy, like the ocean, except +occasionally when I am rudely interrupted, or when I stumble and get +a fall. When I am silent you can still have pleasure in watching my +changing features. My idlest babble, when I am toying with the trifles +that fall in my way, if not very full of meaning, is at least musical. +I am not a dangerous friend, like the ocean; no highway is absolutely +safe, but my nature is harmless, and the storms that strew the beaches +with wrecks cast no ruins upon my flowery borders. Abide with me, and +you shall not die of thirst, like the forlorn wretches left to the +mercies of the pitiless salt waves. Trust yourself to me, and I will +carry you far on your journey, if we are travelling to the same point of +the compass. If I sometimes run riot and overflow your meadows, I leave +fertility behind me when I withdraw to my natural channel. Walk by my +side toward the place of my destination. I will keep pace with you, and +you shall feel my presence with you as that of a self-conscious being +like yourself. You will find it hard to be miserable in my company; I +drain you of ill-conditioned thoughts as I carry away the refuse of your +dwelling and its grounds.” + +But to him whom the ocean chills and crushes with its sullen +indifference, and the river disturbs with its never-pausing and +never-ending story, the silent LAKE shall be a refuge and a place of +rest for his soul. + +“'Vex not yourself with thoughts too vast for your limited faculties,' +it says; 'yield not yourself to the babble of the running stream. Leave +the ocean, which cares nothing for you or any living thing that walks +the solid earth; leave the river, too busy with its own errand, too +talkative about its own affairs, and find peace with me, whose smile +will cheer you, whose whisper will soothe you. Come to me when the +morning sun blazes across my bosom like a golden baldric; come to me +in the still midnight, when I hold the inverted firmament like a cup +brimming with jewels, nor spill one star of all the constellations that +float in my ebon goblet. Do you know the charm of melancholy? Where will +you find a sympathy like mine in your hours of sadness? Does the ocean +share your grief? Does the river listen to your sighs? The salt wave, +that called to you from under last month's full moon, to-day is +dashing on the rocks of Labrador; the stream, that ran by you pure and +sparkling, has swallowed the poisonous refuse of a great city, and is +creeping to its grave in the wide cemetery that buries all things in its +tomb of liquid crystal. It is true that my waters exhale and are renewed +from one season to another; but are your features the same, absolutely +the same, from year to year? We both change, but we know each other +through all changes. Am I not mirrored in those eyes of yours? And +does not Nature plant me as an eye to behold her beauties while she is +dressed in the glories of leaf and flower, and draw the icy lid over +my shining surface when she stands naked and ashamed in the poverty of +winter?' + +“I have had strange experiences and sad thoughts in the course of a life +not very long, but with a record which much longer lives could not match +in incident. Oftentimes the temptation has come over me with dangerous +urgency to try a change of existence, if such change is a part of human +destiny,--to seek rest, if that is what we gain by laying down the +burden of life. I have asked who would be the friend to whom I should +appeal for the last service I should have need of. Ocean was there, +all ready, asking no questions, answering none. What strange voyages, +downward through its glaucous depths, upwards to its boiling and +frothing surface, wafted by tides, driven by tempests, disparted by rude +agencies; one remnant whitening on the sands of a northern beach, +one perhaps built into the circle of a coral reef in the Pacific, one +settling to the floor of the vast laboratory where continents are built, +to emerge in far-off ages! What strange companions for my pall-bearers! +Unwieldy sea-monsters, the stories of which are counted fables by the +spectacled collectors who think their catalogues have exhausted nature; +naked-eyed creatures, staring, glaring, nightmare-like spectres of +the ghastly-green abysses; pulpy islands, with life in gelatinous +immensity,--what a company of hungry heirs at every ocean funeral! No! +No! Ocean claims great multitudes, but does not invite the solitary who +would fain be rid of himself. + +“Shall I seek a deeper slumber at the bottom of the lake I love than I +have ever found when drifting idly over its surface? No, again. I do not +want the sweet, clear waters to know me in the disgrace of nature, when +life, the faithful body-servant, has ceased caring for me. That must not +be. The mirror which has pictured me so often shall never know me as an +unwelcome object. + +“If I must ask the all-subduing element to be my last friend, and lead +me out of my prison, it shall be the busy, whispering, not unfriendly, +pleasantly companionable river. + +“But Ocean and River and Lake have certain relations to the periods +of human life which they who are choosing their places of abode should +consider. Let the child play upon the seashore. The wide horizon gives +his imagination room to grow in, untrammelled. That background of +mystery, without which life is a poor mechanical arrangement, is shaped +and colored, so far as it can have outline, or any hue but shadow, on a +vast canvas, the contemplation of which enlarges and enriches the sphere +of consciousness. The mighty ocean is not too huge to symbolize the +aspirations and ambitions of the yet untried soul of the adolescent. + +“The time will come when his indefinite mental horizon has found a solid +limit, which shuts his prospect in narrower bounds than he would have +thought could content him in the years of undefined possibilities. Then +he will find the river a more natural intimate than the ocean. It +is individual, which the ocean, with all its gulfs and inlets and +multitudinous shores, hardly seems to be. It does not love you very +dearly, and will not miss you much when you disappear from its margin; +but it means well to you, bids you good-morning with its coming waves, +and good-evening with those which are leaving. It will lead your +thoughts pleasantly away, upwards to its source, downwards to the stream +to which it is tributary, or the wide waters in which it is to lose +itself. A river, by choice, to live by in middle age. + +“In hours of melancholy reflection, in those last years of life which +have little left but tender memories, the still companionship of the +lake, embosomed in woods, sheltered, fed by sweet mountain brooks and +hidden springs, commends itself to the wearied and saddened spirit. I am +not thinking of those great inland seas, which have many of the features +and much of the danger that belong to the ocean, but of those 'ponds,' +as our countrymen used to call them until they were rechristened by +summer visitors; beautiful sheets of water from a hundred to a few +thousand acres in extent, scattered like raindrops over the map of our +Northern sovereignties. The loneliness of contemplative old age finds +its natural home in the near neighborhood of one of these tranquil +basins.” + +Nature does not always plant her poets where they belong, but if we look +carefully their affinities betray themselves. The youth will carry his +Byron to the rock which overlooks the ocean the poet loved so well. The +man of maturer years will remember that the sonorous couplets of Pope +which ring in his ears were written on the banks of the Thames. The old +man, as he nods over the solemn verse of Wordsworth, will recognize the +affinity between the singer and the calm sheet that lay before him as he +wrote,--the stainless and sleepy Windermere. + +“The dwellers by Cedar Lake may find it an amusement to compare their +own feelings with those of one who has lived by the Atlantic and the +Mediterranean, by the Nile and the Tiber, by Lake Leman and by one of +the fairest sheets of water that our own North America embosoms in its +forests.” + +Miss Lurida Vincent, Secretary of the Pansophian Society, read this +paper, and pondered long upon it. She was thinking very seriously of +studying medicine, and had been for some time in frequent communication +with Dr. Butts, under whose direction she had begun reading certain +treatises, which added to such knowledge of the laws of life in health +and in disease as she had brought with her from the Corinna Institute. +Naturally enough, she carried the anonymous paper to the doctor, to get +his opinion about it, and compare it with her own. They both agreed that +it was probably, they would not say certainly, the work of the solitary +visitor. There was room for doubt, for there were visitors who might +well have travelled to all the places mentioned, and resided long enough +on the shores of the waters the writer spoke of to have had all the +experiences mentioned in the paper. The Terror remembered a young lady, +a former schoolmate, who belonged to one of those nomadic families +common in this generation, the heads of which, especially the female +heads, can never be easy where they are, but keep going between America +and Europe, like so many pith-balls in the electrical experiment, +alternately attracted and repelled, never in contented equilibrium. +Every few years they pull their families up by the roots, and by the +time they have begun to take hold a little with their radicles in the +spots to which they have been successively transplanted up they come +again, so that they never get a tap-root anywhere. The Terror suspected +the daughter of one of these families of sending certain anonymous +articles of not dissimilar character to the one she had just received. +But she knew the style of composition common among the young girls, +and she could hardly believe that it was one of them who had sent this +paper. Could a brother of this young lady have written it? Possibly; she +knew nothing more than that the young lady had a brother, then a student +at the University. All the chances were that Mr. Maurice Kirkwood was +the author. So thought Lurida, and so thought Dr. Butts. + +Whatever faults there were in this essay, it interested them both. There +was nothing which gave the least reason to suspect insanity on the part +of the writer, whoever he or she might be. There were references to +suicide, it is true, but they were of a purely speculative nature, and +did not look to any practical purpose in that direction. Besides, if the +stranger were the author of the paper, he certainly would not choose a +sheet of water like Cedar Lake to perform the last offices for him, in +case he seriously meditated taking unceremonious leave of life and its +accidents. He could find a river easily enough, to say nothing of other +methods of effecting his purpose; but he had committed himself as to the +impropriety of selecting a lake, so they need not be anxious about the +white canoe and its occupant, as they watched it skimming the surface of +the deep waters. + +The holder of the Portfolio would never have ventured to come before +the public if he had not counted among his resources certain papers +belonging to the records of the Pansophian Society, which he can make +free use of, either for the illustration of the narrative, or for a +diversion during those intervals in which the flow of events is languid, +or even ceases for the time to manifest any progress. The reader can +hardly have failed to notice that the old Anchor Tavern had become the +focal point where a good deal of mental activity converged. There were +the village people, including a number of cultivated families; there +were the visitors, among them many accomplished and widely travelled +persons; there was the University, with its learned teachers and +aspiring young men; there was the Corinna Institute, with its eager, +ambitious, hungry-souled young women, crowding on, class after class +coming forward on the broad stream of liberal culture, and rounding +the point which, once passed, the boundless possibilities of womanhood +opened before them. All this furnished material enough and to spare for +the records and the archives of the society. + +The new Secretary infused fresh life into the meetings. It may be +remembered that the girls had said of her, when she was The Terror, that +“she knew everything and didn't believe anything.” That was just +the kind of person for a secretary of such an association. Properly +interpreted, the saying meant that she knew a great deal, and wanted to +know a great deal more, and was consequently always on the lookout for +information; that she believed nothing without sufficient proof that +it was true, and therefore was perpetually asking for evidence where, +others took assertions on trust. + +It was astonishing to see what one little creature like The Terror could +accomplish in the course of a single season. She found out what each +member could do and wanted to do. She wrote to the outside visitors whom +she suspected of capacity, and urged them to speak at the meetings, or +send written papers to be read. As an official, with the printed title +at the head of her notes, PANSOPHIAN SOCIETY, she was a privileged +personage. She begged the young persons who had travelled to tell +something of their experiences. She had contemplated getting up a +discussion on the woman's rights question, but being a wary little +body, and knowing that the debate would become a dispute and divide the +members into two hostile camps, she deferred this project indefinitely. +It would be time enough after she had her team well in hand, she said to +herself,--had felt their mouths and tried their paces. This expression, +as she used it in her thoughts, seems rather foreign to her habits, but +there was room in her large brain for a wide range of illustrations and +an ample vocabulary. She could not do much with her own muscles, but +she had known the passionate delight of being whirled furiously over +the road behind four scampering horses, in a rocking stage-coach, and +thought of herself in the Secretary's chair as not unlike the driver +on his box. A few weeks of rest had allowed her nervous energy to store +itself up, and the same powers which had distanced competition in the +classes of her school had of necessity to expend themselves in vigorous +action in her new office. + +Her appeals had their effect. A number of papers were very soon sent +in; some with names, some anonymously. She looked these papers over, and +marked those which she thought would be worth reading and listening to +at the meetings. One of them has just been presented to the reader. As +to the authorship of the following one there were many conjectures. A +well-known writer, who had spent some weeks at Arrowhead Village, was +generally suspected of being its author. Some, however, questioned +whether it was not the work of a new hand, who wrote, not from +experience, but from his or her ideas of the condition to which a +story-teller, a novelist, must in all probability be sooner or later +reduced. The reader must judge for himself whether this first paper is +the work of an old hand or a novice. + + + SOME EXPERIENCES OF A NOVELIST. + +“I have written a frightful number of stories, forty or more, I think. +Let me see. For twelve years two novels a year regularly: that makes +twenty-four. In three different years I have written three +stories annually: that makes thirty-three. In five years one a +year,--thirty-eight. That is all, is n't it? Yes. Thirty-eight, not +forty. I wish I could make them all into one composite story, as Mr. +Galton does his faces. + +“Hero--heroine--mamma--papa--uncle--sister, and so on. Love +--obstacles--misery--tears--despair--glimmer of hope--unexpected +solution of difficulties--happy finale. + +“Landscape for background according to season. Plants of each month got +up from botanical calendars. + +“I should like much to see the composite novel. Why not apply Mr. +Galton's process, and get thirty-eight stories all in one? All the +Yankees would resolve into one Yankee, all the P----West Britons into +one Patrick, etc., what a saving of time it would be! + +“I got along pretty well with my first few stories. I had some +characters around me which, a little disguised, answered well enough. +There was the minister of the parish, and there was an old schoolmaster +either of them served very satisfactorily for grandfathers and +old uncles. All I had to do was to shift some of their leading +peculiarities, keeping the rest. The old minister wore knee-breeches. +I clapped them on to the schoolmaster. The schoolmaster carried a tall +gold-headed cane. I put this in the minister's hands. So with other +things,--I shifted them round, and got a set of characters who, taken +together, reproduced the chief persons of the village where I lived, but +did not copy any individual exactly. Thus it went on for a while; but +by and by my stock company began to be rather too familiarly known, +in spite of their change of costume, and at last some altogether too +sagacious person published what he called a 'key' to several of my +earlier stories, in which I found the names of a number of neighbors +attached to aliases of my own invention. All the 'types,' as he called +them, represented by these personages of my story had come to be +recognized, each as standing for one and the same individual of my +acquaintance. It had been of no use to change the costume. Even changing +the sex did no good. I had a famous old gossip in one of my tales,--a +much-babbling Widow Sertingly. 'Sho!' they all said, that 's old Deacon +Spinner, the same he told about in that other story of his,--only +the deacon's got on a petticoat and a mob-cap,--but it's the same old +sixpence.' So I said to myself, I must have some new characters. I +had no trouble with young characters; they are all pretty much +alike,--dark-haired or light-haired, with the outfits belonging to their +complexion, respectively. I had an old great-aunt, who was a tip-top +eccentric. I had never seen anything just like her in books. So I said, +I will have you, old lady, in one of my stories; and, sure enough, I +fitted her out with a first-rate odd-sounding name, which I got from the +directory, and sent her forth to the world, disguised, as I supposed, +beyond the possibility of recognition. The book sold well, and the +eccentric personage was voted a novelty. A few weeks after it was +published a lawyer called upon me, as the agent of the person in the +directory, whose family name I had used, as he maintained, to his +and all his relatives' great damage, wrong, loss, grief, shame, and +irreparable injury, for which the sum of blank thousand dollars would be +a modest compensation. The story made the book sell, but not enough +to pay blank thousand dollars. In the mean time a cousin of mine had +sniffed out the resemblance between the character in my book and our +great-aunt. We were rivals in her good graces. 'Cousin Pansie' spoke to +her of my book and the trouble it was bringing on me,--she was so sorry +about it! She liked my story,--only those personalities, you know. 'What +personalities?' says old granny-aunt. 'Why, auntie, dear, they do say +that he has brought in everybody we know,--did n't anybody tell you +about--well,--I suppose you ought to know it,--did n't anybody tell you +you were made fun of in that novel?' Somebody--no matter who--happened +to hear all this, and told me. She said granny-aunt's withered old face +had two red spots come to it, as if she had been painting her cheeks +from a pink saucer. No, she said, not a pink saucer, but as if they +were two coals of fire. She sent out and got the book, and made her (the +somebody that I was speaking of) read it to her. When she had heard +as much as she could stand,--for 'Cousin Pansie' explained passages +to her,--explained, you know,--she sent for her lawyer, and that same +somebody had to be a witness to a new will she had drawn up. It was not +to my advantage. 'Cousin Pansie' got the corner lot where the grocery +is, and pretty much everything else. The old woman left me a legacy. +What do you think it was? An old set of my own books, that looked as if +it had been bought out of a bankrupt circulating library. + +“After that I grew more careful. I studied my disguises much more +diligently. But after all, what could I do? Here I was, writing stories +for my living and my reputation. I made a pretty sum enough, and worked +hard enough to earn it. No tale, no money. Then every story that went +from my workshop had to come up to the standard of my reputation, +and there was a set of critics,--there is a set of critics now +and everywhere,--that watch as narrowly for the decline of a man's +reputation as ever a village half drowned out by an inundation watched +for the falling of the waters. The fame I had won, such as it was, +seemed to attend me,--not going before me in the shape of a woman with +a trumpet, but rather following me like one of Actaeon's hounds, his +throat open, ready to pull me down and tear me. What a fierce enemy +is that which bays behind us in the voice of our proudest bygone +achievement! + +“But, as I said above, what could I do? I must write novels, and I must +have characters. 'Then why not invent them?' asks some novice. Oh, yes! +Invent them! You can invent a human being that in certain aspects +of humanity will answer every purpose for which your invention was +intended. A basket of straw, an old coat and pair of breeches, a hat +which has been soaked, sat upon, stuffed a broken window, and had a +brood of chickens raised in it,--these elements, duly adjusted to each +other, will represent humanity so truthfully that the crows will avoid +the cornfield when your scarecrow displays his personality. Do you +think you can make your heroes and heroines,--nay, even your scrappy +supernumeraries,--out of refuse material, as you made your scarecrow? +You can't do it. You must study living people and reproduce them. And +whom do you know so well as your friends? You will show up your friends, +then, one after another. When your friends give out, who is left for +you? Why, nobody but your own family, of course. When you have used +up your family, there is nothing left for you but to write your +autobiography. + +“After my experience with my grand-aunt, I be came more cautious, very +naturally. I kept traits of character, but I mixed ages as well as +sexes. In this way I continued to use up a large amount of material, +which looked as if it were as dangerous as dynamite to meddle with. +Who would have expected to meet my maternal uncle in the guise of a +schoolboy? Yet I managed to decant his characteristics as nicely as the +old gentleman would have decanted a bottle of Juno Madeira through that +long siphon which he always used when the most sacred vintages were +summoned from their crypts to render an account of themselves on his +hospitable board. It was a nice business, I confess, but I did it, and I +drink cheerfully to that good uncle's memory in a glass of wine from +his own cellar, which, with many other more important tokens of his good +will, I call my own since his lamented demise. + +“I succeeded so well with my uncle that I thought I would try a course +of cousins. I had enough of them to furnish out a whole gallery of +portraits. There was cousin 'Creeshy,' as we called her; Lucretia, more +correctly. She was a cripple. Her left lower limb had had something +happen to it, and she walked with a crutch. Her patience under her trial +was very pathetic and picturesque, so to speak,--I mean adapted to +the tender parts of a story; nothing could work up better in a +melting paragraph. But I could not, of course, describe her particular +infirmity; that would point her out at once. I thought of shifting the +lameness to the right lower limb, but even that would be seen through. +So I gave the young woman that stood for her in my story a lame elbow, +and put her arm in a sling, and made her such a model of uncomplaining +endurance that my grandmother cried over her as if her poor old heart +would break. She cried very easily, my grandmother; in fact, she had +such a gift for tears that I availed myself of it, and if you remember +old Judy, in my novel 'Honi Soit' (Honey Sweet, the booksellers called +it),--old Judy, the black-nurse,--that was my grandmother. She had +various other peculiarities, which I brought out one by one, and +saddled on to different characters. You see she was a perfect mine of +singularities and idiosyncrasies. After I had used her up pretty well, +I came down upon my poor relations. They were perfectly fair game; what +better use could I put them to? I studied them up very carefully, and as +there were a good many of them I helped myself freely. They lasted me, +with occasional intermissions, I should say, three or four years. I had +to be very careful with my poor relations,--they were as touchy as they +could be; and as I felt bound to send a copy of my novel, whatever it +might be, to each one of them,--there were as many as a dozen,--I took +care to mix their characteristic features, so that, though each might +suspect I meant the other, no one should think I meant him or her. I +got through all my relations at last except my father and mother. I had +treated my brothers and sisters pretty fairly, all except Elisha and +Joanna. The truth is they both had lots of odd ways,--family traits, +I suppose, but were just different enough from each other to figure +separately in two different stories. These two novels made me some +little trouble; for Elisha said he felt sure that I meant Joanna in one +of them, and quarrelled with me about it; and Joanna vowed and declared +that Elnathan, in the other, stood for brother 'Lisha, and that it was +a real mean thing to make fun of folks' own flesh and blood, and treated +me to one of her cries. She was n't handsome when she cried, poor, dear +Joanna; in fact, that was one of the personal traits I had made use of +in the story that Elisha found fault with. + +“So as there was nobody left but my father and mother, you see for +yourself I had no choice. There was one great advantage in dealing with +them,--I knew them so thoroughly. One naturally feels a certain delicacy +it handling from a purely artistic point of view persons who have been +so near to him. One's mother, for instance: suppose some of her little +ways were so peculiar that the accurate delineation of them would +furnish amusement to great numbers of readers; it would not be without +hesitation that a writer of delicate sensibility would draw her +portrait, with all its whimsicalities, so plainly that it should be +generally recognized. One's father is commonly of tougher fibre than +one's mother, and one would not feel the same scruples, perhaps, in +using him professionally as material in a novel; still, while you are +employing him as bait,--you see I am honest and plain-spoken, for your +characters are baits to catch readers with,--I would follow kind +Izaak Walton's humane counsel about the frog you are fastening to your +fish-hook: fix him artistically, as he directs, but in so doing I use +him as though you loved him.' + +“I have at length shown up, in one form and another, all my townsmen +who have anything effective in their bodily or mental make-up, all +my friends, all my relatives; that is, all my blood relatives. It has +occurred to me that I might open a new field in the family connection of +my father-in-law and mother-in-law. We have been thinking of paying them +a visit, and I shall have an admirable opportunity of studying them +and their relatives and visitors. I have long wanted a good chance for +getting acquainted with the social sphere several grades below that to +which I am accustomed, and I have no doubt that I shall find matter for +half a dozen new stories among those connections of mine. Besides, they +live in a Western city, and one doesn't mind much how he cuts up the +people of places he does n't himself live in. I suppose there is not +really so much difference in people's feelings, whether they live in +Bangor or Omaha, but one's nerves can't be expected to stretch across +the continent. It is all a matter of greater or less distance. I read +this morning that a Chinese fleet was sunk, but I did n't think half +so much about it as I did about losing my sleeve button, confound +it! People have accused me of want of feeling; they misunderstand the +artist-nature,--that is all. I obey that implicitly; I am sorry if +people don't like my descriptions, but I have done my best. I have +pulled to pieces all the persons I am acquainted with, and put them +together again in my characters. The quills I write with come from live +geese, I would have you know. I expect to get some first-rate pluckings +from those people I was speaking of, and I mean to begin my thirty-ninth +novel as soon as I have got through my visit.” + + + + + + +IX. THE SOCIETY AND ITS NEW SECRETARY. + +There is no use in trying to hurry the natural course of events, in a +narrative like this. June passed away, and July, and August had come, +and as yet the enigma which had completely puzzled Arrowhead Village and +its visitors remained unsolved. The white canoe still wandered over the +lake, alone, ghostly, always avoiding the near approach of the boats +which seemed to be coming in its direction. Now and then a circumstance +would happen which helped to keep inquiry alive. Good horsemanship was +not so common among the young men of the place and its neighborhood that +Maurice's accomplishment in that way could be overlooked. If there was +a wicked horse or a wild colt whose owner was afraid of him, he would +be commended to Maurice's attention. Paolo would lead him to his master +with all due precaution,--for he had no idea of risking his neck on the +back of any ill-conditioned beast,--and Maurice would fasten on his long +spurs, spring into the saddle, and very speedily teach the creature good +behavior. There soon got about a story that he was what the fresh-water +fisherman called “one o' them whisperers.” It is a common legend enough, +coming from the Old World, but known in American horse-talking circles, +that some persons will whisper certain words in a horse's ear which +will tame him if he is as wild and furious as ever Cruiser was. All this +added to the mystery which surrounded the young man. A single improbable +or absurd story amounts to very little, but when half a dozen such +stories are told about the same individual or the same event, they begin +to produce the effect of credible evidence. If the year had been 1692 +and the place had been Salem Village, Maurice Kirkwood would have run +the risk of being treated like the Reverend George Burroughs. + +Miss Lurida Vincent's curiosity had been intensely excited with +reference to the young man of whom so many stories were told. She had +pretty nearly convinced herself that he was the author of the paper on +Ocean, Lake, and River, which had been read at one of the meetings of +the Pansophian Society. She was very desirous of meeting him, if it +were possible. It seemed as if she might, as Secretary of the Society, +request the cooperation of any of the visitors, without impropriety. +So, after much deliberation, she wrote a careful note, of which the +following is an exact copy. Her hand was bold, almost masculine, a +curious contrast to that of Euthymia, which was delicately feminine. +PANSOPHIAN SOCIETY. + +ARROWHEAD VILLAGE, August 3, 18-. MAURICE KIRKWOOD, ESQ. + +DEAR SIR,--You have received, I trust, a card of invitation to the +meetings of our Society, but I think we have not yet had the pleasure of +seeing you at any of them. We have supposed that we might be indebted +to you for a paper read at the last meeting, and listened to with +much interest. As it was anonymous, we do not wish to be inquisitive +respecting its authorship; but we desire to say that any papers kindly +sent us by the temporary residents of our village will be welcome, and +if adapted to the wants of our Association will be read at one of its +meetings or printed in its records, or perhaps both read and printed. +May we not hope for your presence at the meeting, which is to take place +next Wednesday evening? Respectfully yours, + +LURIDA VINCENT, Secretary of the Pansophian Society. + +To this note the Secretary received the following reply: MISS LURIDA +VINCENT, + +ARROWHEAD VILLAGE, August 4, 18-. + +Secretary of the Pansophian Society: + +DEAR MISS VINCENT,--I have received the ticket you refer to, and desire +to express my acknowledgments for the polite attention. I regret that I +have not been and I fear shall not be able to attend the meetings of the +Society; but if any subject occurs to me on which I feel an inclination +to write, it will give me pleasure to send a paper, to be disposed of as +the Society may see fit. + +Very respectfully yours, MAURICE KIRKWOOD. + +“He says nothing about the authorship of the paper that was read the +other evening,” the Secretary said to herself. “No matter,--he wrote +it,--there is no mistaking his handwriting. We know something about him, +now, at any rate. But why doesn't he come to our meetings? What has his +antipathy to do with his staying away? I must find out what his secret +is, and I will. I don't believe it's harder than it was to solve that +prize problem which puzzled so many teachers, or than beating Crakowitz, +the great chess-player.” + +To this enigma, then, The Terror determined to bend all the faculties +which had excited the admiration and sometimes the amazement of those +who knew her in her school-days. It was a very delicate piece of +business; for though Lurida was an intrepid woman's rights advocate, and +believed she was entitled to do almost everything that men dared to, +she knew very well there were certain limits which a young woman like +herself must not pass. + +In the mean time Maurice had received a visit from the young student +at the University,--the same whom he had rescued from his dangerous +predicament in the lake. With him had called one of the teachers,--an +instructor in modern languages, a native of Italy. Maurice and the +instructor exchanged a few words in Italian. The young man spoke it with +the ease which implied long familiarity with its use. + +After they left, the instructor asked many curious questions about +him,--who he was, how long he had been in the village, whether anything +was known of his history,--all these inquiries with an eagerness which +implied some special and peculiar reason for the interest they evinced. + +“I feel satisfied,” the instructor said, “that I have met that young man +in my own country. It was a number of years ago, and of course he +has altered in appearance a good deal; but there is a look about him +of--what shall I call it?---apprehension,--as if he were fearing the +approach of something or somebody. I think it is the way a man would +look that was haunted; you know what I mean,--followed by a spirit or +ghost. He does not suggest the idea of a murderer,--very far from it; +but if he did, I should think he was every minute in fear of seeing the +murdered man's spirit.” + +The student was curious, in his turn, to know all the instructor could +recall. He had seen him in Rome, he thought, at the Fountain of Trevi, +where so many strangers go before leaving the city. The youth was in +the company of a man who looked like a priest. He could not mistake +the peculiar expression of his countenance, but that was all he now +remembered about his appearance. His attention had been called to this +young man by seeing that some of the bystanders were pointing at him, +and noticing that they were whispering with each other as if with +reference to him. He should say that the youth was at that time fifteen +or sixteen years old, and the time was about ten years ago. + +After all, this evidence was of little or no value. Suppose the youth +were Maurice; what then? We know that he had been in Italy, and had been +there a good while,--or at least we infer so much from his familiarity +with the language, and are confirmed in the belief by his having an +Italian servant, whom he probably brought from Italy when he returned. +If he wrote the paper which was read the other evening, that settles it, +for the writer says he had lived by the Tiber. We must put this scrap of +evidence furnished by the Professor with the other scraps; it may +turn out of some consequence, sooner or later. It is like a piece of a +dissected map; it means almost nothing by itself, but when we find the +pieces it joins with we may discover a very important meaning in it. + +In a small, concentrated community like that which centred in and +immediately around Arrowhead Village, every day must have its local +gossip as well as its general news. The newspaper tells the small +community what is going on in the great world, and the busy tongues of +male and female, especially the latter, fill in with the occurrences +and comments of the ever-stirring microcosm. The fact that the Italian +teacher had, or thought he had, seen Maurice ten years before was +circulated and made the most of,--turned over and over like a cake, +until it was thoroughly done on both sides and all through. It was a +very small cake, but better than nothing. Miss Vincent heard this story, +as others did, and talked about it with her friend, Miss Tower. Here was +one more fact to help along. + +The two young ladies who had recently graduated at the Corinna Institute +remained, as they had always been, intimate friends. They were the +natural complements of each other. Euthymia represented a complete, +symmetrical womanhood. Her outward presence was only an index of a +large, wholesome, affluent life. She could not help being courageous, +with such a firm organization. She could not help being generous, +cheerful, active. She had been told often enough that she was fair to +look upon. She knew that she was called The Wonder by the schoolmates +who were dazzled by her singular accomplishments, but she did not +overvalue them. She rather tended to depreciate her own gifts, in +comparison with those of her friend, Miss Lurida Vincent. The two agreed +all the better for differing as they did. The octave makes a perfect +chord, when shorter intervals jar more or less on the ear. Each admired +the other with a heartiness which if they had been less unlike, would +have been impossible. + +It was a pleasant thing to observe their dependence on each other. +The Terror of the schoolroom was the oracle in her relations with her +friend. All the freedom of movement which The Wonder showed in her +bodily exercises The Terror manifested in the world of thought. She +would fling open a book, and decide in a swift glance whether it had +any message for her. Her teachers had compared her way of reading to the +taking of an instantaneous photograph. When she took up the first book +on Physiology which Dr. Butts handed her, it seemed to him that if she +only opened at any place, and gave one look, her mind drank its meaning +up, as a moist sponge absorbs water. “What can I do with such a creature +as this?” he said to himself. “There is only one way to deal with her, +treat her as one treats a silkworm: give it its mulberry leaf, and it +will spin its own cocoon. Give her the books, and she will spin her own +web of knowledge.” + +“Do you really think of studying medicine?” said Dr. Butts to her. + +“I have n't made up my mind about that,” she answered, “but I want to +know a little more about this terrible machinery of life and death we +are all tangled in. I know something about it, but not enough. I find +some very strange beliefs among the women I meet with, and I want to be +able to silence them when they attempt to proselyte me to their whims +and fancies. Besides, I want to know everything.” + +“They tell me you do, already,” said Dr. Butts. + +“I am the most ignorant little wretch that draws the breath of life!” + exclaimed The Terror. + +The doctor smiled. He knew what it meant. She had reached that stage of +education in which the vast domain of the unknown opens its illimitable +expanse before the eyes of the student. We never know the extent of +darkness until it is partially illuminated. + +“You did not leave the Institute with the reputation of being the most +ignorant young lady that ever graduated there,” said the doctor. “They +tell me you got the highest marks of any pupil on their record since the +school was founded.” + +“What a grand thing it was to be the biggest fish in our small +aquarium, to be sure!” answered The Terror. “He was six inches long, the +monster,--a little too big for bait to catch a pickerel with! What did +you hand me that schoolbook for? Did you think I did n't know anything +about the human body?” + +“You said you were such an ignorant creature I thought I would try you +with an easy book, by way of introduction.” + +The Terror was not confused by her apparent self-contradiction. + +“I meant what I said, and I mean what I say. When I talk about my +ignorance, I don't measure myself with schoolgirls, doctor. I don't +measure myself with my teachers, either. You must talk to me as if I +were a man, a grown man, if you mean to teach me anything. Where is your +hat, doctor? Let me try it on.” + +The doctor handed her his wide-awake. The Terror's hair was not +naturally abundant, like Euthymia's, and she kept it cut rather short. +Her head used to get very hot when she studied hard. She tried to put +the hat on. + +“Do you see that?” she said. “I could n't wear it--it would squeeze my +eyes out of my head. The books told me that women's brains were smaller +than men's: perhaps they are,--most of them,--I never measured a +great many. But when they try to settle what women are good for, by +phrenology, I like to have them put their tape round my head. I don't +believe in their nonsense, for all that. You might as well tell me +that if one horse weighs more than another horse he is worth more,--a +cart-horse that weighs twelve or fourteen hundred pounds better than +Eclipse, that may have weighed a thousand. Give me a list of the best +books you can think of, and turn me loose in your library. I can find +what I want, if you have it; and what I don't find there I will get at +the Public Library. I shall want to ask you a question now and then.” + +The doctor looked at her with a kind of admiration, but thoughtfully, +as if he feared she was thinking of a task too formidable for her slight +constitutional resource. + +She returned, instinctively, to the apparent contradiction in her +statements about herself. + +“I am not a fool, if I am ignorant. Yes, doctor, I sail on a wide sea of +ignorance, but I have taken soundings of some of its shallows and +some of its depths. Your profession deals with the facts of life that +interest me most just now, and I want to know something of it. Perhaps I +may find it a calling such as would suit me.” + +“Do you seriously think of becoming a practitioner of medicine?” said +the doctor. + +“Certainly, I seriously think of it as a possibility, but I want to know +something more about it first. Perhaps I sha'n't believe in medicine +enough to practise it. Perhaps I sha'n't like it well enough. No matter +about that. I wish to study some of your best books on some of the +subjects that most interest me. I know about bones and muscles and all +that, and about digestion and respiration and such things. I want to +study up the nervous system, and learn all about it. I am of the nervous +temperament myself, and perhaps that is the reason. I want to read about +insanity and all that relates to it.” + +A curious expression flitted across the doctor's features as The Terror +said this. + +“Nervous system. Insanity. She has headaches, I know,--all those +large-headed, hard-thinking girls do, as a matter of course; but what +has set her off about insanity and the nervous system? I wonder if any +of her more remote relatives are subject to mental disorder. Bright +people very often have crazy relations. Perhaps some of her friends are +in that way. I wonder whether”--the doctor did not speak any of these +thoughts, and in fact hardly shaped his “whether,” for The Terror +interrupted his train of reflection, or rather struck into it in a way +which startled him. + +“Where is the first volume of this Medical Cyclopaedia?” she asked, +looking at its empty place on the shelf. + +“On my table,” the doctor answered. “I have been consulting it.” + +Lurida flung it open, in her eager way, and turned the pages rapidly +until she came to the one she wanted. The doctor cast his eye on the +beading of the page, and saw the large letters A N T. + +“I thought so,” he said to himself. “We shall know everything there is +in the books about antipathies now, if we never did before. She has a +special object in studying the nervous system, just as I suspected. I +think she does not care to mention it at this time; but if she finds out +anything of interest she will tell me, if she does anybody. Perhaps +she does not mean to tell anybody. It is a rather delicate business,--a +young girl studying the natural history of a young man. Not quite so +safe as botany or palaeontology!” + +Lurida, lately The Terror, now Miss Vincent, had her own plans, and +chose to keep them to herself, for the present, at least. Her hands +were full enough, it might seem, without undertaking the solution of +the great Arrowhead Village enigma. But she was in the most perfect +training, so far as her intelligence was concerned; and the summer rest +had restored her bodily vigor, so that her brain was like an overcharged +battery which will find conductors somewhere to carry off its crowded +energy. + +At this time Arrowhead Village was enjoying the most successful season +it had ever known. The Pansophian Society flourished to an extraordinary +degree under the fostering care of the new Secretary. The rector was +a good figure-head as President, but the Secretary was the life of the +Society. Communications came in abundantly: some from the village and +its neighborhood, some from the University and the Institute, some from +distant and unknown sources. The new Secretary was very busy with the +work of examining these papers. After a forenoon so employed, the carpet +of her room looked like a barn floor after a husking-match. A glance at +the manuscripts strewed about, or lying in heaps, would have frightened +any young writer away from the thought of authorship as a business. If +the candidate for that fearful calling had seen the process of selection +and elimination, he would have felt still more desperately. A paper of +twenty pages would come in, with an underscored request to please read +through, carefully. That request alone is commonly sufficient to condemn +any paper, and prevent its having any chance of a hearing; but the +Secretary was not hardened enough yet for that kind of martial law in +dealing with manuscripts. The looker-on might have seen her take up the +paper, cast one flashing glance at its title, read the first sentence +and the last, dip at a venture into two or three pages, and decide as +swiftly as the lightning calculator would add up a column of figures +what was to be its destination. If rejected, it went into the heap +on the left; if approved, it was laid apart, to be submitted to the +Committee for their judgment. The foolish writers who insist on one's +reading through their manuscript poems and stories ought to know how +fatal the request is to their prospects. It provokes the reader, to +begin with. The reading of manuscript is frightful work, at the best; +the reading of worthless manuscript--and most of that which one is +requested to read through is worthless--would add to the terrors of +Tartarus, if any infernal deity were ingenious enough to suggest it as a +punishment. + +If a paper was rejected by the Secretary, it did not come before the +Committee, but was returned to the author, if he sent for it, which he +commonly did. Its natural course was to try for admission into some one +of the popular magazines: into “The Sifter,” the most fastidious of them +all; if that declined it, into “The Second Best;” and if that returned +it, into “The Omnivorous.” If it was refused admittance at the doors of +all the magazines, it might at length find shelter in the corner of a +newspaper, where a good deal of very readable verse is to be met with +nowadays, some of which has been, no doubt, presented to the Pansophian +Society, but was not considered up to its standard. + + + + + + +X. A NEW ARRIVAL. + +There was a recent accession to the transient population of the village +which gave rise to some speculation. The new-comer was a young fellow, +rather careless in his exterior, but apparently as much at home as if he +owned Arrowhead Village and everything in it. He commonly had a cigar +in his mouth, carried a pocket pistol, of the non-explosive sort, and +a stick with a bulldog's head for its knob; wore a soft hat, a +coarse check suit, a little baggy, and gaiterboots which had been +half-soled,--a Bohemian-looking personage, altogether. + +This individual began making explorations in every direction. He was +very curious about the place and all the people in it. He was especially +interested in the Pansophian Society, concerning which he made all +sorts of inquiries. This led him to form a summer acquaintance with the +Secretary, who was pleased to give him whatever information he asked +for; being proud of the Society, as she had a right to be, and knowing +more about it than anybody else. + +The visitor could not have been long in the village without hearing +something of Maurice Kirkwood, and the stories, true and false, +connected with his name. He questioned everybody who could tell him +anything about Maurice, and set down the answers in a little note-book +he always had with him. + +All this naturally excited the curiosity of the village about this +new visitor. Among the rest, Miss Vincent, not wanting in an attribute +thought to belong more especially to her sex, became somewhat interested +to know more exactly who this inquiring, note-taking personage, who +seemed to be everywhere and to know everybody, might himself be. Meeting +him at the Public Library at a fortunate moment, when there was nobody +but the old Librarian, who was hard of hearing, to interfere with their +conversation, the little Secretary had a chance to try to find out +something about him. + +“This is a very remarkable library for a small village to possess,” he +remarked to Miss Lurida. + +“It is, indeed,” she said. “Have you found it well furnished with the +books you most want?” + +“Oh, yes,--books enough. I don't care so much for the books as I do for +the Newspapers. I like a Review well enough,--it tells you all there +is in a book; but a good abstract of the Review in a Newspaper saves a +fellow the trouble of reading it.” + +“You find the papers you want, here, I hope,” said the young lady. + +“Oh, I get along pretty well. It's my off-time, and I don't do much +reading or writing. Who is the city correspondent of this place?” + +“I don't think we have any one who writes regularly. Now and then, there +is a letter, with the gossip of the place in it, or an account of some +of the doings at our Society. The city papers are always glad to get the +reports of our meetings, and to know what is going on in the village.” + +“I suppose you write about the Society to the papers, as you are the +Secretary.” + +This was a point-blank shot. She meant to question the young man about +his business, and here she was on the witness-stand. She ducked her +head, and let the question go over her. + +“Oh, there are plenty of members who are willing enough to write, +--especially to give an account of their own papers. I think they like +to have me put in the applause, when they get any. I do that sometimes.” + (How much more, she did not say.) + +“I have seen some very well written articles, which, from what they +tell me of the Secretary, I should have thought she might have written +herself.” + +He looked her straight in the eyes. + +“I have transmitted some good papers,” she said, without winking, or +swallowing, or changing color, precious little color she had to change; +her brain wanted all the blood it could borrow or steal, and more too. +“You spoke of Newspapers,” she said, without any change of tone or +manner: “do you not frequently write for them yourself?” + +“I should think I did,” answered the young man. “I am a regular +correspondent of 'The People's Perennial and Household Inquisitor.'” + +“The regular correspondent from where?” + +“Where! Oh, anywhere,--the place does not make much difference. I have +been writing chiefly from Naples and St. Petersburg, and now and then +from Constantinople.” + +“How long since your return to this country, may I ask?” + +“My return? I have never been out of this country. I travel with a +gazetteer and some guide-books. It is the cheapest way, and you can get +the facts much better from them than by trusting your own observation. I +have made the tour of Europe by the help of them and the newspapers. +But of late I have taken to interviewing. I find that a very pleasant +specialty. It is about as good sport as trout-tickling, and much the +same kind of business. I should like to send the Society an account of +one of my interviews. Don't you think they would like to hear it?” + +“I have no doubt they would. Send it to me, and I will look it over; and +if the Committee approve it, we will have it at the next meeting. You +know everything has to be examined and voted on by the Committee,” said +the cautious Secretary. + +“Very well,--I will risk it. After it is read, if it is read, please +send it back to me, as I want to sell it to 'The Sifter,' or 'The Second +Best,' or some of the paying magazines.” + +This is the paper, which was read at the next meeting of the Pansophian +Society. + +“I was ordered by the editor of the newspaper to which I am attached, +'The People's Perennial and Household Inquisitor,' to make a visit to +a certain well-known writer, and obtain all the particulars I could +concerning him and all that related to him. I have interviewed a good +many politicians, who I thought rather liked the process; but I had +never tried any of these literary people, and I was not quite sure +how this one would feel about it. I said as much to the chief, but he +pooh-poohed my scruples. 'It is n't our business whether they like it +or not,' said he; 'the public wants it, and what the public wants it's +bound to have, and we are bound to furnish it. Don't be afraid of your +man; he 's used to it,--he's been pumped often enough to take it +easy, and what you've got to do is to pump him dry. You need n't be +modest,--ask him what you like; he is n't bound to answer, you know.' + +“As he lived in a rather nice quarter of the town, I smarted myself up a +little, put on a fresh collar and cuffs, and got a five-cent shine on +my best high-lows. I said to myself, as I was walking towards the house +where he lived, that I would keep very shady for a while and pass for a +visitor from a distance; one of those 'admiring strangers' who call in +to pay their respects, to get an autograph, and go home and say that +they have met the distinguished So and So, which gives them a certain +distinction in the village circle to which they belong. + +“My man, the celebrated writer, received me in what was evidently his +reception-room. I observed that he managed to get the light full on my +face, while his own was in the shade. I had meant to have his face in +the light, but he knew the localities, and had arranged things so as +to give him that advantage. It was like two frigates manoeuvring,--each +trying to get to windward of the other. I never take out my +note-book until I and my man have got engaged in artless and earnest +conversation,--always about himself and his works, of course, if he is +an author. + +“I began by saying that he must receive a good many callers. Those who +had read his books were naturally curious to see the writer of them. + +“He assented, emphatically, to this statement. He had, he said, a great +many callers. + +“I remarked that there was a quality in his books which made his readers +feel as if they knew him personally, and caused them to cherish a +certain attachment to him. + +“He smiled, as if pleased. He was himself disposed to think so, he said. +In fact, a great many persons, strangers writing to him, had told him +so. + +“My dear sir,” I said, “there is nothing wonderful in the fact you +mention. You reach a responsive chord in many human breasts. + + + 'One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin.' + +“Everybody feels as if he, and especially she (his eyes sparkled), were +your blood relation. Do they not name their children after you very +frequently? + +“He blushed perceptibly. 'Sometimes,' he answered. 'I hope they will all +turn out well.' + +“I am afraid I am taking up too much of your time, I said. + +“No, not at all,' he replied. 'Come up into my library; it is warmer and +pleasanter there.' + +“I felt confident that I had him by the right handle then; for an +author's library, which is commonly his working-room, is, like a lady's +boudoir, a sacred apartment. + +“So we went upstairs, and again he got me with the daylight on my face, +when I wanted it on has. + +“You have a fine library, I remarked. There were books all round the +room, and one of those whirligig square book-cases. I saw in front a +Bible and a Concordance, Shakespeare and Mrs. Cowden Clarke's book, and +other classical works and books of grave aspect. I contrived to give +it a turn, and on the side next the wall I got a glimpse of Barnum's +Rhyming Dictionary, and several Dictionaries of Quotations and cheap +compends of knowledge. Always twirl one of those revolving book-cases +when you visit a scholar's library. That is the way to find out what +books he does n't want you to see, which of course are the ones you +particularly wish to see. + +“Some may call all this impertinent and inquisitive. What do you suppose +is an interviewer's business? Did you ever see an oyster opened? Yes? +Well, an interviewer's business is the same thing. His man is his +oyster, which he, not with sword, but with pencil and note-book, must +open. Mark how the oysterman's thin blade insinuates itself,--how gently +at first, how strenuously when once fairly between the shells! + +“And here, I said, you write your books,--those books which have +carried your name to all parts of the world, and will convey it down to +posterity! Is this the desk at which you write? And is this the pen you +write with? + +“'It is the desk and the very pen,' he replied. + +“He was pleased with my questions and my way of putting them. I took up +the pen as reverentially as if it had been made of the feather which +the angel I used to read about in Young's 'Night Thoughts' ought to have +dropped, and did n't. + +“Would you kindly write your autograph in my note-book, with that pen? I +asked him. Yes, he would, with great pleasure. + +“So I got out my note-book. + +“It was a spick and span new one, bought on purpose for this interview. +I admire your bookcases, said I. Can you tell me just how high they are? + +“'They are about eight feet, with the cornice.' + +“I should like to have some like those, if I ever get rich enough, said +I. Eight feet,--eight feet, with the cornice. I must put that down. + +“So I got out my pencil. + +“I sat there with my pencil and note-book in my hand, all ready, but not +using them as yet. + +“I have heard it said, I observed, that you began writing poems at a +very early age. Is it taking too great a liberty to ask how early you +began to write in verse? + +“He was getting interested, as people are apt to be when they are +themselves the subjects of conversation. + +“'Very early,--I hardly know how early. I can say truly, as Louise Colet +said, + + + “'Je fis mes premiers vers sans savoir les ecrire.'” + +“I am not a very good French scholar, said I; perhaps you will be kind +enough to translate that line for me. + +“'Certainly. With pleasure. I made my first verses without knowing how +to write them.' + +“How interesting! But I never heard of Louise Colet. Who was she? + +“My man was pleased to give me a piece of literary information. + +“'Louise the lioness! Never heard of her? You have heard of Alphonse +Karr?' + +“Why,--yes,--more or less. To tell the truth, I am not very well up in +French literature. What had he to do with your lioness? + +“'A good deal. He satirized her, and she waited at his door with a +case-knife in her hand, intending to stick him with it. By and by he +came down, smoking a cigarette, and was met by this woman flourishing +her case-knife. He took it from her, after getting a cut in his +dressing-gown, put it in his pocket, and went on with his cigarette. He +keeps it with an inscription: + + + “Donne a Alphonse Karr + Par Madame Louise Colet.... + Dans le dos. + +“Lively little female!' + +“I could n't help thinking that I should n't have cared to interview +the lively little female. He was evidently tickled with the interest +I appeared to take in the story he told me. That made him feel amiably +disposed toward me. + +“I began with very general questions, but by degrees I got at everything +about his family history and the small events of his boyhood. Some of +the points touched upon were delicate, but I put a good bold face on my +most audacious questions, and so I wormed out a great deal that was new +concerning my subject. He had been written about considerably, and the +public wouldn't have been satisfied without some new facts; and these I +meant to have, and I got. No matter about many of them now, but here +are some questions and answers that may be thought worth reading or +listening to: + +“How do you enjoy being what they call 'a celebrity,' or a celebrated +man? + +“'So far as one's vanity is concerned it is well enough. But self-love +is a cup without any bottom, and you might pour the Great Lakes all +through it, and never fill it up. It breeds an appetite for more of the +same kind. It tends to make the celebrity a mere lump of egotism. It +generates a craving for high-seasoned personalities which is in danger +of becoming slavery, like that following the abuse of alcohol, or opium, +or tobacco. Think of a man's having every day, by every post, letters +that tell him he is this and that and the other, with epithets and +endearments, one tenth part of which would have made him blush red hot +before he began to be what you call a celebrity!' + +“Are there not some special inconveniences connected with what is called +celebrity? + +“'I should think so! Suppose you were obliged every day of your life +to stand and shake hands, as the President of the United States has to +after his inauguration: how do you think your hand would feel after +a few months' practice of that exercise? Suppose you had given you +thirty-five millions of money a year, in hundred-dollar coupons, on +condition that you cut them all off yourself in the usual manner: how do +you think you should like the look of a pair of scissors at the end of +a year, in which you had worked ten hours a day every day but Sunday, +cutting off a hundred coupons an hour, and found you had not finished +your task, after all? You have addressed me as what you are pleased to +call “a literary celebrity.” I won't dispute with you as to whether or +not I deserve that title. I will take it for granted I am what you call +me, and give you some few hints on my experience. + +“'You know there was formed a while ago an Association of Authors for +Self-Protection. It meant well, and it was hoped that something would +come of it in the way of relieving that oppressed class, but I am sorry +to say that it has not effected its purpose.' + +“I suspected he had a hand in drawing up the Constitution and Laws of +that Association. Yes, I said, an admirable Association it was, and as +much needed as the one for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I am +sorry to hear that it has not proved effectual in putting a stop to the +abuse of a deserving class of men. It ought to have done it; it was well +conceived, and its public manifesto was a masterpiece. (I saw by his +expression that he was its author.) + +“'I see I can trust you,' he said. 'I will unbosom myself freely of some +of the grievances attaching to the position of the individual to whom +you have applied the term “Literary Celebrity.” + +“'He is supposed to be a millionaire, in virtue of the immense sales of +his books, all the money from which, it is taken for granted, goes into +his pocket. Consequently, all subscription papers are handed to him for +his signature, and every needy stranger who has heard his name comes to +him for assistance. + +“'He is expected to subscribe for all periodicals, and is goaded by +receiving blank formulae, which, with their promises to pay, he is +expected to fill up. + +“'He receives two or three books daily, with requests to read and give +his opinion about each of them, which opinion, if it has a word +which can be used as an advertisement, he will find quoted in all the +newspapers. + +“'He receives thick masses of manuscript, prose and verse, which he is +called upon to examine and pronounce on their merits; these manuscripts +having almost invariably been rejected by the editors to whom they have +been sent, and having as a rule no literary value whatever. + +“'He is expected to sign petitions, to contribute to journals, to write +for fairs, to attend celebrations, to make after-dinner speeches, to +send money for objects he does not believe in to places he never heard +of. + +“'He is called on to keep up correspondences with unknown admirers, who +begin by saying they have no claim upon his time, and then appropriate +it by writing page after page, if of the male sex; and sheet after +sheet, if of the other. + +“'If a poet, it is taken for granted that he can sit down at any moment +and spin off any number of verses on any subject which may be suggested +to him; such as congratulations to the writer's great-grandmother on her +reaching her hundredth year, an elegy on an infant aged six weeks, an +ode for the Fourth of July in a Western township not to be found in +Lippincott's last edition, perhaps a valentine for some bucolic lover +who believes that wooing in rhyme is the way to win the object of his +affections.' + +“Is n't it so? I asked the Celebrity. + +“'I would bet on the prose lover. She will show the verses to him, and +they will both have a good laugh over them.' + +“I have only reported a small part of the conversation I had with +the Literary Celebrity. He was so much taken up with his pleasing +self-contemplation, while I made him air his opinions and feelings and +spread his characteristics as his laundress spreads and airs his linen +on the clothes-line, that I don't believe it ever occurred to him +that he had been in the hands of an interviewer until he found himself +exposed to the wind and sunshine in full dimensions in the columns of +The People's Perennial and Household Inquisitor.'” + +After the reading of this paper, much curiosity was shown as to who the +person spoken of as the “Literary Celebrity” might be. Among the various +suppositions the startling idea was suggested that he was neither more +nor less than the unexplained personage known in the village as Maurice +Kirkwood. Why should that be his real name? Why should not he be the +Celebrity, who had taken this name and fled to this retreat to escape +from the persecutions of kind friends, who were pricking him and +stabbing him nigh to death with their daggers of sugar candy? + +The Secretary of the Pansophian Society determined to question the +Interviewer the next time she met him at the Library, which happened +soon after the meeting when his paper was read. + +“I do not know,” she said, in the course of a conversation in which she +had spoken warmly of his contribution to the literary entertainment of +the Society, “that you mentioned the name of the Literary Celebrity whom +you interviewed so successfully.” + +“I did not mention him, Miss Vincent,” he answered, “nor do I think it +worth while to name him. He might not care to have the whole story told +of how he was handled so as to make him communicative. Besides, if I +did, it would bring him a new batch of sympathetic letters, regretting +that he was bothered by those horrid correspondents, full of indignation +at the bores who presumed to intrude upon him with their pages of +trash, all the writers of which would expect answers to their letters of +condolence.” + +The Secretary asked the Interviewer if he knew the young gentleman who +called himself Maurice Kirkwood. + +“What,” he answered, “the man that paddles a birch canoe, and rides all +the wild horses of the neighborhood? No, I don't know him, but I have +met him once or twice, out walking. A mighty shy fellow, they tell me. +Do you know anything particular about him?” + +“Not much. None of us do, but we should like to. The story is that he +has a queer antipathy to something or to somebody, nobody knows what or +whom.” + +“To newspaper correspondents, perhaps,” said the interviewer. “What made +you ask me about him? You did n't think he was my 'Literary Celebrity,' +did you?” + +“I did not know. I thought he might be. Why don't you interview this +mysterious personage? He would make a good sensation for your paper, I +should think.” + +“Why, what is there to be interviewed in him? Is there any story +of crime, or anything else to spice a column or so, or even a +few paragraphs, with? If there is, I am willing to handle him +professionally.” + +“I told you he has what they call an antipathy. I don't know how much +wiser you are for that piece of information.” + +“An antipathy! Why, so have I an antipathy. I hate a spider, and as for +a naked caterpillar,--I believe I should go into a fit if I had to +touch one. I know I turn pale at the sight of some of those great green +caterpillars that come down from the elm-trees in August and early +autumn.” + +“Afraid of them?” asked the young lady. + +“Afraid? What should I be afraid of? They can't bite or sting. I can't +give any reason. All I know is that when I come across one of these +creatures in my path I jump to one side, and cry out,--sometimes using +very improper words. The fact is, they make me crazy for the moment.” + +“I understand what you mean,” said Miss Vincent. “I used to have the +same feeling about spiders, but I was ashamed of it, and kept a little +menagerie of spiders until I had got over the feeling; that is, pretty +much got over it, for I don't love the creatures very dearly, though I +don't scream when I see one.” + +“What did you tell me, Miss Vincent, was this fellow's particular +antipathy?” + +“That is just the question. I told you that we don't know and we can't +guess what it is. The people here are tired out with trying to +discover some good reason for the young man's keeping out of the way of +everybody, as he does. They say he is odd or crazy, and they don't seem +to be able to tell which. It would make the old ladies of the village +sleep a great deal sounder,--yes, and some of the young ladies, too,--if +they could find out what this Mr. Kirkwood has got into his head, that +he never comes near any of the people here.” + +“I think I can find out,” said the Interviewer, whose professional +ambition was beginning to be excited. “I never came across anybody yet +that I could n't get something out of. I am going to stay here a week +or two, and before I go I will find out the secret, if there is any, of +this Mr. Maurice Kirkwood.” + +We must leave the Interviewer to his contrivances until they present us +with some kind of result, either in the shape of success or failure. + + + + + + +XI. THE INTERVIEWER ATTACKS THE SPHINX. + +When Miss Euthymia Tower sent her oar off in flashing splinters, as she +pulled her last stroke in the boat-race, she did not know what a strain +she was putting upon it. She did know that she was doing her best, but +how great the force of her best was she was not aware until she saw +its effects. Unconsciousness belonged to her robust nature, in all its +manifestations. She did not pride herself on her knowledge, nor reproach +herself for her ignorance. In every way she formed a striking contrast +to her friend, Miss Vincent. Every word they spoke betrayed the +difference between them: the sharp tones of Lurida's head-voice, +penetrative, aggressive, sometimes irritating, revealed the +corresponding traits of mental and moral character; the quiet, +conversational contralto of Euthymia was the index of a nature restful +and sympathetic. + +The friendships of young girls prefigure the closer relations which will +one day come in and dissolve their earlier intimacies. The dependence of +two young friends may be mutual, but one will always lean more heavily +than the other; the masculine and feminine elements will be as sure to +assert themselves as if the friends were of different sexes. + +On all common occasions Euthymia looked up to her friend as her +superior. She fully appreciated all her varied gifts and knowledge, and +deferred to her opinion in every-day matters, not exactly as an oracle, +but as wiser than herself or any of her other companions. It was a +different thing, however, when the graver questions of life came up. +Lurida was full of suggestions, plans, projects, which were too liable +to run into whims before she knew where they were tending. She would lay +out her ideas before Euthymia so fluently and eloquently that she could +not help believing them herself, and feeling as if her friend must +accept them with an enthusiasm like her own. Then Euthymia would +take them up with her sweet, deliberate accents, and bring her calmer +judgment to bear on them. + +Lurida was in an excited condition, in the midst of all her new +interests and occupations. She was constantly on the lookout for papers +to be read at the meetings of her Society,--for she made it her own in +great measure, by her zeal and enthusiasm,--and in the mean time she was +reading in various books which Dr. Butts selected for her, all bearing +on the profession to which, at least as a possibility, she was looking +forward. Privately and in a very still way, she was occupying herself +with the problem of the young stranger, the subject of some delusion, +or disease, or obliquity of unknown nature, to which the vague name of +antipathy had been attached. Euthymia kept an eye upon her, partly in +the fear that over-excitement would produce some mental injury, and +partly from anxiety lest she should compromise her womanly dignity in +her desire to get at the truth of a very puzzling question. + +“How do you like the books I see you reading?” said Euthymia to Lurida, +one day, as they met at the Library. + +“Better than all the novels I ever read,” she answered. “I have been +reading about the nervous system, and it seems to me I have come nearer +the springs of life than ever before in all my studies. I feel just as +if I were a telegraph operator. I was sure that I had a battery in my +head, for I know my brain works like one; but I did not know how many +centres of energy there are, and how they are played upon by all sorts +of influences, external and internal. Do you know, I believe I could +solve the riddle of the 'Arrowhead Village Sphinx,' as the paper called +him, if he would only stay here long enough?” + +“What paper has had anything about it, Lurida? I have not seen or heard +of its being mentioned in any of the papers.” + +“You know that rather queer-looking young man who has been about here +for some time,--the same one who gave the account of his interview with +a celebrated author? Well, he has handed me a copy of a paper in which +he writes, 'The People's Perennial and Household Inquisitor.' He talks +about this village in a very free and easy way. He says there is a +Sphinx here, who has mystified us all.” + +“And you have been chatting with that fellow! Don't you know that he'll +have you and all of us in his paper? Don't you know that nothing is safe +where one of those fellows gets in with his note-book and pencil? Oh, +Lurida, Lurida, do be careful! What with this mysterious young man and +this very questionable newspaper-paragraph writer, you will be talked +about, if you don't mind, before you know it. You had better let the +riddle of the Sphinx alone. If you must deal with such dangerous people, +the safest way is to set one of them to find out the other.--I wonder +if we can't get this new man to interview the visitor you have so much +curiosity about. That might be managed easily enough without your having +anything to do with it. Let me alone, and I will arrange it. But mind, +now, you must not meddle; if you do, you will spoil everything, and get +your name in the 'Household Inquisitor' in a way you won't like.” + +“Don't be frightened about me, Euthymia. I don't mean to give him a +chance to work me into his paper, if I can help it. But if you can get +him to try his skill upon this interesting personage and his antipathy, +so much the better. I am very curious about it, and therefore about +him. I want to know what has produced this strange state of feeling in a +young man who ought to have all the common instincts of a social being. +I believe there are unexplained facts in the region of sympathies +and antipathies which will repay study with a deeper insight into the +mysteries of life than we have dreamed of hitherto. I often +wonder whether there are not heart-waves and soul-waves as well as +'brain-waves,' which some have already recognized.” + +Euthymia wondered, as well she might, to hear this young woman talking +the language of science like an adept. The truth is, Lurida was one of +those persons who never are young, and who, by way of compensation, will +never be old. They are found in both sexes. Two well-known graduates of +one of our great universities are living examples of this precocious +but enduring intellectual development. If the readers of this narrative +cannot pick them out, they need not expect the writer of it to help +them. If they guess rightly who they are, they will recognize the fact +that just such exceptional individuals as the young woman we are dealing +with are met with from time to time in families where intelligence has +been cumulative for two or three generations. + +Euthymia was very willing that the questioning and questionable visitor +should learn all that was known in the village about the nebulous +individual whose misty environment all the eyes in the village were +trying to penetrate, but that he should learn it from some other +informant than Lurida. + +The next morning, as the Interviewer took his seat on a bench outside +his door, to smoke his after-breakfast cigar, a bright-looking and +handsome youth, whose features recalled those of Euthymia so strikingly +that one might feel pretty sure he was her brother, took a seat by his +side. Presently the two were engaged in conversation. The Interviewer +asked all sorts of questions about everybody in the village. When he +came to inquire about Maurice, the youth showed a remarkable interest +regarding him. The greatest curiosity, he said, existed with reference +to this personage. Everybody was trying to find out what his story +was,--for a story, and a strange one, he must surely have,--and nobody +had succeeded. + +The Interviewer began to be unusually attentive. The young man told him +the various antipathy stories, about the evil-eye hypothesis, about +his horse-taming exploits, his rescuing the student whose boat was +overturned, and every occurrence he could recall which would help out +the effect of his narrative. + +The Interviewer was becoming excited. “Can't find out anything about +him, you said, did n-'t you? How do you know there's anything to find? +Do you want to know what I think he is? I'll tell you. I think he is an +actor,--a fellow from one of the city theatres. Those fellows go off in +their summer vacation, and like to puzzle the country folks. They are +the very same chaps, like as not, the visitors have seen in plays at the +city theatres; but of course they don't know 'em in plain clothes. Kings +and Emperors look pretty shabby off the stage sometimes, I can tell +you.” + +The young man followed the Interviewer's lead. “I shouldn't wonder if +you were right,” he said. “I remember seeing a young fellow in Romeo +that looked a good deal like this one. But I never met the Sphinx, as +they call him, face to face. He is as shy as a woodchuck. I believe +there are people here that would give a hundred dollars to find out who +he is, and where he came from, and what he is here for, and why he does +n't act like other folks. I wonder why some of those newspaper men don't +come up here and get hold of this story. It would be just the thing for +a sensational writer.” + +To all this the Interviewer listened with true professional interest. +Always on the lookout for something to make up a paragraph or a column +about; driven oftentimes to the stalest of repetitions,--to the biggest +pumpkin story, the tall cornstalk, the fat ox, the live frog from +the human stomach story, the third set of teeth and reading without +spectacles at ninety story, and the rest of the marvellous commonplaces +which are kept in type with e o y or e 6 m (every other year or every +six months) at the foot; always in want of a fresh incident, a new +story, an undescribed character, an unexplained mystery, it is no wonder +that the Interviewer fastened eagerly upon this most tempting subject +for an inventive and emotional correspondent. + +He had seen Paolo several times, and knew that he was Maurice's +confidential servant, but had never spoken to him. So he said to himself +that he must make Paolo's acquaintance, to begin with. In the summer +season many kinds of small traffic were always carried on in Arrowhead +Village. Among the rest, the sellers of fruits--oranges, bananas, +and others, according to the seasons--did an active business. The +Interviewer watched one of these fruit-sellers, and saw that his +hand-cart stopped opposite the house where, as he knew, Maurice Kirkwood +was living. Presently Paolo came out of the door, and began examining +the contents of the hand-cart. The Interviewer saw his opportunity. Here +was an introduction to the man, and the man must introduce him to the +master. + +He knew very well how to ingratiate himself with the man,--there was +no difficulty about that. He had learned his name, and that he was an +Italian whom Maurice had brought to this country with him. + +“Good morning, Mr. Paul,” he said. “How do you like the look of these +oranges?” + +“They pretty fair,” said Paolo: “no so good as them las' week; no sweet +as them was.” + +“Why, how do you know without tasting them?” said the Interviewer. + +“I know by his look,--I know by his smell,--he no good yaller,--he no +smell ripe,--I know orange ever since my head no bigger than he is,” and +Paolo laughed at his own comparison. + +The Interviewer laughed louder than Paolo. + +“Good!” said he,--“first-rate! Of course you know all about 'em. Why +can't you pick me out a couple of what you think are the best of 'em? I +shall be greatly obliged to you. I have a sick friend, and I want to get +two nice sweet ones for him.” + +Paolo was pleased. His skill and judgment were recognized. He felt +grateful to the stranger, who had given him, an opportunity of +conferring a favor. He selected two, after careful examination and grave +deliberation. The Interviewer had sense and tact enough not to offer him +an orange, and so shift the balance of obligation. + +“How is Mr. Kirkwood, to-day?” he asked. + +“Signor? He very well. He always well. Why you ask? Anybody tell you he +sick?” + +“No, nobody said he was sick. I have n't seen him going about for a day +or two, and I thought he might have something the matter with him. Is he +in the house now?” + +“No: he off riding. He take long, long rides, sometime gone all day. +Sometime he go on lake, paddle, paddle in the morning, very, very +early,--in night when the moon shine; sometime stay in house, and read, +and study, and write,--he great scholar, Misser Kirkwood.” + +“A good many books, has n't he?” + +“He got whole shelfs full of books. Great books, little books, old +books, new books, all sorts of books. He great scholar, I tell you.” + +“Has n't he some curiosities,--old figures, old jewelry, old coins, or +things of that sort?” + +Paolo looked at the young man cautiously, almost suspiciously. “He don't +keep no jewels nor no money in his chamber. He got some old things,--old +jugs, old brass figgers, old money, such as they used to have in old +times: she don't pass now.” Paolo's genders were apt to be somewhat +indiscriminately distributed. + +A lucky thought struck the Interviewer. “I wonder if he would examine +some old coins of mine?” said he, in a modestly tentative manner. + +“I think he like to see anything curious. When he come home I ask him. +Who will I tell him wants to ask him about old coin?” + +“Tell him a gentleman visiting Arrowhead Village would like to call and +show him some old pieces of money, said to be Roman ones.” + +The Interviewer had just remembered that he had two or three old +battered bits of copper which he had picked up at a tollman's, where +they had been passed off for cents. He had bought them as curiosities. +One had the name of Gallienus upon it, tolerably distinct,--a common +little Roman penny; but it would serve his purpose of asking a question, +as would two or three others with less legible legends. Paolo told him +that if he came the next morning he would stand a fair chance of seeing +Mr. Kirkwood. At any rate, he would speak to his master. + +The Interviewer presented himself the next morning, after finishing his +breakfast and his cigar, feeling reasonably sure of finding Mr. Kirkwood +at home, as he proved to be. He had told Paolo to show the stranger up +to his library,--or study, as he modestly called it. + +It was a pleasant room enough, with a lookout on the lake in one +direction, and the wooded hill in another. The tenant had fitted it up +in scholarly fashion. The books Paolo spoke of were conspicuous, many of +them, by their white vellum binding and tasteful gilding, showing that +probably they had been bound in Rome, or some other Italian city. With +these were older volumes in their dark original leather, and recent ones +in cloth or paper. As the Interviewer ran his eye over them, he found +that he could make very little out of what their backs taught him. Some +of the paper-covered books, some of the cloth-covered ones, had names +which he knew; but those on the backs of many of the others were strange +to his eyes. The classics of Greek and Latin and Italian literature +were there; and he saw enough to feel convinced that he had better not +attempt to display his erudition in the company of this young scholar. + +The first thing the Interviewer had to do was to account for his +visiting a person who had not asked to make his acquaintance, and who +was living as a recluse. He took out his battered coppers, and showed +them to Maurice. + +“I understood that you were very skilful in antiquities, and had a good +many yourself. So I took the liberty of calling upon you, hoping that +you could tell me something about some ancient coins I have had for +a good while.” So saying, he pointed to the copper with the name of +Gallienus. + +“Is this very rare and valuable? I have heard that great prices have +been paid for some of these ancient coins,--ever so many guineas, +sometimes. I suppose this is as much as a thousand years old.” + +“More than a thousand years old,” said Maurice. + +“And worth a great deal of money?” asked the Interviewer. + +“No, not a great deal of money,” answered Maurice. + +“How much, should you say?” said the Interviewer. + +Maurice smiled. “A little more than the value of its weight in +copper,--I am afraid not much more. There are a good many of these coins +of Gallienus knocking about. The peddlers and the shopkeepers take such +pieces occasionally, and sell them, sometimes for five or ten cents, to +young collectors. No, it is not very precious in money value, but as a +relic any piece of money that was passed from hand to hand a thousand or +fifteen hundred years ago is interesting. The value of such relics is a +good deal a matter of imagination.” + +“And what do you say to these others?” asked the Interviewer. Poor old +worn-out things they were, with a letter or two only, and some faint +trace of a figure on one or two of them. + +“Very interesting, always, if they carry your imagination back to the +times when you may suppose they were current. Perhaps Horace tossed one +of them to a beggar. Perhaps one of these was the coin that was brought +when One said to those about Him, 'Bring me a penny, that I may see it.' +But the market price is a different matter. That depends on the beauty +and preservation, and above all the rarity, of the specimen. Here is a +coin, now,”--he opened a small cabinet, and took one from it. “Here is a +Syracusan decadrachm with the head of Persephone, which is at once rare, +well preserved, and beautiful. I am afraid to tell what I paid for it.” + +The Interviewer was not an expert in numismatics. He cared very little +more for an old coin than he did for an old button, but he had thought +his purchase at the tollman's might prove a good speculation. No matter +about the battered old pieces: he had found out, at any rate, that +Maurice must have money and could be extravagant, or what he himself +considered so; also that he was familiar with ancient coins. That would +do for a beginning. + +“May I ask where you picked up the coin you are showing me?” he said + +“That is a question which provokes a negative answer. One does not 'pick +up' first-class coins or paintings, very often, in these times. I bought +this of a great dealer in Rome.” + +“Lived in Rome once?” said the Interviewer. + +“For some years. Perhaps you have been there yourself?” + +The Interviewer said he had never been there yet, but he hoped he should +go there, one of these years, “suppose you studied art and antiquities +while you were there?” he continued. + +“Everybody who goes to Rome must learn something of art and antiquities. +Before you go there I advise you to review Roman history and the classic +authors. You had better make a study of ancient and modern art, and +not have everything to learn while you are going about among ruins, and +churches, and galleries. You know your Horace and Virgil well, I take it +for granted?” + +The Interviewer hesitated. The names sounded as if he had heard them. +“Not so well as I mean to before going to Rome,” he answered. “May I ask +how long you lived in Rome?” + +“Long enough to know something of what is to be seen in it. No one +should go there without careful preparation beforehand. You are familiar +with Vasari, of course?” + +The Interviewer felt a slight moisture on his forehead. He took out his +handkerchief. “It is a warm day,” he said. “I have not had time to read +all--the works I mean to. I have had too much writing to do, myself, to +find all the time for reading and study I could have wished.” + +“In what literary occupation have you been engaged, if you will pardon +my inquiry? said Maurice. + +“I am connected with the press. I understood that you were a man of +letters, and I hoped I might have the privilege of hearing from your own +lips some account of your literary experiences.” + +“Perhaps that might be interesting, but I think I shall reserve it +for my autobiography. You said you were connected with the press. Do I +understand that you are an author?” + +By this time the Interviewer had come to the conclusion that it was a +very warm day. He did not seem to be getting hold of his pitcher by the +right handle, somehow. But he could not help answering Maurice's very +simple question. + +“If writing for a newspaper gives one a right to be called an author, I +may call myself one. I write for the 'People's Perennial and Household +Inquisitor'.” + +“Are you the literary critic of that well-known journal, or do you +manage the political column?” + +“I am a correspondent from different places and on various matters of +interest.” + +“Places you have been to, and people you have known?” + +“Well, yes,--generally, that is. Sometimes I have to compile my +articles.” + +“Did you write the letter from Rome, published a few weeks ago?” + +The Interviewer was in what he would call a tight place. However, he had +found that his man was too much for him, and saw that the best thing +he could do was to submit to be interviewed himself. He thought that he +should be able to pick up something or other which he could work into +his report of his visit. + +“Well, I--prepared that article for our columns. You know one does not +have to see everything he describes. You found it accurate, I hope, in +its descriptions?” + +“Yes, Murray is generally accurate. Sometimes he makes mistakes, but I +can't say how far you have copied them. You got the Ponte Molle--the old +Milvian bridge--a good deal too far down the stream, if I remember. I +happened to notice that, but I did not read the article carefully. May +I ask whether you propose to do me the honor of reporting this visit +and the conversation we have had, for the columns of the newspaper with +which you are connected?” + +The Interviewer thought he saw an opening. “If you have no objections,” + he said, “I should like very much to ask a few questions.” He was +recovering his professional audacity. + +“You can ask as many questions as you consider proper and discreet, +--after you have answered one or two of mine: Who commissioned you to +submit me to examination?” + +“The curiosity of the public wishes to be gratified, and I am the humble +agent of its investigations.” + +“What has the public to do with my private affairs?” + +“I suppose it is a question of majority and minority. That settles +everything in this country. You are a minority of one opposed to a large +number of curious people that form a majority against you. That is the +way I've heard the chief put it.” + +Maurice could not help smiling at the quiet assumption of the American +citizen. The Interviewer smiled, too, and thought he had his man, sure, +at last. Maurice calmly answered, “There is nothing left for minorities, +then, but the right of rebellion. I don't care about being made the +subject of an article for your paper. I am here for my pleasure, minding +my own business, and content with that occupation. I rebel against your +system of forced publicity. Whenever I am ready I shall tell the public +all it has any right to know about me. In the mean time I shall request +to be spared reading my biography while I am living. I wish you a +good-morning.” + +The Interviewer had not taken out his note-book and pencil. In his next +communication from Arrowhead Village he contented himself with a brief +mention of the distinguished and accomplished gentleman now visiting the +place, whose library and cabinet of coins he had had the privilege of +examining, and whose courtesy was equalled only by the modesty that +shunned the public notoriety which the organs of popular intelligence +would otherwise confer upon him. + +The Interviewer had attempted the riddle of the Sphinx, and had failed +to get the first hint of its solution. + +The many tongues of the village and its visitors could not remain idle. +The whole subject of antipathies had been talked over, and the various +cases recorded had become more or less familiar to the conversational +circles which met every evening in the different centres of social +life. The prevalent hypothesis for the moment was that Maurice had a +congenital aversion to some color, the effects of which upon him were +so painful or disagreeable that he habitually avoided exposure to it. +It was known, and it has already been mentioned, that such cases were +on record. There had been a great deal of discussion, of late, with +reference to a fact long known to a few individuals, but only recently +made a matter of careful scientific observation and brought to the +notice of the public. This was the now well-known phenomenon of +color-blindness. It did not seem very strange that if one person in +every score or two could not tell red from green there might be other +curious individual peculiarities relating to color. A case has already +been referred to where the subject of observation fainted at the sight +of any red object. What if this were the trouble with Maurice Kirkwood? +It will be seen at once how such a congenital antipathy would tend to +isolate the person who was its unfortunate victim. It was an hypothesis +not difficult to test, but it was a rather delicate business to be +experimenting on an inoffensive stranger. Miss Vincent was thinking +it over, but said nothing, even to Euthymia, of any projects she might +entertain. + + + + + + +XII. MISS VINCENT AS A MEDICAL STUDENT. + +The young lady whom we have known as The Terror, as Lurida, as Miss +Vincent, Secretary of the Pansophian Society, had been reading various +works selected for her by Dr. Butts,--works chiefly relating to the +nervous system and its different affections. She thought it was about +time to talk over the general subject of the medical profession with her +new teacher,--if such a self-directing person as Lurida could be said to +recognize anybody as teacher. + +She began at the beginning. “What is the first book you would put in +a student's hands, doctor?” she said to him one day. They were in his +study, and Lurida had just brought back a thick volume on Insanity, +one of Bucknill and Puke's, which she had devoured as if it had been a +pamphlet. + +“Not that book, certainly,” he said. “I am afraid it will put all sorts +of notions into your head. Who or what set you to reading that, I should +like to know?” + +“I found it on one of your shelves, and as I thought I might perhaps be +crazy some time or other, I felt as if I should like to know what kind +of a condition insanity is. I don't believe they were ever very bright, +those insane people, most of them. I hope I am not stupid enough ever to +lose my wits.” + +“There is no telling, my dear, what may happen if you overwork that busy +brain of yours. But did n't it make you nervous, reading about so many +people possessed with such strange notions?” + +“Nervous? Not a bit. I could n't help thinking, though, how many people +I had known that had a little touch of craziness about them. Take that +poor woman that says she is Her Majesty's Person,--not Her Majesty, but +Her Majesty's Person,--a very important distinction, according to her: +how she does remind me of more than one girl I have known! She would let +her skirts down so as to make a kind of train, and pile things on her +head like a sort of crown, fold her arms and throw her head back, and +feel as grand as a queen. I have seen more than one girl act very much +in that way. Are not most of us a little crazy, doctor,--just a little? +I think so. It seems to me I never saw but one girl who was free from +every hint of craziness.” + +“And who was that, pray?” + +“Why, Euthymia,--nobody else, of course. She never loses her head,--I +don't believe she would in an earthquake. Whenever we were at work with +our microscopes at the Institute I always told her that her mind was +the only achromatic one I ever looked into,--I did n't say looked +through.--But I did n't come to talk about that. I read in one of your +books that when Sydenham was asked by a student what books he should +read, the great physician said, 'Read “Don Quixote.”' I want you to +explain that to me; and then I want you to tell me what is the first +book, according to your idea, that a student ought to read.” + +“What do you say to my taking your question as the subject of a paper to +be read before the Society? I think there may be other young ladies at +the meeting, besides yourself, who are thinking of pursuing the study of +medicine. At any rate, there are a good many who are interested in the +subject; in fact, most people listen readily to anything doctors tell +them about their calling.” + +“I wish you would, doctor. I want Euthymia to hear it, and I don't doubt +there will be others who will be glad to hear everything you have to say +about it. But oh, doctor, if you could only persuade Euthymia to become +a physician! What a doctor she would make! So strong, so calm, so full +of wisdom! I believe she could take the wheel of a steamboat in a storm, +or the hose of a fire-engine in a conflagration, and handle it as well +as the captain of the boat or of the fire-company.” + +“Have you ever talked with her about studying medicine?” + +“Indeed I have. Oh, if she would only begin with me! What good times we +would have studying together!” + +“I don't doubt it. Medicine is a very pleasant study. But how do you +think practice would be? How would you like being called up to ride ten +miles in a midnight snow-storm, just when one of your raging headaches +was racking you?” + +“Oh, but we could go into partnership, and Euthymia is n't afraid of +storms or anything else. If she would only study medicine with me!” + +“Well, what does she say to it?” + +“She does n't like the thought of it. She does n't believe in women +doctors. She thinks that now and then a woman may be fitted for it by +nature, but she does n't think there are many who are. She gives me a +good many reasons against their practising medicine, you know what most +of them are, doctor,--and ends by saying that the same woman who would +be a poor sort of doctor would make a first-rate nurse; and that, +she thinks, is a woman's business, if her instinct carries her to the +hospital or sick-chamber. I can't argue her ideas out of her.” + +“Neither can I argue you out of your feeling about the matter; but I +am disposed to agree with your friend, that you will often spoil a good +nurse to make a poor doctor. Doctors and side-saddles don't seem to me +to go together. Riding habits would be awkward things for practitioners. +But come, we won't have a controversy just now. I am for giving women +every chance for a good education, and if they think medicine is one of +their proper callings let them try it. I think they will find that they +had better at least limit themselves to certain specialties, and always +have an expert of the other sex to fall back upon. The trouble is that +they are so impressible and imaginative that they are at the mercy +of all sorts of fancy systems. You have only to see what kinds of +instruction they very commonly flock to in order to guess whether they +would be likely to prove sensible practitioners. Charlatanism always +hobbles on two crutches, the tattle of women, and the certificates of +clergymen, and I am afraid that half the women doctors will be too much +under both those influences.” + +Lurida believed in Dr. Butts, who, to use the common language of +the village, had “carried her through” a fever, brought on by +over-excitement and exhausting study. She took no offence at his +reference to nursery gossip, which she had learned to hold cheap. Nobody +so despises the weaknesses of women as the champion of woman's rights. +She accepted the doctor's concession of a fair field and open trial of +the fitness of her sex for medical practice, and did not trouble herself +about his suggested limitations. As to the imaginative tendencies of +women, she knew too well the truth of the doctor's remark relating to +them to wish to contradict it. + +“Be sure you let me have your paper in season for the next meeting, +doctor,” she said; and in due season it came, and was of course approved +for reading. + + + + + + +XIII. DR. BUTTS READS A PAPER. + +“Next to the interest we take in all that relates to our immortal souls +is that which we feel for our mortal bodies. I am afraid my very first +statement may be open to criticism. The care of the body is the first +thought with a great many,--in fact, with the larger part of the world. +They send for the physician first, and not until he gives them up do +they commonly call in the clergyman. Even the minister himself is not +so very different from other people. We must not blame him if he is +not always impatient to exchange a world of multiplied interests +and ever-changing sources of excitement for that which tradition has +delivered to us as one eminently deficient in the stimulus of variety. +Besides, these bodily frames, even when worn and disfigured by long +years of service, hang about our consciousness like old garments. They +are used to us, and we are used to them. And all the accidents of our +lives,--the house we dwell in, the living people round us, the landscape +we look over, all, up to the sky that covers us like a bell glass,--all +these are but looser outside garments which we have worn until they seem +a part of us, and we do not like the thought of changing them for a new +suit which we have never yet tried on. How well I remember that dear +ancient lady, who lived well into the last decade of her century, as +she repeated the verse which, if I had but one to choose, I would select +from that string of pearls, Gray's 'Elegy'! + + + “'For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey + This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, + Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, + Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?' + +“Plotinus was ashamed of his body, we are told. Better so, it may be, +than to live solely for it, as so many do. But it may be well doubted +if there is any disciple of Plotinus in this Society. On the contrary, +there are many who think a great deal of their bodies, many who have +come here to regain the health they have lost in the wear and tear of +city life, and very few who have not at some time or other of their +lives had occasion to call in the services of a physician. + +“There is, therefore, no impropriety in my offering to the members +some remarks upon the peculiar difficulties which beset the medical +practitioner in the discharge of his laborious and important duties. + +“A young friend of mine, who has taken an interest in medical studies, +happened to meet with a very familiar story about one of the greatest +and most celebrated of all English physicians, Thomas Sydenham. The +story is that, when a student asked him what books he should read, the +great doctor told him to read 'Don Quixote.' + +“This piece of advice has been used to throw contempt upon the study of +books, and furnishes a convenient shield for ignorant pretenders. +But Sydenham left many writings in which he has recorded his medical +experience, and he surely would not have published them if he had not +thought they would be better reading for the medical student than the +story of Cervantes. His own works are esteemed to this day, and he +certainly could not have supposed that they contained all the wisdom of +all the past. No remedy is good, it was said of old, unless applied at +the right time in the right way. So we may say of all anecdotes, like +this which I have told you about Sydenham and the young man. It is very +likely that he carried him to the bedside of some patients, and talked +to him about the cases he showed him, instead of putting a Latin volume +in his hand. I would as soon begin in that way as any other, with a +student who had already mastered the preliminary branches,--who knew +enough about the structure and functions of the body in health. + +“But if you ask me what reading I would commend to the medical student +of a philosophical habit of mind, you may be surprised to hear me say +it would be certain passages in 'Rasselas.' They are the ones where the +astronomer gives an account to Imlac of his management of the elements, +the control of which, as he had persuaded himself, had been committed to +him. Let me read you a few sentences from this story, which is commonly +bound up with the 'Vicar of Wakefield,' like a woollen lining to +a silken mantle, but is full of stately wisdom in processions of +paragraphs which sound as if they ought to have a grammatical drum-major +to march before their tramping platoons. + +“The astronomer has taken Imlac into his confidence, and reveals to him +the secret of his wonderful powers:-- + +“'Hear, Imlac, what thou wilt not without difficulty credit. I +have possessed for five years the regulation of the weather and the +distribution of the seasons the sun has listened to my dictates, and +passed from tropic to tropic by my direction; the clouds, at my call, +have poured their waters, and the Nile has overflowed at my command; I +have restrained the rage of the dog-star, and mitigated the fervors of +the crab. The winds alone, of all the elemental powers, have hitherto +eluded my authority, and multitudes have perished by equinoctial +tempests, which I found myself unable to prohibit or restrain.' + +“The reader naturally wishes to know how the astronomer, a sincere, +devoted, and most benevolent man, for forty years a student of the +heavens, came to the strange belief that he possessed these miraculous +powers. This is his account: + +“'One day, as I was looking on the fields withering with heat, I felt in +my mind a sudden wish that I could send rain on the southern mountains, +and raise the Nile to an inundation. In the hurry of my imagination I +commanded rain to fall, and by comparing the time of my command with +that of the inundation I found that the clouds had listened to my lips.' + +“'Might not some other cause,' said I, 'produce this concurrence? The +Nile does not always rise on the same day.' + +“'Do not believe,' said he, with impatience, 'that such objections +could escape me: I reasoned long against my own conviction, and labored +against truth with the utmost obstinacy. I sometimes suspected myself +of madness, and should not have dared to impart this secret but to a man +like you, capable of distinguishing the wonderful from the impossible +and the incredible from the false.' + +“The good old astronomer gives his parting directions to Imlac, whom he +has adopted as his successor in the government of the elements and the +seasons, in these impressive words: + +“Do not, in the administration of the year, indulge thy pride by +innovation; do not please thyself with thinking that thou canst make +thyself renowned to all future ages by disordering the seasons. The +memory of mischief is no desirable fame. Much less will it become thee +to let kindness or interest prevail. Never rob other countries of rain +to pour it on thine own. For us the Nile is sufficient.' + +“Do you wonder, my friends, why I have chosen these passages, in which +the delusions of an insane astronomer are related with all the pomp +of the Johnsonian vocabulary, as the first lesson for the young person +about to enter on the study of the science and art of healing? Listen to +me while I show you the parallel of the story of the astronomer in the +history of medicine. + +“This history is luminous with intelligence, radiant with benevolence, +but all its wisdom and all its virtue have had to struggle with the +ever-rising mists of delusion. The agencies which waste and destroy +the race of mankind are vast and resistless as the elemental forces of +nature; nay, they are themselves elemental forces. They may be to some +extent avoided, to some extent diverted from their aim, to some extent +resisted. So may the changes of the seasons, from cold that freezes +to heats that strike with sudden death, be guarded against. So may the +tides be in some small measure restrained in their inroads. So may the +storms be breasted by walls they cannot shake from their foundations. +But the seasons and the tides and the tempests work their will on the +great scale upon whatever stands in their way; they feed or starve the +tillers of the soil; they spare or drown the dwellers by the shore; they +waft the seaman to his harbor or bury him in the angry billows. + +“The art of the physician can do much to remove its subjects from deadly +and dangerous influences, and something to control or arrest the effects +of these influences. But look at the records of the life-insurance +offices, and see how uniform is the action of nature's destroying +agencies. Look at the annual reports of the deaths in any of our great +cities, and see how their regularity approaches the uniformity of the +tides, and their variations keep pace with those of the seasons. The +inundations of the Nile are not more certainly to be predicted than the +vast wave of infantile disease which flows in upon all our great cities +with the growing heats of July,--than the fevers and dysenteries which +visit our rural districts in the months of the falling leaf. + +“The physician watches these changes as the astronomer watched the +rise of the great river. He longs to rescue individuals, to protect +communities from the inroads of these destroying agencies. He uses all +the means which experience has approved, tries every rational method +which ingenuity can suggest. Some fortunate recovery leads him to +believe he has hit upon a preventive or a cure for a malady which had +resisted all known remedies. His rescued patient sounds his praises, and +a wide circle of his patient's friends joins in a chorus of eulogies. +Self-love applauds him for his sagacity. Self-interest congratulates him +on his having found the road to fortune; the sense of having proved a +benefactor of his race smooths the pillow on which he lays his head +to dream of the brilliant future opening before him. If a single +coincidence may lead a person of sanguine disposition to believe that he +has mastered a disease which had baffled all who were before his time, +and on which his contemporaries looked in hopeless impotence, what must +be the effect of a series of such coincidences even on a mind of calmer +temper! Such series of coincidences will happen, and they may well +deceive the very elect. Think of Dr. Rush,--you know what a famous man +he was, the very head and front of American medical science in his day, +--and remember how he spoke about yellow fever, which he thought he had +mastered! + +“Thus the physician is entangled in the meshes of a wide conspiracy, +in which he and his patient and their friends, and Nature herself, are +involved. What wonder that the history of Medicine should be to so great +an extent a record of self-delusion! + +“If this seems a dangerous concession to the enemies of the true science +and art of healing, I will remind you that it is all implied in the +first aphorism of Hippocrates, the Father of Medicine. Do not draw a +wrong inference from the frank statement of the difficulties which +beset the medical practitioner. Think rather, if truth is so hard of +attainment, how precious are the results which the consent of the wisest +and most experienced among the healers of men agrees in accepting. Think +what folly it is to cast them aside in favor of palpable impositions +stolen from the records of forgotten charlatanism, or of fantastic +speculations spun from the squinting brains of theorists as wild as the +Egyptian astronomer. + +“Begin your medical studies, then, by reading the fortieth and the +following four chapters of 'Rasselas.' Your first lesson will teach +you modesty and caution in the pursuit of the most deceptive of all +practical branches of knowledge. Faith will come later, when you learn +how much medical science and art have actually achieved for the relief +of mankind, and how great are the promises it holds out of still larger +triumphs over the enemies of human health and happiness.” + +After the reading of this paper there was a lively discussion, which we +have no room to report here, and the Society adjourned. + + + + + + +XIV. MISS VINCENT'S STARTLING DISCOVERY. + +The sober-minded, sensible, well-instructed Dr. Butts was not a little +exercised in mind by the demands made upon his knowledge by his young +friend, and for the time being his pupil, Miss Lurida Vincent. + +“I don't wonder they called her The Terror,” he said to himself. “She is +enough to frighten anybody. She has taken down old books from my +shelves that I had almost forgotten the backs of, and as to the medical +journals, I believe the girl could index them from memory. She is in +pursuit of some special point of knowledge, I feel sure, and I cannot +doubt what direction she is working in, but her wonderful way of dealing +with books amazes me.” + +What marvels those “first scholars” in the classes of our great +universities and colleges are, to be sure! They are not, as a rule, +the most distinguished of their class in the long struggle of life. +The chances are that “the field” will beat “the favorite” over the long +race-course. Others will develop a longer stride and more staying power. +But what fine gifts those “first scholars” have received from nature! +How dull we writers, famous or obscure, are in the acquisition of +knowledge as compared with them! To lead their classmates they must +have quick apprehension, fine memories, thorough control of their +mental faculties, strong will, power of concentration, facility of +expression,--a wonderful equipment of mental faculties. I always want to +take my hat off to the first scholar of his year. + +Dr. Butts felt somewhat in the same way as he contemplated The Terror. +She surprised him so often with her knowledge that he was ready to +receive her without astonishment when she burst in upon him one day with +a cry of triumph, “Eureka! Eureka!” + +“And what have you found, my dear?” said the doctor. + +Lurida was flushed and panting with the excitement of her new discovery. + +“I do believe that I have found the secret of our strange visitor's +dread of all human intercourse!” + +The seasoned practitioner was not easily thrown off his balance. + +“Wait a minute and get your breath,” said the doctor. “Are you not a +little overstating his peculiarity? It is not quite so bad as that. +He keeps a man to serve him, he was civil with the people at the Old +Tavern, he was affable enough, I understand, with the young fellow he +pulled out of the water, or rescued somehow,--I don't believe he avoids +the whole human race. He does not look as if he hated them, so far as I +have remarked his expression. I passed a few words with him when his man +was ailing, and found him polite enough. No, I don't believe it is much +more than an extreme case of shyness, connected, perhaps, with some +congenital or other personal repugnance to which has been given the name +of an antipathy.” + +Lurida could hardly keep still while the doctor was speaking. When he +finished, she began the account of her discovery: + +“I do certainly believe I have found an account of his case in an +Italian medical journal of about fourteen years ago. I met with a +reference which led me to look over a file of the Giornale degli +Ospitali lying among the old pamphlets in the medical section of the +Library. I have made a translation of it, which you must read and then +tell me if you do not agree with me in my conclusion.” + +“Tell me what your conclusion is, and I will read your paper and see for +myself whether I think the evidence justifies the conviction you seem to +have reached.” + +Lurida's large eyes showed their whole rounds like the two halves of a +map of the world, as she said, + +“I believe that Maurice Kirkwood is suffering from the effects of the +bite of a TARANTULA!” + +The doctor drew a long breath. He remembered in a vague sort of way the +stories which used to be told of the terrible Apulian spider, but he had +consigned them to the limbo of medical fable where so many fictions have +clothed themselves with a local habitation and a name. He looked into +the round eyes and wide pupils a little anxiously, as if he feared that +she was in a state of undue excitement, but, true to his professional +training, he waited for another symptom, if indeed her mind was in any +measure off its balance. + +“I know what you are thinking,” Lurida said, “but it is not so. 'I am +not mad, most noble Festus.' You shall see the evidence and judge for +yourself. Read the whole case,--you can read my hand almost as if it +were print, and tell me if you do not agree with me that this young +man is in all probability the same person as the boy described in the +Italian journal, + +“One thing you might say is against the supposition. The young patient +is spoken of as Signorino M---- Ch------ But you must remember that ch +is pronounced hard in Italian, like k, which letter is wanting in the +Italian alphabet; and it is natural enough that the initial of the +second name should have got changed in the record to its Italian +equivalent.” + +Before inviting the reader to follow the details of this extraordinary +case as found in a medical journal, the narrator wishes to be indulged +in a few words of explanation, in order that he may not have to +apologize for allowing the introduction of a subject which may be +thought to belong to the professional student rather than to the readers +of this record. There is a great deal in medical books which it is very +unbecoming to bring before the general public,--a great deal to repel, +to disgust, to alarm, to excite unwholesome curiosity. It is not the men +whose duties have made them familiar with this class of subjects who +are most likely to offend by scenes and descriptions which belong to the +physician's private library, and not to the shelves devoted to polite +literature. Goldsmith and even Smollett, both having studied and +practised medicine, could not by any possibility have outraged all the +natural feelings of delicacy and decency as Swift and Zola have outraged +them. But without handling doubtful subjects, there are many curious +medical experiences which have interest for every one as extreme +illustrations of ordinary conditions with which all are acquainted. No +one can study the now familiar history of clairvoyance profitably who +has not learned something of the vagaries of hysteria. No one can read +understandingly the life of Cowper and that of Carlyle without having +some idea of the influence of hypochondriasis and of dyspepsia upon the +disposition and intellect of the subjects of these maladies. I need +not apologize, therefore, for giving publicity to that part of this +narrative which deals with one of the most singular maladies to be found +in the records of bodily and mental infirmities. + +The following is the account of the case as translated by Miss Vincent. +For obvious reasons the whole name was not given in the original paper, +and for similar reasons the date of the event and the birthplace of the +patient are not precisely indicated here. + +[Giornale degli Ospitali, Luglio 21, 18--.] REMARKABLE CASE OF +TARANTISM. + +“The great interest attaching to the very singular and exceptional +instance of this rare affection induces us to give a full account of the +extraordinary example of its occurrence in a patient who was the subject +of a recent medical consultation in this city. + +“Signorino M... Ch... is the only son of a gentleman travelling in +Italy at this time. He is eleven years of age, of sanguine-nervous +temperament, light hair, blue eyes, intelligent countenance, well grown, +but rather slight in form, to all appearance in good health, but subject +to certain peculiar and anomalous nervous symptoms, of which his father +gives this history. + +“Nine years ago, the father informs us, he was travelling in Italy with +his wife, this child, and a nurse. They were passing a few days in a +country village near the city of Bari, capital of the province of the +same name in the division (compartamento) of Apulia. The child was in +perfect health and had never been affected by any serious illness. On +the 10th of July he was playing out in the field near the house +where the family was staying when he was heard to scream suddenly and +violently. The nurse rushing to him found him in great pain, saying that +something had bitten him in one of his feet. A laborer, one Tommaso, +ran up at the moment and perceived in the grass, near where the boy +was standing, an enormous spider, which he at once recognized as a +tarantula. He managed to catch the creature in a large leaf, from which +he was afterwards transferred to a wide-mouthed bottle, where he lived +without any food for a month or more. The creature was covered with +short hairs, and had a pair of nipper-like jaws, with which he could +inflict an ugly wound. His body measured about an inch in length, and +from the extremity of one of the longest limbs to the other was between +two and three inches. Such was the account given by the physician to +whom the peasant carried the great spider. + +“The boy who had been bitten continued screaming violently while his +stocking was being removed and the foot examined. The place of the bite +was easily found and the two marks of the claw-like jaws already showed +the effects of the poison, a small livid circle extending around them, +with some puffy swelling. The distinguished Dr. Amadei was immediately +sent for, and applied cups over the wounds in the hope of drawing forth +the poison. In vain all his skill and efforts! Soon, ataxic (irregular) +nervous symptoms declared themselves, and it became plain that the +system had been infected by the poison. + +“The symptoms were very much like those of malignant fever, such +as distress about the region of the heart, difficulty of breathing, +collapse of all the vital powers, threatening immediate death. From +these first symptoms the child rallied, but his entire organism had +been profoundly affected by the venom circulating through it. His +constitution has never thrown off the malady resulting from this toxic +(poisonous) agent. The phenomena which have been observed in this young +patient correspond so nearly with those enumerated in the elaborate +essay of the celebrated Baglivi that one might think they had been +transcribed from his pages. + +“He is very fond of solitude,--of wandering about in churchyards and +other lonely places. He was once found hiding in an empty tomb, which +had been left open. His aversion to certain colors is remarkable. +Generally speaking, he prefers bright tints to darker ones, but his +likes and dislikes are capricious, and with regard to some colors his +antipathy amounts to positive horror. Some shades have such an effect +upon him that he cannot remain in the room with them, and if he meets +any one whose dress has any of that particular color he will turn away +or retreat so as to avoid passing that person. Among these, purple and +dark green are the least endurable. He cannot explain the sensations +which these obnoxious colors produce except by saying that it is like +the deadly feeling from a blow on the epigastrium (pit of the stomach). + +“About the same season of the year at which the tarantular poisoning +took place he is liable to certain nervous seizures, not exactly like +fainting or epilepsy, but reminding the physician of those affections. +All the other symptoms are aggravated at this time. + +“In other respects than those mentioned the boy is in good health. He +is fond of riding, and has a pony on which he takes a great deal of +exercise, which seems to do him more good than any other remedy. + +“The influence of music, to which so much has been attributed by popular +belief and even by the distinguished Professor to whom we shall again +refer, has not as yet furnished any satisfactory results. If the graver +symptoms recur while the patient is under our observation, we propose to +make use of an agency discredited by modern skepticism, but deserving of +a fair trial as an exceptional remedy for an exceptional disease. + +“The following extracts from the work of the celebrated Italian +physician of the last century are given by the writer of the paper in +the Giornale in the original Latin, with a translation into Italian, +subjoined. Here are the extracts, or rather here is a selection from +them, with a translation of them into English. + +“After mentioning the singular aversion to certain colors shown by +the subject of Tarantism, Baglivi writes as follows: “'Et si astantes +incedant vestibus eo colore difusis, qui Tarantatis ingrates est, +necesse est ut ab illorum aspectu recedant; nam ad intuitum molesti +coloris angore cordis, et symptomatum recrudescantia stating +corripiuntur.' (G. Baglivi, Op. Omnia, page 614. Lugduni, 1745.) + +“That is, 'if the persons about the patient wear dresses of the color +which is offensive to him, he must get away from the sight of them, for +on seeing the obnoxious color he is at once seized with distress in the +region of the heart, and a renewal of his symptoms.' + +“As to the recurrence of the malady, Baglivi says: “'Dam calor solis +ardentius exurere incip at, quod contingit circa initia Julii et +Augusti, Tarantati lente venientem recrudescentiam veneni percipiunt.' +(Ibid., page 619.) + +“Which I render, 'When the heat of the sun begins to burn more fiercely, +which happens about the beginning of July and August, the subjects of +Tarantism perceive the gradually approaching recrudescence (returning +symptoms) of the poisoning. Among the remedies most valued by this +illustrious physician is that mentioned in the following sentence: + +“'Laudo magnopere equitationes in aere rusticano factas singulis diebus, +hord potissimum matutina, quibus equitationibus morbos chronicos pene +incurabiles protanus eliminavi.' + +“Or in translation, 'I commend especially riding on horseback in country +air, every day, by preference in the morning hours, by the aid of which +horseback riding I have driven off chronic diseases which were almost +incurable.'” + +Miss Vincent read this paper aloud to Dr. Butts, and handed it to him +to examine and consider. He listened with a grave countenance and devout +attention. + +As she finished reading her account, she exclaimed in the passionate +tones of the deepest conviction, + +“There, doctor! Have n't I found the true story of this strange visitor? +Have n't I solved the riddle of the Sphinx? Who can this man be but the +boy of that story? Look at the date of the journal when he was eleven +years old, it would make him twenty-five now, and that is just about the +age the people here think he must be of. What could account so entirely +for his ways and actions as that strange poisoning which produces the +state they call Tarantism? I am just as sure it must be that as I am +that I am alive. Oh, doctor, doctor, I must be right,--this Signorino +M ... Ch... was the boy Maurice Kirkwood, and the story accounts for +everything,--his solitary habits, his dread of people,--it must be +because they wear the colors he can't bear. His morning rides on +horseback, his coming here just as the season was approaching which +would aggravate all his symptoms, does n't all this prove that I must be +right in my conjecture,--no, my conviction?” + +The doctor knew too much to interrupt the young enthusiast, and so he +let her run on until she ran down. He was more used to the rules of +evidence than she was, and could not accept her positive conclusion so +readily as she would have liked to have him. He knew that beginners are +very apt to make what they think are discoveries. But he had been an +angler and knew the meaning of a yielding rod and an easy-running reel. +He said quietly, + +“You are a most sagacious young lady, and a very pretty prima facie case +it is that you make out. I can see no proof that Mr. Kirkwood is not +the same person as the M... Ch... of the medical journal,--that is, if +I accept your explanation of the difference in the initials of these two +names. Even if there were a difference, that would not disprove their +identity, for the initials of patients whose cases are reported by their +physicians are often altered for the purpose of concealment. I do not +know, however, that Mr. Kirkwood has shown any special aversion to any +particular color. It might be interesting to inquire whether it is so, +but it is a delicate matter. I don't exactly see whose business it is +to investigate Mr. Maurice Kirkwood's idiosyncrasies and constitutional +history. If he should have occasion to send for me at any time, he might +tell me all about himself, in confidence, you know. These old accounts +from Baglivi are curious and interesting, but I am cautious about +receiving any stories a hundred years old, if they involve an +improbability, as his stories about the cure of the tarantula bite +by music certainly do. I am disposed to wait for future developments, +bearing in mind, of course, the very singular case you have unearthed. +It wouldn't be very strange if our young gentleman had to send for me +before the season is over. He is out a good deal before the dew is off +the grass, which is rather risky in this neighborhood as autumn comes +on. I am somewhat curious, I confess, about the young man, but I do not +meddle where I am not asked for or wanted, and I have found that eggs +hatch just as well if you let them alone in the nest as if you take +them out and shake them every day. This is a wonderfully interesting +supposition of yours, and may prove to be strictly in accordance with +the facts. But I do not think we have all the facts in this young man's +case. If it were proved that he had an aversion to any color, it would +greatly strengthen your case. His 'antipatia,' as his man called +it, must be one which covers a wide ground, to account for his +self-isolation,--and the color hypothesis seems as plausible as any. +But, my dear Miss Vincent, I think you had better leave your singular +and striking hypothesis in my keeping for a while, rather than let it +get abroad in a community like this, where so many tongues are in active +exercise. I will carefully study this paper, if you will leave it with +me, and we will talk the whole matter over. It is a fair subject for +speculation, only we must keep quiet about it.” + +This long speech gave Lurida's perfervid brain time to cool off a +little. She left the paper with the doctor, telling him she would come +for it the next day, and went off to tell the result of this visit to +her bosom friend, Miss Euthymia Tower. + + + + + + +XV. DR. BUTTS CALLS ON EUTHYMIA. + +The doctor was troubled in thinking over his interview with the young +lady. She was fully possessed with the idea that she had discovered the +secret which had defied the most sagacious heads of the village. It was +of no use to oppose her while her mind was in an excited state. But +he felt it his duty to guard her against any possible results of +indiscretion into which her eagerness and her theory of the equality, +almost the identity, of the sexes might betray her. Too much of the +woman in a daughter of our race leads her to forget danger. Too little +of the woman prompts her to defy it. Fortunately for this last class of +women, they are not quite so likely to be perilously seductive as their +more emphatically feminine sisters. + +Dr. Butts had known Lurida and her friend from the days of their +infancy. He had watched the development of Lurida's intelligence from +its precocious nursery-life to the full vigor of its trained faculties. +He had looked with admiration on the childish beauty of Euthymia, +and had seen her grow up to womanhood, every year making her more +attractive. He knew that if anything was to be done with his self-willed +young scholar and friend, it would be more easily effected through the +medium of Euthymia than by direct advice to the young lady herself. +So the thoughtful doctor made up his mind to have a good talk with +Euthymia, and put her on her guard, if Lurida showed any tendency to +forget the conventionalities in her eager pursuit of knowledge. + +For the doctor's horse and chaise to stop at the door of Miss Euthymia +Tower's parental home was an event strange enough to set all the tongues +in the village going. This was one of those families where illness was +hardly looked for among the possibilities of life. There were other +families where a call from the doctor was hardly more thought of than +a call from the baker. But here he was a stranger, at least on his +professional rounds, and when he asked for Miss Euthymia the servant, +who knew his face well, stared as if he had held in his hand a warrant +for her apprehension. + +Euthymia did not keep the doctor waiting very long while she made ready +to meet him. One look at her glass to make sure that a lock had not run +astray, or a ribbon got out of place, and her toilet for a morning call +was finished. Perhaps if Mr. Maurice Kirkwood had been announced, she +might have taken a second look, but with the good middle-aged, married +doctor one was enough for a young lady who had the gift of making all +the dresses she wore look well, and had no occasion to treat her chamber +like the laboratory where an actress compounds herself. + +Euthymia welcomed the doctor very heartily. She could not help +suspecting his errand, and she was very glad to have a chance to talk +over her friend's schemes and fancies with him. + +The doctor began without any roundabout prelude. + +“I want to confer with you about our friend Lurida. Does she tell you +all her plans and projects?” + +“Why, as to that, doctor, I can hardly say, positively, but I do not +believe she keeps back anything of importance from me. I know what she +has been busy with lately, and the queer idea she has got into her +head. What do you think of the Tarantula business? She has shown you the +paper, she has written, I suppose.” + +“Indeed she has. It is a very curious case she has got hold of, and I do +not wonder at all that she should have felt convinced that she had come +at the true solution of the village riddle. It may be that this young +man is the same person as the boy mentioned in the Italian medical +journal. But it is very far from clear that he is so. You know all her +reasons, of course, as you have read the story. The times seem to agree +well enough. It is easy to conceive that Ch might be substituted for K +in the report. The singular solitary habits of this young man entirely +coincide with the story. If we could only find out whether he has any +of those feelings with reference to certain colors, we might guess with +more chance of guessing right than we have at present. But I don't see +exactly how we are going to submit him to examination on this point. If +he were only a chemical compound, we could analyze him. If he were only +a bird or a quadruped, we could find out his likes and dislikes. But +being, as he is, a young man, with ways of his own, and a will of +his own, which he may not choose to have interfered with, the problem +becomes more complicated. I hear that a newspaper correspondent has +visited him so as to make a report to his paper,--do you know what he +found out?” + +“Certainly I do, very well. My brother has heard his own story, which +was this: He found out he had got hold of the wrong person to interview. +The young gentleman, he says, interviewed him, so that he did not +learn much about the Sphinx. But the newspaper man told Willy about the +Sphinx's library and a cabinet of coins he had; and said he should make +an article out of him, anyhow. I wish the man would take himself off. I +am afraid Lurida's love of knowledge will get her into trouble!” + +“Which of the men do you wish would take himself off?” + +“I was thinking of the newspaper man.” + +She blushed a little as she said, “I can't help feeling a strange sort +of interest about the other, Mr. Kirkwood. Do you know that I met him +this morning, and had a good look at him, full in the face?” + +“Well, to be sure! That was an interesting experience. And how did you +like his looks?” + +“I thought his face a very remarkable one. But he looked very pale as he +passed me, and I noticed that he put his hand to his left side as if he +had a twinge of pain, or something of that sort,--spasm or neuralgia,--I +don't know what. I wondered whether he had what you call angina +pectoris. It was the same kind of look and movement, I remember, as you +must, too, in my uncle who died with that complaint.” + +The doctor was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Were you dressed as +you are now?” + +“Yes, I was, except that I had a thin mantle over my shoulders. I was +out early, and I have always remembered your caution.” + +“What color was your mantle?” + +“It was black. I have been over all this with Lucinda. A black mantle on +a white dress. A straw hat with an old faded ribbon. There can't be +much in those colors to trouble him, I should think, for his man wears +a black coat and white linen,--more or less white, as you must have +noticed, and he must have seen ribbons of all colors often enough. But +Lurida believes it was the ribbon, or something in the combination of +colors. Her head is full of Tarantulas and Tarantism. I fear that she +will never be easy until the question is settled by actual trial. And +will you believe it? the girl is determined in some way to test her +supposition!” + +“Believe it, Euthymia? I can believe almost anything of Lurida. She is +the most irrepressible creature I ever knew. You know as well as I do +what a complete possession any ruling idea takes of her whole nature. I +have had some fears lest her zeal might run away with her discretion. It +is a great deal easier to get into a false position than to get out of +it.” + +“I know it well enough. I want you to tell me what you think about the +whole business. I don't like the look of it at all, and yet I can do +nothing with the girl except let her follow her fancy, until I can show +her plainly that she will get herself into trouble in some way or other. +But she is ingenious,--full of all sorts of devices, innocent enough in +themselves, but liable to be misconstrued. You remember how she won us +the boat-race?” + +“To be sure I do. It was rather sharp practice, but she felt she was +paying off an old score. The classical story of Atalanta, told, like +that of Eve, as illustrating the weakness of woman, provoked her to +make trial of the powers of resistance in the other sex. But it was +audacious. I hope her audacity will not go too far. You must watch her. +Keep an eye on her correspondence.” + +The doctor had great confidence in the good sense of Lurida's friend. +He felt sure that she would not let Lurida commit herself by writing +foolish letters to the subject of her speculations, or similar +indiscreet performances. The boldness of young girls, who think no evil, +in opening correspondence with idealized personages is something quite +astonishing to those who have had an opportunity of knowing the facts. +Lurida had passed the most dangerous age, but her theory of the equality +of the sexes made her indifferent to the by-laws of social usage. She +required watching, and her two guardians were ready to check her, in +case of need. + + + + + + +XVI. MISS VINCENT WRITES A LETTER. + +Euthymia noticed that her friend had been very much preoccupied for two +or three days. She found her more than once busy at her desk, with a +manuscript before her, which she turned over and placed inside the desk, +as Euthymia entered. + +This desire of concealment was not what either of the friends expected +to see in the other. It showed that some project was under way, which, +at least in its present stage, the Machiavellian young lady did not +wish to disclose. It had cost her a good deal of thought and care, +apparently, for her waste-basket was full of scraps of paper, which +looked as if they were the remains of a manuscript like that at which +she was at work. “Copying and recopying, probably,” thought Euthymia, +but she was willing to wait to learn what Lurida was busy about, though +she had a suspicion that it was something in which she might feel called +upon to interest herself. + +“Do you know what I think?” said Euthymia to the doctor, meeting him as +he left his door. “I believe Lurida is writing to this man, and I don't +like the thought of her doing such a thing. Of course she is not like +other girls in many respects, but other people will judge her by the +common rules of life.” + +“I am glad that you spoke of it,” answered the doctor; “she would write +to him just as quickly as to any woman of his age. Besides, under the +cover of her office, she has got into the way of writing to anybody. I +think she has already written to Mr. Kirkwood, asking him to contribute +a paper for the Society. She can find a pretext easily enough if she has +made up her mind to write. In fact, I doubt if she would trouble herself +for any pretext at all if she decided to write. Watch her well. Don't +let any letter go without seeing it, if you can help it.” + +Young women are much given to writing letters to persons whom they only +know indirectly, for the most part through their books, and especially +to romancers and poets. Nothing can be more innocent and simple-hearted +than most of these letters. They are the spontaneous outflow of young +hearts easily excited to gratitude for the pleasure which some story +or poem has given them, and recognizing their own thoughts, their own +feelings, in those expressed by the author, as if on purpose for them to +read. Undoubtedly they give great relief to solitary young persons, who +must have some ideal reflection of themselves, and know not where to +look since Protestantism has taken away the crucifix and the Madonna. +The recipient of these letters sometimes wonders, after reading through +one of them, how it is that his young correspondent has managed to fill +so much space with her simple message of admiration or of sympathy. + +Lurida did not belong to this particular class of correspondents, +but she could not resist the law of her sex, whose thoughts naturally +surround themselves with superabundant drapery of language, as their +persons float in a wide superfluity of woven tissues. Was she indeed +writing to this unknown gentleman? Euthymia questioned her point-blank. + +“Are you going to open a correspondence with Mr. Maurice Kirkwood, +Lurida? You seem to be so busy writing, I can think of nothing else. Or +are you going to write a novel, or a paper for the Society,--do tell me +what you are so much taken up with.” + +“I will tell you, Euthymia, if you will promise not to find fault with +me for carrying out my plan as I have made up my mind to do. You may +read this letter before I seal it, and if you find anything in it you +don't like you can suggest any change that you think will improve it. I +hope you will see that it explains itself. I don't believe that you will +find anything to frighten you in it.” + +This is the letter, as submitted to Miss Tower by her friend. The bold +handwriting made it look like a man's letter, and gave it consequently +a less dangerous expression than that which belongs to the tinted and +often fragrant sheet with its delicate thready characters, which slant +across the page like an April shower with a south wind chasing it. + +ARROWHEAD VILLAGE, August--, 18--. + +MY DEAR SIR,--You will doubtless be surprised at the sight of a letter +like this from one whom you only know as the Secretary of the Pansophian +Society. There is a very common feeling that it is unbecoming in one of +my sex to address one of your own with whom she is unacquainted, unless +she has some special claim upon his attention. I am by no means disposed +to concede to the vulgar prejudice on this point. If one human being +has anything to communicate to another,--anything which deserves being +communicated,--I see no occasion for bringing in the question of sex. I +do not think the homo sum of Terence can be claimed for the male sex as +its private property on general any more than on grammatical grounds, + +I have sometimes thought of devoting myself to the noble art of healing. +If I did so, it would be with the fixed purpose of giving my whole +powers to the service of humanity. And if I should carry out that idea, +should I refuse my care and skill to a suffering fellow-mortal because +that mortal happened to be a brother, and not a sister? My whole +nature protests against such one-sided humanity! No! I am blind to all +distinctions when my eyes are opened to any form of suffering, to any +spectacle of want. + +You may ask me why I address you, whom I know little or nothing of, +and to whom such an advance may seem presumptuous and intrusive. It +is because I was deeply impressed by the paper which I attributed to +you,--that on Ocean, River, and Lake, which was read at one of our +meetings. I say that I was deeply impressed, but I do not mean this as +a compliment to that paper. I am not bandying compliments now, but +thinking of better things than praises or phrases. I was interested in +the paper, partly because I recognized some of the feelings expressed in +it as my own,--partly because there was an undertone of sadness in all +the voices of nature as you echoed them which made me sad to hear, and +which I could not help longing to cheer and enliven. I said to myself, I +should like to hold communion with the writer of that paper. I have +had my lonely hours and days, as he has had. I have had some of his +experiences in my intercourse with nature. And oh! if I could draw him +into those better human relations which await us all, if we come with +the right dispositions, I should blush if I stopped to inquire whether I +violated any conventional rule or not. + +You will understand me, I feel sure. You believe, do you not? in the +insignificance of the barrier which divides the sisterhood from the +brotherhood of mankind. You believe, do you not? that they should be +educated side by side, that they should share the same pursuits, due +regard being had to the fitness of the particular individual for hard +or light work, as it must always be, whether we are dealing with +the “stronger” or the “weaker” sex. I mark these words because, +notwithstanding their common use, they involve so much that is not true. +Stronger! Yes, to lift a barrel of flour, or a barrel of cider,--though +there have been women who could do that, and though when John Wesley +was mobbed in Staffordshire a woman knocked down three or four men, one +after another, until she was at last overpowered and nearly murdered. +Talk about the weaker sex! Go and see Miss Euthymia Tower at the +gymnasium! But no matter about which sex has the strongest muscles. +Which has most to suffer, and which has most endurance and vitality? We +go through many ordeals which you are spared, but we outlast you in +mind and body. I have been led away into one of my accustomed trains of +thought, but not so far away from it as you might at first suppose. + +My brother! Are you not ready to recognize in me a friend, an equal, a +sister, who can speak to you as if she had been reared under the same +roof? And is not the sky that covers us one roof, which makes us all one +family? You are lonely, you must be longing for some human fellowship. +Take me into your confidence. What is there that you can tell me +to which I cannot respond with sympathy? What saddest note in your +spiritual dirges which will not find its chord in mine? + +I long to know what influence has cast its shadow over your existence. I +myself have known what it is to carry a brain that never rests in a body +that is always tired. I have defied its infirmities, and forced it to do +my bidding. You have no such hindrance, if we may judge by your aspect +and habits. You deal with horses like a Homeric hero. No wild Indian +could handle his bark canoe more dexterously or more vigorously than +we have seen you handling yours. There must be some reason for your +seclusion which curiosity has not reached, and into which it is not the +province of curiosity to inquire. But in the irresistible desire which +I have to bring you into kindly relations with those around you, I must +run the risk of giving offence that I may know in what direction to +look for those restorative influences which the sympathy of a friend and +sister can offer to a brother in need of some kindly impulse to change +the course of a life which is not, which cannot be, in accordance with +his true nature. + +I have thought that there may be something in the conditions with which +you are here surrounded which is repugnant to your feelings,--something +which can be avoided only by keeping yourself apart from the people +whose acquaintance you would naturally have formed. There can hardly be +anything in the place itself, or you would not have voluntarily sought +it as a residence, even for a single season there might be individuals +here whom you would not care to meet, there must be such, but you cannot +have a personal aversion to everybody. I have heard of cases in which +certain sights and sounds, which have no particular significance for +most persons, produced feelings of distress or aversion that made, +them unbearable to the subjects of the constitutional dislike. It has +occurred to me that possibly you might have some such natural aversion +to the sounds of the street, or such as are heard in most houses, +especially where a piano is kept, as it is in fact in almost all of +those in the village. Or it might be, I imagined, that some color in +the dresses of women or the furniture of our rooms affected you +unpleasantly. I know that instances of such antipathy have been +recorded, and they would account for the seclusion of those who are +subject to it. + +If there is any removable condition which interferes with your free +entrance into and enjoyment of the social life around you, tell me, I +beg of you, tell me what it is, and it shall be eliminated. Think it not +strange, O my brother, that I thus venture to introduce myself into +the hidden chambers of your life. I will never suffer myself to be +frightened from the carrying out of any thought which promises to be +of use to a fellow-mortal by a fear lest it should be considered +“unfeminine.” I can bear to be considered unfeminine, but I cannot +endure to think of myself as inhuman. Can I help you, my brother'? + +Believe me your most sincere well-wisher, LURIDA VINCENT. + +Euthymia had carried off this letter and read it by herself. As she +finished it, her feelings found expression in an old phrase of her +grandmother's, which came up of itself, as such survivals of early days +are apt to do, on great occasions. + +“Well, I never!” + +Then she loosened some button or string that was too tight, and went to +the window for a breath of outdoor air. Then she began at the beginning +and read the whole letter all over again. + +What should she do about it? She could not let this young girl send +a letter like that to a stranger of whose character little was known +except by inference,--to a young man, who would consider it a most +extraordinary advance on the part of the sender. She would have liked to +tear it into a thousand pieces, but she had no right to treat it in +that way. Lurida meant to send it the next morning, and in the mean time +Euthymia had the night to think over what she should do about it. + +There is nothing like the pillow for an oracle. There is no voice like +that which breaks the silence--of the stagnant hours of the night with +its sudden suggestions and luminous counsels. When Euthymia awoke in the +morning, her course of action was as clear before her as if it bad been +dictated by her guardian angel. She went straight over to the home of +Lurida, who was just dressed for breakfast. + +She was naturally a little surprised at this early visit. She was +struck with the excited look of Euthymia, being herself quite calm, and +contemplating her project with entire complacency. + +Euthymia began, in tones that expressed deep anxiety. + +“I have read your letter, my dear, and admired its spirit and force. +It is a fine letter, and does you great credit as an expression of the +truest human feeling. But it must not be sent to Mr. Kirkwood. If you +were sixty years old, perhaps if you were fifty, it might be admissible +to send it. But if you were forty, I should question its propriety; if +you were thirty, I should veto it, and you are but a little more than +twenty. How do you know that this stranger will not show your letter to +anybody or everybody? How do you know that he will not send it to one of +the gossiping journals like the 'Household Inquisitor'? But supposing he +keeps it to himself, which is more than you have a right to expect, what +opinion is he likely to form of a young lady who invades his privacy +with such freedom? Ten to one he will think curiosity is at the bottom +of it,--and,--come, don't be angry at me for suggesting it,--may there +not be a little of that same motive mingled with the others? No, don't +interrupt me quite yet; you do want to know whether your hypothesis is +correct. You are full of the best and kindest feelings in the world, but +your desire for knowledge is the ferment under them just now, perhaps +more than you know.” + +Lurida's pale cheeks flushed and whitened more than once while her +friend was speaking. She loved her too sincerely and respected her +intelligence too much to take offence at her advice, but she could not +give up her humane and sisterly intentions merely from the fear of some +awkward consequences to herself. She had persuaded herself that she was +playing the part of a Protestant sister of charity, and that the fact +of her not wearing the costume of these ministering angels made no +difference in her relations to those who needed her aid. + +“I cannot see your objections in the light in which they appear to +you,” she said gravely. “It seems to me that I give up everything when I +hesitate to help a fellow-creature because I am a woman. I am not afraid +to send this letter and take all the consequences.” + +“Will you go with me to the doctor's, and let him read it in our +presence? And will you agree to abide by his opinion, if it coincides +with mine?” + +Lurida winced a little at this proposal. “I don't quite like,” she said, +“showing this letter to--to” she hesitated, but it had to come out--“to +a man, that is, to another man than the one for whom it was intended.” + +The neuter gender business had got a pretty damaging side-hit. + +“Well, never mind about letting him read the letter. Will you go over to +his house with me at noon, when he comes back after his morning +visits, and have a talk over the whole matter with him? You know I have +sometimes had to say must to you, Lurida, and now I say you must go to +the doctor's with me and carry that letter.” + +There was no resisting the potent monosyllable as the sweet but firm +voice delivered it. At noon the two maidens rang at the doctor's door. +The servant said he had been at the house after his morning visits, but +found a hasty summons to Mr. Kirkwood, who had been taken suddenly +ill and wished to see him at once. Was the illness dangerous? The +servant-maid did n't know, but thought it was pretty bad, for Mr. Paul +came in as white as a sheet, and talked all sorts of languages which she +couldn't understand, and took on as if he thought Mr. Kirkwood was going +to die right off. + +And so the hazardous question about sending the letter was disposed of, +at least for the present. + + + + + + +XVII. Dr. BUTTS'S PATIENT. + +The physician found Maurice just regaining his heat after a chill of +a somewhat severe character. He knew too well what this meant, and the +probable series of symptoms of which it was the prelude. His patient was +not the only one in the neighborhood who was attacked in this way. The +autumnal fevers to which our country towns are subject, in the place of +those “agues,” or intermittents, so largely prevalent in the South and +West, were already beginning, and Maurice, who had exposed himself in +the early and late hours of the dangerous season, must be expected to go +through the regular stages of this always serious and not rarely fatal +disease. + +Paolo, his faithful servant, would fain have taken the sole charge of +his master during his illness. But the doctor insisted that he must +have a nurse to help him in his task, which was likely to be long and +exhausting. + +At the mention of the word “nurse” Paolo turned white, and exclaimed in +an agitated and thoroughly frightened way, + +“No! no nuss! no woman! She kill him! I stay by him day and night, but +don' let no woman come near him,--if you do, he die!” + +The doctor explained that he intended to send a man who was used to +taking care of sick people, and with no little effort at last succeeded +in convincing Paolo that, as he could not be awake day and night for a +fortnight or three weeks, it was absolutely necessary to call in some +assistance from without. And so Mr. Maurice Kirkwood was to play the +leading part in that drama of nature's composing called a typhoid +fever, with its regular bedchamber scenery, its properties of phials and +pill-boxes, its little company of stock actors, its gradual evolution of +a very simple plot, its familiar incidents, its emotional alternations, +and its denouement, sometimes tragic, oftener happy. + +It is needless to say that the sympathies of all the good people of the +village, residents and strangers, were actively awakened for the young +man about whom they knew so little and conjectured so much. Tokens of +their kindness came to him daily: flowers from the woods and from the +gardens; choice fruit grown in the open air or under glass, for there +were some fine houses surrounded by well-kept grounds, and greenhouses +and graperies were not unknown in the small but favored settlement. + +On all these luxuries Maurice looked with dull and languid eyes. A faint +smile of gratitude sometimes struggled through the stillness of his +features, or a murmured word of thanks found its way through his parched +lips, and he would relapse into the partial stupor or the fitful sleep +in which, with intervals of slight wandering, the slow hours dragged +along the sluggish days one after another. With no violent symptoms, but +with steady persistency, the disease moved on in its accustomed course. +It was at no time immediately threatening, but the experienced physician +knew its uncertainties only too well. He had known fever patients +suddenly seized with violent internal inflammation, and carried off with +frightful rapidity. He remembered the case of a convalescent, a young +woman who had been attacked while in apparently vigorous general health, +who, on being lifted too suddenly to a sitting position, while still +confined to her bed, fainted, and in a few moments ceased to breathe. It +may well be supposed that he took every possible precaution to avert +the accidents which tend to throw from its track a disease the regular +course of which is arranged by nature as carefully as the route of a +railroad from one city to another. The most natural interpretation which +the common observer would put upon the manifestations of one of these +autumnal maladies would be that some noxious combustible element had +found its way into the system which must be burned to ashes before the +heat which pervades the whole body can subside. Sometimes the fire may +smoulder and seem as if it were going out, or were quite extinguished, +and again it will find some new material to seize upon, and flame up as +fiercely as ever. Its coming on most frequently at the season when the +brush fires which are consuming the dead branches, and withered +leaves, and all the refuse of vegetation are sending up their smoke is +suggestive. Sometimes it seems as if the body, relieved of its effete +materials, renewed its youth after one of these quiet, expurgating, +internal fractional cremations. Lean, pallid students have found +themselves plump and blooming, and it has happened that one whose hair +was straight as that of an Indian has been startled to behold himself +in his mirror with a fringe of hyacinthine curls about his rejuvenated +countenance. + +There was nothing of what medical men call malignity in the case of +Maurice Kirkwood. The most alarming symptom was a profound prostration, +which at last reached such a point that he lay utterly helpless, as +unable to move without aid as the feeblest of paralytics. In this state +he lay for many days, not suffering pain, but with the sense of great +weariness, and the feeling that he should never rise from his bed again. +For the most part his intellect was unclouded when his attention was +aroused. He spoke only in whispers, a few words at a time. The doctor +felt sure, by the expression which passed over his features from time to +time, that something was worrying and oppressing him; something which +he wished to communicate, and had not the force, or the tenacity of +purpose, to make perfectly clear. His eyes often wandered to a certain +desk, and once he had found strength to lift his emaciated arm and +point to it. The doctor went towards it as if to fetch it to him, but he +slowly shook his head. He had not the power to say at that time what he +wished. The next day he felt a little less prostrated; and succeeded +in explaining to the doctor what he wanted. His words, so far as the +physician could make them out, were these which follow. Dr. Butts looked +upon them as possibly expressing wishes which would be his last, and +noted them down carefully immediately after leaving his chamber. + +“I commit the secret of my life to your charge. My whole story is told +in a paper locked in that desk. The key is--put your hand under +my pillow. If I die, let the story be known. It will show that I +was--human--and save my memory from reproach.” + +He was silent for a little time. A single tear stole down his hollow +cheek. The doctor turned his head away, for his own eyes were full. But +he said to himself, “It is a good sign; I begin to feel strong hopes +that he will recover.” + +Maurice spoke once more. “Doctor, I put full trust in you. You are wise +and kind. Do what you will with this paper, but open it at once and +read. I want you to know the story of my life before it is finished--if +the end is at hand. Take it with you and read it before you sleep.” + He was exhausted and presently his eyes closed, but the doctor saw a +tranquil look on his features which added encouragement to his hopes. + + + + + + +XVIII. MAURICE KIRKWOOD'S STORY OF HIS LIFE. + +I am an American by birth, but a large part of my life has been passed +in foreign lands. My father was a man of education, possessed of an +ample fortune; my mother was considered, a very accomplished and amiable +woman. I was their first and only child. She died while I was yet an +infant. If I remember her at all it is as a vision, more like a glimpse +of a pre-natal existence than as a part of my earthly life. At the death +of my mother I was left in the charge of the old nurse who had enjoyed +her perfect confidence. She was devoted to me, and I became absolutely +dependent on her, who had for me all the love and all the care of a +mother. I was naturally the object of the attentions and caresses of +the family relatives. I have been told that I was a pleasant, smiling +infant, with nothing to indicate any peculiar nervous susceptibility; +not afraid of strangers, but on the contrary ready to make their +acquaintance. My father was devoted to me and did all in his power to +promote my health and comfort. + +I was still a babe, often carried in arms, when the event happened +which changed my whole future and destined me to a strange and lonely +existence. I cannot relate it even now without a sense of terror. I +must force myself to recall the circumstances as told me and vaguely +remembered, for I am not willing that my doomed and wholly exceptional +life should pass away unrecorded, unexplained, unvindicated. My nature +is, I feel sure, a kind and social one, but I have lived apart, as if my +heart were filled with hatred of my fellow-creatures. If there are any +readers who look without pity, without sympathy, upon those who shun the +fellowship of their fellow men and women, who show by their downcast or +averted eyes that they dread companionship and long for solitude, I pray +them, if this paper ever reaches them, to stop at this point. Follow +me no further, for you will not believe my story, nor enter into the +feelings which I am about to reveal. But if there are any to whom all +that is human is of interest, who have felt in their own consciousness +some stirrings of invincible attraction to one individual and equally +invincible repugnance to another, who know by their own experience that +elective affinities have as their necessary counterpart, and, as it +were, their polar opposites, currents not less strong of elective +repulsions, let them read with unquestioning faith the story of a +blighted life I am about to relate, much of it, of course, received from +the lips of others. + +My cousin Laura, a girl of seventeen, lately returned from Europe, was +considered eminently beautiful. It was in my second summer that she +visited my father's house, where he was living with his servants and my +old nurse, my mother having but recently left him a widower. Laura +was full of vivacity, impulsive, quick in her movements, thoughtless +occasionally, as it is not strange that a young girl of her age should +be. It was a beautiful summer day when she saw me for the first time. My +nurse had me in her arms, walking back and forward on a balcony with +a low railing, upon which opened the windows of the second story of +my father's house. While the nurse was thus carrying me, Laura came +suddenly upon the balcony. She no sooner saw me than with all the +delighted eagerness of her youthful nature she rushed toward me, and, +catching me from the nurse's arms, began tossing me after the fashion of +young girls who have been so lately playing with dolls that they feel +as if babies were very much of the same nature. The abrupt seizure +frightened me; I sprang from her arms in my terror, and fell over the +railing of the balcony. I should probably enough have been killed on +the spot but for the fact that a low thorn-bush grew just beneath +the balcony, into which I fell and thus had the violence of the shock +broken. But the thorns tore my tender flesh, and I bear to this day +marks of the deep wounds they inflicted. + +That dreadful experience is burned deep into my memory. The sudden +apparition of the girl; the sense of being torn away from the +protecting arms around me; the frantic effort to escape; the shriek that +accompanied my fall through what must have seemed unmeasurable space; +the cruel lacerations of the piercing and rending thorns,--all these +fearful impressions blended in one paralyzing terror. + +When I was taken up I was thought to be dead. I was perfectly white, and +the physician who first saw me said that no pulse was perceptible. But +after a time consciousness returned; the wounds, though painful, were +none of them dangerous, and the most alarming effects of the accident +passed away. My old nurse cared for me tenderly day and night, and my +father, who had been almost distracted in the first hours which followed +the injury, hoped and believed that no permanent evil results would be +found to result from it. My cousin Laura was of course deeply distressed +to feel that her thoughtlessness had been the cause of so grave an +accident. As soon as I had somewhat recovered she came to see me, very +penitent, very anxious to make me forget the alarm she had caused me, +with all its consequences. I was in the nursery sitting up in my bed, +bandaged, but not in any pain, as it seemed, for I was quiet and to all +appearance in a perfectly natural state of feeling. As Laura came near +me I shrieked and instantly changed color. I put my hand upon my heart +as if I had been stabbed, and fell over, unconscious. It was very much +the same state as that in which I was found immediately after my fall. + +The cause of this violent and appalling seizure was but too obvious. The +approach of the young girl and the dread that she was about to lay her +hand upon me had called up the same train of effects which the moment +of terror and pain had already occasioned. The old nurse saw this in a +moment. “Go! go!” she cried to Laura, “go, or the child will die!” + Her command did not have to be repeated. After Laura had gone I lay +senseless, white and cold as marble, for some time. The doctor soon +came, and by the use of smart rubbing and stimulants the color came +back slowly to my cheeks and the arrested circulation was again set in +motion. + +It was hard to believe that this was anything more than a temporary +effect of the accident. There could be little doubt, it was thought by +the doctor and by my father, that after a few days I should recover from +this morbid sensibility and receive my cousin as other infants receive +pleasant-looking young persons. The old nurse shook her head. “The girl +will be the death of the child,” she said, “if she touches him or comes +near him. His heart stopped beating just as when the girl snatched him +out of my arms, and he fell over the balcony railing.” Once more the +experiment was tried, cautiously, almost insidiously. The same alarming +consequences followed. It was too evident that a chain of nervous +disturbances had been set up in my system which repeated itself whenever +the original impression gave the first impulse. I never saw my cousin +Laura after this last trial. Its result had so distressed her that she +never ventured again to show herself to me. + +If the effect of the nervous shock had stopped there, it would have been +a misfortune for my cousin and myself, but hardly a calamity. The world +is wide, and a cousin or two more or less can hardly be considered an +essential of existence. I often heard Laura's name mentioned, but never +by any one who was acquainted with all the circumstances, for it was +noticed that I changed color and caught at my breast as if I wanted to +grasp my heart in my hand whenever that fatal name was mentioned. + +Alas! this was not all. While I was suffering from the effects of +my fall among the thorns I was attended by my old nurse, assisted by +another old woman, by a physician, and my father, who would take his +share in caring for me. It was thought best to keep me perfectly quiet, +and strangers and friends were alike excluded from my nursery, with one +exception, that my old grandmother came in now and then. With her it +seems that I was somewhat timid and shy, following her with rather +anxious eyes, as if not quite certain whether or not she was dangerous. +But one day, when I was far advanced towards recovery, my father brought +in a young lady, a relative of his, who had expressed a great desire to +see me. She was, as I have been told, a very handsome girl, of about the +same age as my cousin Laura, but bearing no personal resemblance to her +in form, features, or complexion. She had no sooner entered the room +than the same sudden changes which had followed my cousin's visit began +to show themselves, and before she had reached my bedside I was in a +state of deadly collapse, as on the occasions already mentioned. + +Some time passed before any recurrence of these terrifying seizures. +A little girl of five or six years old was allowed to come into the +nursery one day and bring me some flowers. I took them from her hand, +but turned away and shut my eyes. There was no seizure, but there was a +certain dread and aversion, nothing more than a feeling which it might +be hoped that time would overcome. Those around me were gradually +finding out the circumstances which brought on the deadly attack to +which I was subject. + +The daughter of one of our near neighbors was considered the prettiest +girl of the village where we were passing the summer. She was very +anxious to see me, and as I was now nearly well it was determined that +she should be permitted to pay me a short visit. I had always delighted +in seeing her and being caressed by her. I was sleeping when she entered +the nursery and came and took a seat at my side in perfect silence. +Presently I became restless, and a moment later I opened my eyes and saw +her stooping over me. My hand went to my left breast,--the color faded +from my cheeks,--I was again the cold marble image so like death that it +had well-nigh been mistaken for it. + +Could it be possible that the fright which had chilled my blood had left +me with an unconquerable fear of woman at the period when she is most +attractive not only to adolescents, but to children of tender age, who +feel the fascination of her flowing locks, her bright eyes, her blooming +cheeks, and that mysterious magnetism of sex which draws all life into +its warm and potently vitalized atmosphere? So it did indeed seem. The +dangerous experiment could not be repeated indefinitely. It was not +intentionally tried again, but accident brought about more than +one renewal of it during the following years, until it became fully +recognized that I was the unhappy subject of a mortal dread of +woman,--not absolutely of the human female, for I had no fear of my +old nurse or of my grandmother, or of any old wrinkled face, and I had +become accustomed to the occasional meeting of a little girl or two, +whom I nevertheless regarded with a certain ill-defined feeling that +there was danger in their presence. I was sent to a boys' school very +early, and during the first ten or twelve years of my life I had rarely +any occasion to be reminded of my strange idiosyncrasy. + +As I grew out of boyhood into youth, a change came over the feelings +which had so long held complete possession of me. This was what my +father and his advisers had always anticipated, and was the ground of +their confident hope in my return to natural conditions before I should +have grown to mature manhood. + +How shall I describe the conflicts of those dreamy, bewildering, +dreadful years? Visions of loveliness haunted me sleeping and waking. +Sometimes a graceful girlish figure would so draw my eyes towards it +that I lost sight of all else, and was ready to forget all my fears +and find myself at her side, like other youths by the side of young +maidens,--happy in their cheerful companionship, while I,--I, under +the curse of one blighting moment, looked on, hopeless. Sometimes the +glimpse of a fair face or the tone of a sweet voice stirred within +me all the instincts that make the morning of life beautiful to +adolescence. I reasoned with myself: + +Why should I not have outgrown that idle apprehension which had been the +nightmare of my earlier years? Why should not the rising tide of life +have drowned out the feeble growths that infested the shallows of +childhood? How many children there are who tremble at being left alone +in the dark, but who, a few years later, will smile at their foolish +terrors and brave all the ghosts of a haunted chamber! Why should I any +longer be the slave of a foolish fancy that has grown into a half insane +habit of mind? I was familiarly acquainted with all the stories of the +strange antipathies and invincible repugnances to which others, some of +them famous men, had been subject. I said to myself, Why should not I +overcome this dread of woman as Peter the Great fought down his dread of +wheels rolling over a bridge? Was I, alone of all mankind, to be doomed +to perpetual exclusion from the society which, as it seemed to me, was +all that rendered existence worth the trouble and fatigue of slavery to +the vulgar need of supplying the waste of the system and working at the +task of respiration like the daughters of Danaus,--toiling day and night +as the worn-out sailor labors at the pump of his sinking vessel? + +Why did I not brave the risk of meeting squarely, and without regard to +any possible danger, some one of those fair maidens whose far-off smile, +whose graceful movements, at once attracted and agitated me? I can only +answer this question to the satisfaction of any really inquiring reader +by giving him the true interpretation of the singular phenomenon of +which I was the subject. For this I shall have to refer to a paper of +which I have made a copy, and which will be found included with +this manuscript. It is enough to say here, without entering into the +explanation of the fact, which will be found simple enough as seen +by the light of modern physiological science, that the “nervous +disturbance” which the presence of a woman in the flower of her +age produced in my system was a sense of impending death, sudden, +overwhelming, unconquerable, appalling. It was a reversed action of the +nervous centres,--the opposite of that which flushes the young lover's +cheek and hurries his bounding pulses as he comes into the presence of +the object of his passion. No one who has ever felt the sensation can +have failed to recognize it as an imperative summons, which commands +instant and terrified submission. + +It was at this period of my life that my father determined to try the +effect of travel and residence in different localities upon my bodily +and mental condition. I say bodily as well as mental, for I was too +slender for my height and subject to some nervous symptoms which were a +cause of anxiety. That the mind was largely concerned in these there +was no doubt, but the mutual interactions of mind and body are often +too complex to admit of satisfactory analysis. Each is in part cause and +each also in part effect. + +We passed some years in Italy, chiefly in Rome, where I was placed in a +school conducted by priests, and where of course I met only those of +my own sex. There I had the opportunity of seeing the influences under +which certain young Catholics, destined for the priesthood, are led to +separate themselves from all communion with the sex associated in +their minds with the most subtle dangers to which the human soul can be +exposed. I became in some degree reconciled to the thought of exclusion +from the society of women by seeing around me so many who were +self-devoted to celibacy. The thought sometimes occurred to me whether I +should not find the best and the only natural solution of the problem +of existence, as submitted to myself, in taking upon me the vows which +settle the whole question and raise an impassable barrier between the +devotee and the object of his dangerous attraction. + +How often I talked this whole matter over with the young priest who was +at once my special instructor and my favorite companion! But accustomed +as I had become to the forms of the Roman Church, and impressed as I was +with the purity and excellence of many of its young members with whom +I was acquainted, my early training rendered it impossible for me to +accept the credentials which it offered me as authoritative. My friend +and instructor had to set me down as a case of “invincible ignorance.” + This was the loop-hole through which he crept out of the prison-house +of his creed, and was enabled to look upon me without the feeling of +absolute despair with which his sterner brethren would, I fear, have +regarded me. + +I have said that accident exposed me at times to the influence which +I had such reasons for dreading. Here is one example of such an +occurrence, which I relate as simply as possible, vividly as it is +impressed upon my memory. A young friend whose acquaintance I had made +in Rome asked me one day to come to his rooms and look at a cabinet of +gems and medals which he had collected. I had been but a short time +in his library when a vague sense of uneasiness came over me. My heart +became restless,--I could feel it stirring irregularly, as if it were +some frightened creature caged in my breast. There was nothing that I +could see to account for it. A door was partly open, but not so that I +could see into the next room. The feeling grew upon me of some influence +which was paralyzing my circulation. I begged my friend to open a +window. As he did so, the door swung in the draught, and I saw a +blooming young woman,--it was my friend's sister, who had been sitting +with a book in her hand, and who rose at the opening of the door. +Something had warned me of the presence of a woman, that occult and +potent aura of individuality, call it personal magnetism, spiritual +effluence, or reduce it to a simpler expression if you will; whatever +it was, it had warned me of the nearness of the dread attraction which +allured at a distance and revealed itself with all the terrors of the +Lorelei if approached too recklessly. A sign from her brother caused +her to withdraw at once, but not before I had felt the impression which +betrayed itself in my change of color, anxiety about the region of the +heart, and sudden failure as if about to fall in a deadly fainting-fit. + +Does all this seem strange and incredible to the reader of my +manuscript? Nothing in the history of life is so strange or exceptional +as it seems to those who have not made a long study of its mysteries. +I have never known just such a case as my own, and yet there must have +been such, and if the whole history of mankind were unfolded I cannot +doubt that there have been many like it. Let my reader suspend his +judgment until he has read the paper I have referred to, which was drawn +up by a Committee of the Royal Academy of the Biological Sciences. In +this paper the mechanism of the series of nervous derangements to which +I have been subject since the fatal shock experienced in my infancy is +explained in language not hard to understand. It will be seen that such +a change of polarity in the nervous centres is only a permanent form and +an extreme degree of an emotional disturbance, which as a temporary +and comparatively unimportant personal accident is far from being +uncommon,--is so frequent, in fact, that every one must have known +instances of it, and not a few must have had more or less serious +experiences of it in their own private history. + +It must not be supposed that my imagination dealt with me as I am +now dealing with the reader. I was full of strange fancies and wild +superstitions. One of my Catholic friends gave me a silver medal which +had been blessed by the Pope, and which I was to wear next my body. I +was told that this would turn black after a time, in virtue of a power +which it possessed of drawing out original sin, or certain portions +of it, together with the evil and morbid tendencies which had been +engrafted on the corrupt nature. I wore the medal faithfully, as +directed, and watched it carefully. It became tarnished and after a time +darkened, but it wrought no change in my unnatural condition. + +There was an old gypsy who had the reputation of knowing more of +futurity than she had any right to know. The story was that she had +foretold the assassination of Count Rossi and the death of Cavour. + +However that may have been, I was persuaded to let her try her black +art upon my future. I shall never forget the strange, wild look of the +wrinkled hag as she took my hand and studied its lines and fixed her +wicked old eyes on my young countenance. After this examination she +shook her head and muttered some words, which as nearly as I could get +them would be in English like these: + + + Fair lady cast a spell on thee, + Fair lady's hand shall set thee free. + +Strange as it may seem, these words of a withered old creature, whose +palm had to be crossed with silver to bring forth her oracular response, +have always clung to my memory as if they were destined to fulfilment. +The extraordinary nature of the affliction to which I was subject +disposed me to believe the incredible with reference to all that relates +to it. I have never ceased to have the feeling that, sooner or later, I +should find myself freed from the blight laid upon me in my infancy. It +seems as if it would naturally come through the influence of some young +and fair woman, to whom that merciful errand should be assigned by the +Providence that governs our destiny. With strange hopes, with trembling +fears, with mingled belief and doubt, wherever I have found myself I +have sought with longing yet half-averted eyes for the “elect lady,” + as I have learned to call her, who was to lift the curse from my ruined +life. + +Three times I have been led to the hope, if not the belief, that I had +found the object of my superstitious belief.--Singularly enough it +was always on the water that the phantom of my hope appeared before +my bewildered vision. Once it was an English girl who was a fellow +passenger with me in one of my ocean voyages. I need not say that she +was beautiful, for she was my dream realized. I heard her singing, I +saw her walking the deck on some of the fair days when sea-sickness was +forgotten. The passengers were a social company enough, but I had kept +myself apart, as was my wont. At last the attraction became too strong +to resist any longer. “I will venture into the charmed circle if it +kills me,” I said to my father. I did venture, and it did not kill me, +or I should not be telling this story. But there was a repetition of the +old experiences. I need not relate the series of alarming consequences +of my venture. The English girl was very lovely, and I have no doubt has +made some one supremely happy before this, but she was not the “elect +lady” of the prophecy and of my dreams. + +A second time I thought myself for a moment in the presence of the +destined deliverer who was to restore me to my natural place among my +fellow men and women. It was on the Tiber that I met the young maiden +who drew me once more into that inner circle which surrounded young +womanhood with deadly peril for me, if I dared to pass its limits. I was +floating with the stream in the little boat in which I passed many long +hours of reverie when I saw another small boat with a boy and a young +girl in it. The boy had been rowing, and one of his oars had slipped +from his grasp. He did not know how to paddle with a single oar, and was +hopelessly rowing round and round, his oar all the time floating farther +away from him. I could not refuse my assistance. I picked up the oar and +brought my skiff alongside of the boat. When I handed the oar to the boy +the young girl lifted her veil and thanked me in the exquisite music of +the language which + + + 'Sounds as if it should be writ on satin.' + +She was a type of Italian beauty,--a nocturne in flesh and blood, if +I may borrow a term certain artists are fond of; but it was her voice +which captivated me and for a moment made me believe that I was no +longer shut off from all relations with the social life of my race. An +hour later I was found lying insensible on the floor of my boat, white, +cold, almost pulseless. It cost much patient labor to bring me back to +consciousness. Had not such extreme efforts been made, it seems +probable that I should never have waked from a slumber which was hardly +distinguishable from that of death. + +Why should I provoke a catastrophe which appears inevitable if I invite +it by exposing myself to its too well ascertained cause? The habit of +these deadly seizures has become a second nature. The strongest and the +ablest men have found it impossible to resist the impression produced +by the most insignificant object, by the most harmless sight or sound to +which they had a congenital or acquired antipathy. What prospect have I +of ever being rid of this long and deep-seated infirmity? I may well ask +myself these questions, but my answer is that I will never give up +the hope that time will yet bring its remedy. It may be that the wild +prediction which so haunts me shall find itself fulfilled. I have had of +late strange premonitions, to which if I were superstitious I could not +help giving heed. But I have seen too much of the faith that deals in +miracles to accept the supernatural in any shape,--assuredly when it +comes from an old witch-like creature who takes pay for her revelations +of the future. Be it so: though I am not superstitious, I have a right +to be imaginative, and my imagination will hold to those words of the +old zingara with an irresistible feeling that, sooner or later, they +will prove true. + +Can it be possible that her prediction is not far from its realization? +I have had both waking and sleeping visions within these last months +and weeks which have taken possession of me and filled my life with new +thoughts, new hopes, new resolves. + +Sometimes on the bosom of the lake by which I am dreaming away this +season of bloom and fragrance, sometimes in the fields or woods in +a distant glimpse, once in a nearer glance, which left me pale and +tremulous, yet was followed by a swift reaction, so that my cheeks +flushed and my pulse bounded, I have seen her who--how do I dare to tell +it so that my own eyes can read it?---I cannot help believing is to be +my deliverer, my saviour. + +I have been warned in the most solemn and impressive language by the +experts most deeply read in the laws of life and the history of its +disturbing and destroying influences, that it would be at the imminent +risk of my existence if I should expose myself to the repetition of my +former experiences. I was reminded that unexplained sudden deaths were +of constant, of daily occurrence; that any emotion is liable to arrest +the movements of life: terror, joy, good news or bad news,--anything +that reaches the deeper nervous centres. I had already died once, as +Sir Charles Napier said of himself; yes, more than once, died and been +resuscitated. The next time, I might very probably fail to get my return +ticket after my visit to Hades. It was a rather grim stroke of humor, +but I understood its meaning full well, and felt the force of its +menace. + +After all, what had I to live for if the great primal instinct which +strives to make whole the half life of lonely manhood is defeated, +suppressed, crushed out of existence? Why not as well die in the attempt +to break up a wretched servitude to a perverted nervous movement as +in any other way? I am alone in the world,--alone save for my faithful +servant, through whom I seem to hold to the human race as it were by +a single filament. My father, who was my instructor, my companion, +my dearest and best friend through all my later youth and my earlier +manhood, died three years ago and left me my own master, with the means +of living as might best please my fancy. This season shall decide my +fate. One more experiment, and I shall find myself restored to my place +among my fellow-beings, or, as I devoutly hope, in a sphere where all +our mortal infirmities are past and forgotten. + +I have told the story of a blighted life without reserve, so that there +shall not remain any mystery or any dark suspicion connected with my +memory if I should be taken away unexpectedly. It has cost me an effort +to do it, but now that my life is on record I feel more reconciled to +my lot, with all its possibilities, and among these possibilities is a +gleam of a better future. I have been told by my advisers, some of them +wise, deeply instructed, and kind-hearted men, that such a life-destiny +should be related by the subject of it for the instruction of others, +and especially for the light it throws on certain peculiarities of human +character often wrongly interpreted as due to moral perversion, when +they are in reality the results of misdirected or reversed actions in +some of the closely connected nervous centres. + +For myself I can truly say that I have very little morbid sensibility +left with reference to the destiny which has been allotted to me. I have +passed through different stages of feeling with reference to it, as +I have developed from infancy to manhood. At first it was mere blind +instinct about which I had no thought, living like other infants the +life of impressions without language to connect them in series. In my +boyhood I began to be deeply conscious of the infirmity which separated +me from those around me. In youth began that conflict of emotions and +impulses with the antagonistic influence of which I have already spoken, +a conflict which has never ceased, but to which I have necessarily +become to a certain degree accustomed; and against the dangers of which +I have learned to guard myself habitually. That is the meaning of my +isolation. You, young man,--if at any time your eyes shall look upon my +melancholy record,--you at least will understand me. Does not your heart +throb, in the presence of budding or blooming womanhood, sometimes as if +it “were ready to crack” with its own excess of strain? What if instead +of throbbing it should falter, flutter, and stop as if never to beat +again? You, young woman, who with ready belief and tender sympathy will +look upon these pages, if they are ever spread before you, know what it +is when your breast heaves with uncontrollable emotion and the grip of +the bodice seems unendurable as the embrace of the iron virgin of the +Inquisition. Think what it would be if the grasp were tightened so that +no breath of air could enter your panting chest! + +Does your heart beat in the same way, young man, when your honored +friend, a venerable matron of seventy years, greets you with her kindly +smile as it does in the presence of youthful loveliness? When a pretty +child brings you her doll and looks into your eyes with artless grace +and trustful simplicity, does your pulse quicken, do you tremble, does +life palpitate through your whole being, as when the maiden of seventeen +meets your enamored sight in the glow of her rosebud beauty? Wonder +not, then, if the period of mystic attraction for you should be that +of agitation, terror, danger, to one in whom the natural current of the +instincts has had its course changed as that of a stream is changed by a +convulsion of nature, so that the impression which is new life to you is +death to him. + +I am now twenty-five years old. I have reached the time of life which +I have dreamed, nay even ventured to hope, might be the limit of the +sentence which was pronounced upon me in my infancy. I can assign no +good reason for this anticipation. But in writing this paper I feel as +if I were preparing to begin a renewed existence. There is nothing for +me to be ashamed of in the story I have told. There is no man living who +would not have yielded to the sense of instantly impending death which +seized upon me under the conditions I have mentioned. Martyrs have gone +singing to their flaming shrouds, but never a man could hold his +breath long enough to kill himself; he must have rope or water, or some +mechanical help, or nature will make him draw in a breath of air, and +would make him do so though he knew the salvation of the human race +would be forfeited by that one gasp. + +This paper may never reach the eye of any one afflicted in the same way +that I have been. It probably never will; but for all that, there are +many shy natures which will recognize tendencies in themselves in the +direction of my unhappy susceptibility. Others, to whom such weakness +seems inconceivable, will find their scepticism shaken, if not removed, +by the calm, judicial statement of the Report drawn up for the Royal +Academy. It will make little difference to me whether my story is +accepted unhesitatingly or looked upon as largely a product of the +imagination. I am but a bird of passage that lights on the boughs of +different nationalities. I belong to no flock; my home may be among the +palms of Syria, the olives of Italy, the oaks of England, the elms that +shadow the Hudson or the Connecticut; I build no nest; to-day I am here, +to-morrow on the wing. + +If I quit my native land before the trees have dropped their leaves I +shall place this manuscript in the safe hands of one whom I feel sure +that I can trust; to do with it as he shall see fit. If it is only +curious and has no bearing on human welfare, he may think it well to let +it remain unread until I shall have passed away. If in his judgment +it throws any light on one of the deeper mysteries of our nature,--the +repulsions which play such a formidable part in social life, and which +must be recognized as the correlatives of the affinities that distribute +the individuals governed by them in the face of impediments which seem +to be impossibilities,--then it may be freely given to the world. + +But if I am here when the leaves are all fallen, the programme of +my life will have changed, and this story of the dead past will be +illuminated by the light of a living present which will irradiate all +its saddening features. Who would not pray that my last gleam of light +and hope may be that of dawn and not of departing day? + +The reader who finds it hard to accept the reality of a story so far +from the common range of experience is once more requested to suspend +his judgment until he has read the paper which will next be offered for +his consideration. + + + + + + +XIX. THE REPORT OF THE BIOLOGICAL COMMITTEE. + +Perhaps it is too much to expect a reader who wishes to be entertained, +excited, amused, and does not want to work his passage through pages +which he cannot understand without some effort of his own, to read the +paper which follows and Dr. Butts's reflections upon it. If he has no +curiosity in the direction of these chapters, he can afford to leave +them to such as relish a slight flavor of science. But if he does so +leave them he will very probably remain sceptical as to the truth of the +story to which they are meant to furnish him with a key. + +Of course the case of Maurice Kirkwood is a remarkable and exceptional +one, and it is hardly probable that any reader's experience will furnish +him with its parallel. But let him look back over all his acquaintances, +if he has reached middle life, and see if he cannot recall more than one +who, for some reason or other, shunned the society of young women, as +if they had a deadly fear of their company. If he remembers any such, he +can understand the simple statements and natural reflections which are +laid before him. + +One of the most singular facts connected with the history of Maurice +Kirkwood was the philosophical equanimity with which he submitted to the +fate which had fallen upon him. He did not choose to be pumped by the +Interviewer, who would show him up in the sensational columns of his +prying newspaper. He lived chiefly by himself, as the easiest mode of +avoiding those meetings to which he would be exposed in almost every +society into which he might venture. But he had learned to look upon +himself very much as he would upon an intimate not himself,--upon a +different personality. A young man will naturally enough be ashamed +of his shyness. It is something which others believe, and perhaps he +himself thinks, he might overcome. But in the case of Maurice Kirkwood +there was no room for doubt as to the reality and gravity of the long +enduring effects of his first convulsive terror. He had accepted the +fact as he would have accepted the calamity of losing his sight or his +hearing. When he was questioned by the experts to whom his case was +submitted, he told them all that he knew about it almost without a sign +of emotion. Nature was so peremptory with him,--saying in language that +had no double meaning: “If you violate the condition on which you +hold my gift of existence I slay you on the spot,”--that he became as +decisive in his obedience as she was in her command, and accepted his +fate without repining. + +Yet it must not be thought for a moment,--it cannot be supposed,--that +he was insensible because he looked upon himself with the coolness of an +enforced philosophy. He bore his burden manfully, hard as it was to +live under it, for he lived, as we have seen, in hope. The thought of +throwing it off with his life, as too grievous to be borne, was familiar +to his lonely hours, but he rejected it as unworthy of his manhood. How +he had speculated and dreamed about it is plain enough from the paper +the reader may remember on Ocean, River, and Lake. + +With these preliminary hints the paper promised is submitted to such as +may find any interest in them. + + + ACCOUNT OF A CASE OF GYNOPHOBIA. + + WITH REMARKS. + +Being the Substance of a Report to the Royal Academy of the Biological +Sciences by a Committee of that Institution. + +“The singular nature of the case we are about to narrate and comment +upon will, we feel confident, arrest the attention of those who have +learned the great fact that Nature often throws the strongest light upon +her laws by the apparent exceptions and anomalies which from time +to time are observed. We have done with the lusus naturae of earlier +generations. We pay little attention to the stories of 'miracles,' +except so far as we receive them ready-made at the hands of the churches +which still hold to them. Not the less do we meet with strange and +surprising facts, which a century or two ago would have been handled by +the clergy and the courts, but today are calmly recorded and judged by +the best light our knowledge of the laws of life can throw upon them. +It must be owned that there are stories which we can hardly dispute, +so clear and full is the evidence in their support, which do, +notwithstanding, tax our faith and sometimes leave us sceptical in spite +of all the testimony which supports them. + +“In this category many will be disposed to place the case we commend to +the candid attention of the Academy. If one were told that a young man, +a gentleman by birth and training, well formed, in apparently perfect +health, of agreeable physiognomy and manners, could not endure the +presence of the most attractive young woman, but was seized with deadly +terror and sudden collapse of all the powers of life, if he came into +her immediate presence; if it were added that this same young man did +not shrink from the presence of an old withered crone; that he had a +certain timid liking for little maidens who had not yet outgrown the +company of their dolls, the listener would be apt to smile, if he did +not laugh, at the absurdity of the fable. Surely, he would say, this +must be the fiction of some fanciful brain, the whim of some romancer, +the trick of some playwright. It would make a capital farce, this idea, +carried out. A young man slighting the lovely heroine of the little +comedy and making love to her grandmother! This would, of course, be +overstating the truth of the story, but to such a misinterpretation +the plain facts lend themselves too easily. We will relate the leading +circumstances of the case, as they were told us with perfect simplicity +and frankness by the subject of an affection which, if classified, would +come under the general head of Antipathy, but to which, if we give it a +name, we shall have to apply the term Gynophobia, or Fear of Woman.” + +Here follows the account furnished to the writer of the paper, which is +in all essentials identical with that already laid before the reader. + +“Such is the case offered to our consideration. Assuming its +truthfulness in all its particulars, it remains to see in the first +place whether or not it is as entirely exceptional and anomalous as it +seems at first sight, or whether it is only the last term of a series +of cases which in their less formidable aspect are well known to us +in literature, in the records of science, and even in our common +experience. + +“To most of those among us the explanations we are now about to give are +entirely superfluous. But there are some whose chief studies have been +in different directions, and who will not complain if certain facts are +mentioned which to the expert will seem rudimentary, and which hardly +require recapitulation to those who are familiarly acquainted with the +common text-books. + +“The heart is the centre of every living movement in the higher animals, +and in man, furnishing in varying amount, or withholding to a greater +or less extent, the needful supplies to all parts of the system. If its +action is diminished to a certain degree, faintness is the immediate +consequence; if it is arrested, loss of consciousness; if its action +is not soon restored, death, of which fainting plants the white flag, +remains in possession of the system. + +“How closely the heart is under the influence of the emotions we need +not go to science to learn, for all human experience and all literature +are overflowing with evidence that shows the extent of this relation. +Scripture is full of it; the heart in Hebrew poetry represents the +entire life, we might almost say. Not less forcible is the language of +Shakespeare, as for instance, in 'Measure for Measure:' + + + “'Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, + Making it both unable for itself + And dispossessing all my other parts + Of necessary fitness?' + +“More especially is the heart associated in every literature with the +passion of love. A famous old story is that of Galen, who was called to +the case of a young lady long ailing, and wasting away from some cause +the physicians who had already seen her were unable to make out. The +shrewd old practitioner suspected that love was at the bottom of the +young lady's malady. Many relatives and friends of both sexes, all of +them ready with their sympathy, came to see her. The physician sat by +her bedside during one of these visits, and in an easy, natural way took +her hand and placed a finger on her pulse. It beat quietly enough until +a certain comely young gentleman entered the apartment, when it suddenly +rose in frequency, and at the same moment her hurried breathing, +her changing color, pale and flushed by turns, betrayed the profound +agitation his presence excited. This was enough for the sagacious Greek; +love was the disease, the cure of which by its like may be claimed as an +anticipation of homoeopathy. In the frontispiece to the fine old 'Junta' +edition of the works of Galen, you may find among the wood-cuts +a representation of the interesting scene, with the title Amantas +Dignotio,--the diagnosis, or recognition, of the lover. + +“Love has many languages, but the heart talks through all of them. The +pallid or burning cheek tells of the failing or leaping fountain which +gives it color. The lovers at the 'Brookside' could hear each other's +hearts beating. When Genevieve, in Coleridge's poem, forgot herself, and +was beforehand with her suitor in her sudden embrace, + + + “'T was partly love and partly fear, + And partly 't was a bashful art, + That I might rather feel than see + The swelling of her heart' + +“Always the heart, whether its hurried action is seen, or heard, or +felt. But it is not always in this way that the 'deceitful' organ treats +the lover. + + + “'Faint heart never won fair lady.' + +“This saying was not meant, perhaps, to be taken literally, but it +has its literal truth. Many a lover has found his heart sink within +him,--lose all its force, and leave him weak as a child in his emotion +at the sight of the object of his affections. When Porphyro looked upon +Madeline at her prayers in the chapel, it was too much for him: + + + “'She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, + Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint, + She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from earthly taint.' + +“And in Balzac's novel, 'Cesar Birotteau,' the hero of the story +'fainted away for-joy at the moment when, under a linden-tree, at +Sceaux, Constance-Barbe-Josephine accepted him as her future husband.' + +“One who faints is dead if he does not 'come to,' and nothing is more +likely than that too susceptible lovers have actually gone off in this +way. Everything depends on how the heart behaves itself in these +and similar trying moments. The mechanism of its actions becomes an +interesting subject, therefore, to lovers of both sexes, and to all who +are capable of intense emotions. + +“The heart is a great reservoir, which distributes food, drink, air, and +heat to every part of the system, in exchange for its waste material. It +knocks at the gate of every organ seventy or eighty times in a minute, +calling upon it to receive its supplies and unload its refuse. Between +it and the brain there is the closest relation. The emotions, which act +upon it as we have seen, govern it by a mechanism only of late years +thoroughly understood. This mechanism can be made plain enough to the +reader who is not afraid to believe that he can understand it. + +“The brain, as all know, is the seat of ideas, emotions, volition. It is +the great central telegraphic station with which many lesser centres are +in close relation, from which they receive, and to which they transmit, +their messages. The heart has its own little brains, so to speak,--small +collections of nervous substance which govern its rhythmical motions +under ordinary conditions. But these lesser nervous centres are to a +large extent dominated by influences transmitted from certain groups of +nerve-cells in the brain and its immediate dependencies. + +“There are two among the special groups of nerve-cells which produce +directly opposite effects. One of these has the power of accelerating +the action of the heart, while the other has the power of retarding or +arresting this action. One acts as the spur, the other as the bridle. +According as one or the other predominates, the action of the heart +will be stimulated or restrained. Among the great modern discoveries in +physiology is that of the existence of a distinct centre of inhibition, +as the restraining influence over the heart is called. + +“The centre of inhibition plays a terrible part in the history of +cowardice and of unsuccessful love. No man can be brave without blood +to sustain his courage, any more than he can think, as the German +materialist says, not absurdly, without phosphorus. The fainting +lover must recover his circulation, or his lady will lend him her +smelling-salts and take a gallant with blood in his cheeks. Porphyro got +over his faintness before he ran away with Madeline, and Cesar Birotteau +was an accepted lover when he swooned with happiness: but many an +officer has been cashiered, and many a suitor has been rejected, +because the centre of inhibition has got the upper hand of the centre of +stimulation. + +“In the well-known cases of deadly antipathy which have been recorded, +the most frequent cause has been the disturbed and depressing influence +of the centre of inhibition. Fainting at the sight of blood is one of +the commonest examples of this influence. A single impression, in a very +early period of atmospheric existence,--perhaps, indirectly, before that +period, as was said to have happened in the case of James the First +of England,--may establish a communication between this centre and the +heart which will remain open ever afterwards. How does a footpath across +a field establish itself? Its curves are arbitrary, and what we call +accidental, but one after another follows it as if he were guided by a +chart on which it was laid down. So it is with this dangerous transit +between the centre of inhibition and the great organ of life. If once +the path is opened by the track of some profound impression, that same +impression, if repeated, or a similar one, is likely to find the old +footmarks and follow them. Habit only makes the path easier to traverse, +and thus the unreasoning terror of a child, of an infant, may perpetuate +itself in a timidity which shames the manhood of its subject. + +“The case before us is an exceptional and most remarkable example of the +effect of inhibition on the heart. + +“We will not say that we believe it to be unique in the history of +the human race; on the contrary, we do not doubt that there have been +similar cases, and that in some rare instances sudden death has been +the consequence of seizures like that of the subject of this Report. The +case most like it is that of Colone Townsend, which is too well known to +require any lengthened description in this paper. It is enough to recall +the main facts. He could by a voluntary effort suspend the action of +his heart for a considerable period, during which he lay like one dead, +pulseless, and without motion. After a time the circulation returned, +and he does not seem to have been the worse for his dangerous, or +seemingly dangerous, experiment. But in his case it was by an act of the +will that the heart's action was suspended. In the case before us it +is an involuntary impulse transmitted from the brain to the inhibiting +centre, which arrests the cardiac movements. + +“What is like to be the further history of the case? + +“The subject of this anomalous affliction is now more than twenty years +old. The chain of nervous actions has become firmly established. +It might have been hoped that the changes of adolescence would have +effected a transformation of the perverted instinct. On the contrary, +the whole force of this instinct throws itself on the centre of +inhibition, instead of quickening the heart-beats, and sending the +rush of youthful blood with fresh life through the entire system to the +throbbing finger-tips. + +“Is it probable that time and circumstances will alter a habit of +nervous interactions so long established? We are disposed to think that +there is a chance of its being broken up. And we are not afraid to say +that we suspect the old gypsy woman, whose prophecy took such hold of +the patient's imagination, has hit upon the way in which the 'spell,' +as she called it, is to be dissolved. She must, in all probability, +have had a hint of the 'antipatia' to which the youth before her was a +victim, and its cause, and if so, her guess as to the probable mode in +which the young man would obtain relief from his unfortunate condition +was the one which would naturally suggest itself. + +“If once the nervous impression which falls on the centre of inhibition +can be made to change its course, so as to follow its natural channel, +it will probably keep to that channel ever afterwards. And this will, it +is most likely, be effected by some sudden, unexpected impression. If +he were drowning, and a young woman should rescue him, it is by no means +impossible that the change in the nervous current we have referred to +might be brought about as rapidly, as easily, as the reversal of the +poles in a magnet, which is effected in an instant. But he cannot be +expected to throw himself into the water just at the right moment +when the 'fair lady' of the gitana's prophecy is passing on the shore. +Accident may effect the cure which art seems incompetent to perform. It +would not be strange if in some future seizure he should never come back +to consciousness. But it is quite conceivable, on the other hand, that +a happier event may occur, that in a single moment the nervous polarity +may be reversed, the whole course of his life changed, and his past +terrible experiences be to him like a scarce-remembered dream. + +“This is one, of those cases in which it is very hard to determine +the wisest course to be pursued. The question is not unlike that which +arises in certain cases of dislocation of the bones of the neck. Shall +the unfortunate sufferer go all his days with his face turned far round +to the right or the left, or shall an attempt be made to replace the +dislocated bones? an attempt which may succeed, or may cause instant +death. The patient must be consulted as to whether he will take the +chance. The practitioner may be unwilling to risk it, if the patient +consents. Each case must be judged on its own special grounds. We cannot +think that this young man is doomed to perpetual separation from the +society of womanhood during the period of its bloom and attraction. But +to provoke another seizure after his past experiences would be too much +like committing suicide. We fear that we must trust to the chapter +of accidents. The strange malady--for such it is--has become a second +nature, and may require as energetic a shock to displace it as it did +to bring it into existence. Time alone can solve this question, on which +depends the well-being and, it may be, the existence of a young man +every way fitted to be happy, and to give happiness, if restored to his +true nature.” + + + + + + +XX. DR. BUTTS REFLECTS. + +Dr. Butts sat up late at night reading these papers and reflecting upon +them. He was profoundly impressed and tenderly affected by the entire +frankness, the absence of all attempt at concealment, which Maurice +showed in placing these papers at his disposal. He believed that his +patient would recover from this illness for which he had been taking +care of him. He thought deeply and earnestly of what he could do for him +after he should have regained his health and strength. + +There were references, in Maurice's own account of himself, which +the doctor called to mind with great interest after reading his brief +autobiography. Some one person--some young woman, it must be--had +produced a singular impression upon him since those earlier perilous +experiences through which he had passed. The doctor could not help +thinking of that meeting with Euthymia of which she had spoken to him. +Maurice, as she said, turned pale,--he clapped his hand to his breast. +He might have done so if he had met her chambermaid, or any straggling +damsel of the village. But Euthymia was not a young woman to be looked +upon with indifference. She held herself like a queen, and walked like +one, not a stage queen, but one born and bred to self-reliance, and +command of herself as well as others. One could not pass her without +being struck with her noble bearing and spirited features. If she had +known how Maurice trembled as he looked upon her, in that conflict of +attraction and uncontrollable dread,--if she had known it! But what, +even then, could she have done? Nothing but get away from him as fast as +she could. As it was, it was a long time before his agitation subsided, +and his heart beat with its common force and frequency. + +Dr. Butts was not a male gossip nor a matchmaking go-between. But he +could not help thinking what a pity it was that these two young persons +could not come together as other young people do in the pairing season, +and find out whether they cared for and were fitted for each other. He +did not pretend to settle this question in his own mind, but the thought +was a natural one. And here was a gulf between them as deep and wide +as that between Lazarus and Dives. Would it ever be bridged over? This +thought took possession of the doctor's mind, and he imagined all sorts +of ways of effecting some experimental approximation between Maurice and +Euthymia. From this delicate subject he glanced off to certain general +considerations suggested by the extraordinary history he had been +reading. He began by speculating as to the possibility of the personal +presence of an individual making itself perceived by some channel other +than any of the five senses. The study of the natural sciences teaches +those who are devoted to them that the most insignificant facts may lead +the way to the discovery of the most important, all-pervading laws of +the universe. From the kick of a frog's hind leg to the amazing triumphs +which began with that seemingly trivial incident is a long, a very long +stride if Madam Galvani had not been in delicate health, which was the +occasion of her having some frog-broth prepared for her, the world of +to-day might not be in possession of the electric telegraph and +the light which blazes like the sun at high noon. A common-looking +occurrence, one seemingly unimportant, which had hitherto passed +unnoticed with the ordinary course of things, was the means of +introducing us to a new and vast realm of closely related phenomena. It +was like a key that we might have picked up, looking so simple that it +could hardly fit any lock but one of like simplicity, but which should +all at once throw back the bolts of the one lock which had defied +the most ingenious of our complex implements and open our way into a +hitherto unexplored territory. + +It certainly was not through the eye alone that Maurice felt the +paralyzing influence. He could contemplate Euthymia from a distance, as +he did on the day of the boat-race, without any nervous disturbance. A +certain proximity was necessary for the influence to be felt, as in the +case of magnetism and electricity. An atmosphere of danger surrounded +every woman he approached during the period when her sex exercises +its most powerful attractions. How far did that atmosphere extend, and +through what channel did it act? + +The key to the phenomena of this case, he believed, was to be found in a +fact as humble as that which gave birth to the science of galvanism and +its practical applications. The circumstances connected with the very +common antipathy to cats were as remarkable in many points of view as +the similar circumstances in the case of Maurice Kirkwood. The subjects +of that antipathy could not tell what it was which disturbed their +nervous system. All they knew was that a sense of uneasiness, +restlessness, oppression, came over them in the presence of one of +these animals. He remembered the fact already mentioned, that persons +sensitive to this impression can tell by their feelings if a cat is +concealed in the apartment in which they may happen to be. It may be +through some emanation. It may be through the medium of some electrical +disturbance. What if the nerve-thrills passing through the whole system +of the animal propagate themselves to a certain distance without any +more regard to intervening solids than is shown by magnetism? A sieve +lets sand pass through it; a filter arrests sand, but lets fluids pass, +glass holds fluids, but lets light through; wood shuts out light, but +magnetic attraction goes through it as sand went through the sieve. No +good reasons can be given why the presence of a cat should not betray +itself to certain organizations, at a distance, through the walls of a +box in which the animal is shut up. We need not disbelieve the stories +which allege such an occurrence as a fact and a not very infrequent one. + +If the presence of a cat can produce its effects under these +circumstances, why should not that of a human being under similar +conditions, acting on certain constitutions, exercise its specific +influence? The doctor recalled a story told him by one of his friends, a +story which the friend himself heard from the lips of the distinguished +actor, the late Mr. Fechter. The actor maintained that Rachel had no +genius as an actress. It was all Samson's training and study, according +to him, which explained the secret of her wonderful effectiveness on the +stage. But magnetism, he said,--magnetism, she was full of. He declared +that he was made aware of her presence on the stage, when he could not +see her or know of her presence otherwise, by this magnetic emanation. +The doctor took the story for what it was worth. There might very +probably be exaggeration, perhaps high imaginative coloring about it, +but it was not a whit more unlikely than the cat-stories, accepted as +authentic. He continued this train of thought into further developments. +Into this series of reflections we will try to follow him. + +What is the meaning of the halo with which artists have surrounded the +heads of their pictured saints, of the aureoles which wraps them like +a luminous cloud? Is it not a recognition of the fact that these holy +personages diffuse their personality in the form of a visible emanation, +which reminds us of Milton's definition of light: + + + “Bright effluence of bright essence increate”? + +The common use of the term influence would seem to imply the existence +of its correlative, effluence. There is no good reason that I can see, +the doctor said to himself, why among the forces which work upon the +nervous centres there should not be one which acts at various distances +from its source. It may not be visible like the “glory” of the painters, +it may not be appreciable by any one of the five senses, and yet it may +be felt by the person reached by it as much as if it were a palpable +presence,--more powerfully, perhaps, from the mystery which belongs to +its mode of action. + +Why should not Maurice have been rendered restless and anxious by the +unseen nearness of a young woman who was in the next room to him, just +as the persons who have the dread of cats are made conscious of their +presence through some unknown channel? Is it anything strange that the +larger and more powerful organism should diffuse a consciousness of its +presence to some distance as well as the slighter and feebler one? Is +it strange that this mysterious influence or effluence should belong +especially or exclusively to the period of complete womanhood in +distinction from that of immaturity or decadence? On the contrary, it +seems to be in accordance with all the analogies of nature,--analogies +too often cruel in the sentence they pass upon the human female. + +Among the many curious thoughts which came up in the doctor's mind was +this, which made him smile as if it were a jest, but which he felt very +strongly had its serious side, and was involved with the happiness or +suffering of multitudes of youthful persons who die without telling +their secret: + +How many young men have a mortal fear of woman, as woman, which they +never overcome, and in consequence of which the attraction which draws +man towards her, as strong in them as in others,--oftentimes, in virtue +of their peculiarly sensitive organizations, more potent in them than in +others of like age and conditions,--in consequence of which fear, this +attraction is completely neutralized, and all the possibilities of +doubled and indefinitely extended life depending upon it are left +unrealized! Think what numbers of young men in Catholic countries devote +themselves to lives of celibacy. Think how many young men lose all their +confidence in the presence of the young woman to whom they are most +attracted, and at last steal away from a companionship which it is +rapture to dream of and torture to endure, so does the presence of the +beloved object paralyze all the powers of expression. Sorcerers have in +all time and countries played on the hopes and terrors of lovers. Once +let loose a strong impulse on the centre of inhibition, and the +warrior who had faced bayonets and batteries becomes a coward whom the +well-dressed hero of the ball-room and leader of the German will put to +ignominious flight in five minutes of easy, audacious familiarity with +his lady-love. + +Yes, the doctor went on with his reflections, I do not know that I have +seen the term Gynophobia before I opened this manuscript, but I have +seen the malady many times. Only one word has stood between many a pair +of young people and their lifelong happiness, and that word has got as +far as the lips, but the lips trembled and would not, could not, shape +that little word. All young women are not like Coleridge's Genevieve, +who knew how to help her lover out of his difficulty, and said yes +before he had asked for an answer. So the wave which was to have wafted +them on to the shore of Elysium has just failed of landing them, and +back they have been drawn into the desolate ocean to meet no more on +earth. + +Love is the master-key, he went on thinking, love is the master-key that +opens the gates of happiness, of hatred, of jealousy, and, most easily +of all, the gate of fear. How terrible is the one fact of beauty!--not +only the historic wonder of beauty, that “burnt the topless towers of +Ilium” for the smile of Helen, and fired the palaces of Babylon by the +hand of Thais, but the beauty which springs up in all times and places, +and carries a torch and wears a serpent for a wreath as truly as any +of the Eumenides. Paint Beauty with her foot upon a skull and a dragon +coiled around her. + +The doctor smiled at his own imposing classical allusions and pictorial +imagery. Drifting along from thought to thought, he reflected on the +probable consequences of the general knowledge of Maurice Kirkwood's +story, if it came before the public. + +What a piece of work it would make among the lively youths of the +village, to be sure! What scoffing, what ridicule, what embellishments, +what fables, would follow in the trail of the story! If the Interviewer +got hold of it, how “The People's Perennial and Household Inquisitor” + would blaze with capitals in its next issue! The young fellows of the +place would be disposed to make fun of the whole matter. The young +girls-the doctor hardly dared to think what would happen when the story +got about among them. “The Sachem” of the solitary canoe, the bold +horseman, the handsome hermit,--handsome so far as the glimpses they had +got of him went,--must needs be an object of tender interest among them, +now that he was ailing, suffering, in danger of his life, away from +friends,--poor fellow! Little tokens of their regard had reached his +sick-chamber; bunches of flowers with dainty little notes, some of them +pinkish, some three-cornered, some of them with brief messages, others +“criss-crossed,” were growing more frequent as it was understood that +the patient was likely to be convalescent before many days had passed. +If it should come to be understood that there was a deadly obstacle to +their coming into any personal relations with him, the doctor had his +doubts whether there were not those who would subject him to the risk; +for there were coquettes in the village,--strangers, visitors, let us +hope,--who would sacrifice anything or anybody to their vanity and love +of conquest. + + + + + + +XXI. AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION. + +The illness from which Maurice had suffered left him in a state of +profound prostration. The doctor, who remembered the extreme danger of +any overexertion in such cases, hardly allowed him to lift his head from +the pillow. But his mind was gradually recovering its balance, and he +was able to hold some conversation with those about him. His faithful +Paolo had grown so thin in waiting upon him and watching with him that +the village children had to take a second look at his face when they +passed him to make sure that it was indeed their old friend and no +other. But as his master advanced towards convalescence and the doctor +assured him that he was going in all probability to get well, Paolo's +face began to recover something of its old look and expression, and once +more his pockets filled themselves with comfits for his little circle of +worshipping three and four year old followers. + +“How is Mr. Kirkwood?” was the question with which he was always +greeted. In the worst periods of the fever he rarely left his master. +When he did, and the question was put to him, he would shake his head +sadly, sometimes without a word, sometimes with tears and sobs and +faltering words,--more like a brokenhearted child than a stalwart man +as he was, such a man as soldiers are made of in the great Continental +armies. + +“He very bad,--he no eat nothing,--he--no say nothing,--he never be no +better,” and all his Southern nature betrayed itself in a passionate +burst of lamentation. But now that he began to feel easy about his +master, his ready optimism declared itself no less transparently. + +“He better every day now. He get well in few weeks, sure. You see him on +hoss in little while.” The kind-hearted creature's life was bound up in +that of his “master,” as he loved to call him, in sovereign disregard of +the comments of the natives, who held themselves too high for any such +recognition of another as their better. They could not understand how +he, so much their superior in bodily presence, in air and manner, could +speak of the man who employed him in any other way than as “Kirkwood,” + without even demeaning himself so far as to prefix a “Mr.” to it. But +“my master” Maurice remained for Paolo in spite of the fact that all +men are born free and equal. And never was a servant more devoted to a +master than was Paolo to Maurice during the days of doubt and danger. +Since his improvement Maurice insisted upon his leaving his chamber and +getting out of the house, so as to breathe the fresh air of which he was +in so much need. It worried him to see his servant returning after too +short an absence. The attendant who had helped him in the care of the +patient was within call, and Paolo was almost driven out of the house +by the urgency of his master's command that he should take plenty of +exercise in the open air. + +Notwithstanding the fact of Maurice's improved condition, although the +force of the disease had spent itself, the state of weakness to which +he had been reduced was a cause of some anxiety, and required great +precautions to be taken. He lay in bed, wasted, enfeebled to such a +degree that he had to be cared for very much as a child is tended. +Gradually his voice was coming back to him, so that he could hold some +conversation, as was before mentioned, with those about him. The doctor +waited for the right moment to make mention of the manuscript which +Maurice had submitted to him. Up to this time, although it had been +alluded to and the doctor had told him of the intense interest with +which he had read it, he had never ventured to make it the subject of +any long talk, such as would be liable to fatigue his patient. But now +he thought the time had come. + +“I have been thinking,” the doctor said, “of the singular seizures to +which you are liable, and as it is my business not merely to think +about such cases, but to do what I can to help any who may be capable +of receiving aid from my art, I wish to have some additional facts about +your history. And in the first place, will you allow me to ask what led +you to this particular place? It is so much less known to the public at +large than many other resorts that we naturally ask, What brings this or +that new visitor among us? We have no ill-tasting, natural spring of bad +water to be analyzed by the state chemist and proclaimed as a specific. +We have no great gambling-houses, no racecourse (except that for boats +on the lake); we have no coaching-club, no great balls, few lions of any +kind, so we ask, What brings this or that stranger here? And I think I +may venture to ask you whether any, special motive brought you among us, +or whether it was accident that determined your coming to this place.” + +“Certainly, doctor,” Maurice answered, “I will tell you with great +pleasure. Last year I passed on the border of a great river. The year +before I lived in a lonely cottage at the side of the ocean. I wanted +this year to be by a lake. You heard the paper read at the meeting of +your society, or at least you heard of it,--for such matters are always +talked over in a village like this. You can judge by that paper, or +could, if it were before you, of the frame of mind in which I came here. +I was tired of the sullen indifference of the ocean and the babbling +egotism of the river, always hurrying along on its own private business. +I wanted the dreamy stillness of a large, tranquil sheet of water that +had nothing in particular to do, and would leave me to myself and my +thoughts. I had read somewhere about the place, and the old Anchor +Tavern, with its paternal landlord and motherly landlady and +old-fashioned household, and that, though it was no longer open as a +tavern, I could find a resting-place there early in the season, at least +for a few days, while I looked about me for a quiet place in which I +might pass my summer. I have found this a pleasant residence. By being +up early and out late I have kept myself mainly in the solitude which +has become my enforced habit of life. The season has gone by too swiftly +for me since my dream has become a vision.” + +The doctor was sitting with his hand round Maurice's wrist, three +fingers on his pulse. As he spoke these last words he noticed that the +pulse fluttered a little,--beat irregularly a few times; intermitted; +became feeble and thready; while his cheek grew whiter than the pallid +bloodlessness of his long illness had left it. + +“No more talk, now,” he said. “You are too tired to be using your voice. +I will hear all the rest another time.” + +The doctor had interrupted Maurice at an interesting point. What did +he mean by saying that his dream had become a vision? This is what the +doctor was naturally curious, and professionally anxious, to know. But +his hand was still on his patient's pulse, which told him unmistakably +that the heart had taken the alarm and was losing its energy under +the depressing nervous influence. Presently, however, it recovered its +natural force and rhythm, and a faint flush came back to the pale cheek. +The doctor remembered the story of Galen, and the young maiden whose +complaint had puzzled the physicians. + +The next day his patient was well enough to enter once more into +conversation. + +“You said something about a dream of yours which had become a vision,” + said the doctor, with his fingers on his patient's wrist, as before. He +felt the artery leap, under his pressure, falter a little, stop, then +begin again, growing fuller in its beat. The heart had felt the pull of +the bridle, but the spur had roused it to swift reaction. + +“You know the story of my past life, doctor,” Maurice answered; “and, I +will tell you what is the vision which has taken the place of my dreams. +You remember the boat-race? I watched it from a distance, but I held +a powerful opera-glass in my hand, which brought the whole crew of the +young ladies' boat so close to me that I could see the features, the +figures, the movements, of every one of the rowers. I saw the little +coxswain fling her bouquet in the track of the other boat,--you remember +how the race was lost and won,--but I saw one face among those young +girls which drew me away from all the rest. It was that of the young +lady who pulled the bow oar, the captain of the boat's crew. I have +since learned her name, you know it well,--I need not name her. Since +that day I have had many distant glimpses of her; and once I met her +so squarely that the deadly sensation came over me, and I felt that in +another moment I should fall senseless at her feet. But she passed +on her way and I on mine, and the spasm which had clutched my heart +gradually left it, and I was as well as before. You know that young +lady, doctor?” + +“I do; and she is a very noble creature. You are not the first young man +who has been fascinated, almost at a glance, by Miss Euthymia Tower. And +she is well worth knowing more intimately.” + +The doctor gave him a full account of the young lady, of her early days, +her character, her accomplishments. To all this he listened devoutly, +and when the doctor left him he said to himself, “I will see her and +speak with her, if it costs me my life.” + + + + + + +XXII. EUTHYMIA. + +“The Wonder” of the Corinna Institute had never willingly made a show +of her gymnastic accomplishments. Her feats, which were so much admired, +were only her natural exercise. Gradually the dumb-bells others used +became too light for her, the ropes she climbed too short, the clubs +she exercised with seemed as if they were made of cork instead of being +heavy wood, and all the tests and meters of strength and agility had +been strained beyond the standards which the records of the school had +marked as their historic maxima. It was not her fault that she broke +a dynamometer one day; she apologized for it, but the teacher said he +wished he could have a dozen broken every year in the same way. The +consciousness of her bodily strength had made her very careful in her +movements. The pressure of her hand was never too hard for the tenderest +little maiden whose palm was against her own. So far from priding +herself on her special gifts, she was disposed to be ashamed of them. +There were times and places in which she could give full play to her +muscles without fear or reproach. She had her special costume for the +boat and for the woods. She would climb the rugged old hemlocks now +and then for the sake of a wide outlook, or to peep into the large nest +where a hawk, or it may be an eagle, was raising her little brood of +air-pirates. + +There were those who spoke of her wanderings in lonely places as +an unsafe exposure. One sometimes met doubtful characters about the +neighborhood, and stories were told of occurrences which might well +frighten a young girl, and make her cautious of trusting herself alone +in the wild solitudes which surrounded the little village. Those who +knew Euthymia thought her quite equal to taking care of herself. Her +very look was enough to ensure the respect of any vagabond who might +cross her path, and if matters came to the worst she would prove as +dangerous as a panther. + +But it was a pity to associate this class of thoughts with a noble +specimen of true womanhood. Health, beauty, strength, were fine +qualities, and in all these she was rich. She enjoyed all her natural +gifts, and thought little about them. Unwillingly, but over-persuaded +by some of her friends, she had allowed her arm and hand to be modelled. +The artists who saw the cast wondered if it would be possible to get the +bust of the maiden from whom it was taken. Nobody would have dared to +suggest such an idea to her except Lurida. For Lurida sex was a trifling +accident, to be disregarded not only in the interests of humanity, but +for the sake of art. + +“It is a shame,” she said to Euthymia, “that you will not let your +exquisitely moulded form be perpetuated in marble. You have no right to +withhold such a model from the contemplation of your fellow-creatures. +Think how rare it is to see a woman who truly represents the divine +idea! You belong to your race, and not to yourself,--at least, your +beauty is a gift not to be considered as a piece of private property. +Look at the so-called Venus of Milo. Do you suppose the noble woman who +was the original of that divinely chaste statue felt any scruple about +allowing the sculptor to reproduce her pure, unblemished perfections?” + +Euthymia was always patient with her imaginative friend. She listened to +her eloquent discourse, but she could not help blushing, used as she was +to Lurida's audacities. “The Terror's” brain had run away with a large +share of the blood which ought to have gone to the nourishment of her +general system. She could not help admiring, almost worshipping, a +companion whose being was rich in the womanly developments with which +nature had so economically endowed herself. An impoverished organization +carries with it certain neutral qualities which make its subject appear, +in the presence of complete manhood and womanhood, like a deaf-mute +among speaking persons. The deep blush which crimsoned Euthymia's cheek +at Lurida's suggestion was in a strange contrast to her own undisturbed +expression. There was a range of sensibilities of which Lurida knew far +less than she did of those many and difficult studies which had absorbed +her vital forces. She was startled to see what an effect her proposal +had produced, for Euthymia was not only blushing, but there was a flame +in her eyes which she had hardly ever seen before. + +“Is this only your own suggestion?” Euthymia said, “or has some one been +putting the idea into your head?” The truth was that she had happened +to meet the Interviewer at the Library, one day, and she was offended by +the long, searching stare with which that individual had honored her. It +occurred to her that he, or some such visitor to the place, might have +spoken of her to Lurida, or to some other person who had repeated what +was said to Lurida, as a good subject for the art of the sculptor, +and she felt all her maiden sensibilities offended by the proposition. +Lurida could not understand her excitement, but she was startled by +it. Natures which are complementary of each other are liable to these +accidental collisions of feeling. They get along very well together, +none the worse for their differences, until all at once the tender spot +of one or the other is carelessly handled in utter unconsciousness +on the part of the aggressor, and the exclamation, the outcry, or the +explosion explains the situation altogether too emphatically. Such +scenes did not frequently occur between the two friends, and this little +flurry was soon over; but it served to warn Lurida that Miss Euthymia +Tower was not of that class of self-conscious beauties who would be +ready to dispute the empire of the Venus of Milo on her own ground, in +defences as scanty and insufficient as those of the marble divinity. + +Euthymia had had admirers enough, at a distance, while at school, and +in the long vacations, near enough to find out that she was anything but +easy to make love to. She fairly frightened more than one rash youth +who was disposed to be too sentimental in her company. They overdid +flattery, which she was used to and tolerated, but which cheapened +the admirer in her estimation, and now and then betrayed her into an +expression which made him aware of the fact, and was a discouragement +to aggressive amiability. The real difficulty was that not one of her +adorers had ever greatly interested her. It could not be that nature had +made her insensible. It must have been because the man who was made for +her had never yet shown himself. She was not easy to please, that was +certain; and she was one of those young women who will not accept as +a lover one who but half pleases them. She could not pick up the first +stick that fell in her way and take it to shape her ideal out of. Many +of the good people of the village doubted whether Euthymia would ever be +married. + +“There 's nothing good enough for her in this village,” said the old +landlord of what had been the Anchor Tavern. + +“She must wait till a prince comes along,” the old landlady said in +reply. “She'd make as pretty a queen as any of them that's born to it. +Wouldn't she be splendid with a gold crown on her head, and di'monds a +glitterin' all over her! D' you remember how handsome she looked in the +tableau, when the fair was held for the Dorcas Society? She had on an +old dress of her grandma's,--they don't make anything half so handsome +nowadays,--and she was just as pretty as a pictur'. But what's the use +of good looks if they scare away folks? The young fellows think that +such a handsome girl as that would cost ten times as much to keep as +a plain one. She must be dressed up like an empress,--so they seem to +think. It ain't so with Euthymy: she'd look like a great lady dressed +anyhow, and she has n't got any more notions than the homeliest girl +that ever stood before a glass to look at herself.” + +In the humbler walks of Arrowhead Village society, similar opinions +were entertained of Miss Euthymia. The fresh-water fisherman represented +pretty well the average estimate of the class to which he belonged. +“I tell ye,” said he to another gentleman of leisure, whose chief +occupation was to watch the coming and going of the visitors to +Arrowhead Village,--“I tell ye that girl ain't a gon to put up with any +o' them slab-sided fellahs that you see hangin' raound to look at her +every Sunday when she comes aout o' meetin'. It's one o' them big gents +from Boston or New York that'll step up an' kerry her off.” + +In the mean time nothing could be further from the thoughts of Euthymia +than the prospect of an ambitious worldly alliance. The ideals of young +women cost them many and great disappointments, but they save them very +often from those lifelong companionships which accident is constantly +trying to force upon them, in spite of their obvious unfitness. The +higher the ideal, the less likely is the commonplace neighbor who has +the great advantage of easy access, or the boarding-house acquaintance +who can profit by those vacant hours when the least interesting of +visitors is better than absolute loneliness,--the less likely are these +undesirable personages to be endured, pitied, and, if not embraced, +accepted, for want of something better. Euthymia found so much pleasure +in the intellectual companionship of Lurida, and felt her own prudence +and reserve so necessary to that independent young lady, that she had +been contented, so far, with friendship, and thought of love only in an +abstract sort of way. Beneath her abstractions there was a capacity +of loving which might have been inferred from the expression of her +features, the light that shone in her eyes, the tones of her voice, all +of which were full of the language which belongs to susceptible natures. +How many women never say to themselves that they were born to love, +until all at once the discovery opens upon them, as the sense that he +was born a painter is said to have dawned suddenly upon Correggio! + +Like all the rest of the village and its visitors, she could not help +thinking a good deal about the young man lying ill amongst strangers. +She was not one of those who had sent him the three-cornered notes or +even a bunch of flowers. She knew that he was receiving abounding tokens +of kindness and sympathy from different quarters, and a certain inward +feeling restrained her from joining in these demonstrations. If he had +been suffering from some deadly and contagious malady she would have +risked her life to help him, without a thought that there was any +wonderful heroism in such self-devotion. Her friend Lurida might have +been capable of the same sacrifice, but it would be after reasoning with +herself as to the obligations which her sense of human rights and duties +laid upon her, and fortifying her courage with the memory of noble +deeds recorded of women in ancient and modern history. With Euthymia the +primary human instincts took precedence of all reasoning or reflection +about them. All her sympathies were excited by the thought of this +forlorn stranger in his solitude, but she felt the impossibility of +giving any complete expression to them. She thought of Mungo Park in the +African desert, and she envied the poor negress who not only pitied him, +but had the blessed opportunity of helping and consoling him. How near +were these two human creatures, each needing the other! How near in +bodily presence, how far apart in their lives, with a barrier seemingly +impassable between them! + + + + + + +XXIII. THE MEETING OF MAURICE AND EUTHYMIA. + +These autumnal fevers, which carry off a large number of our young +people every year, are treacherous and deceptive diseases. Not only are +they liable, as has been mentioned, to various accidental complications +which may prove suddenly fatal, but too often, after convalescence +seems to be established, relapses occur which are more serious than the +disease had appeared to be in its previous course. One morning Dr. Butts +found Maurice worse instead of better, as he had hoped and expected to +find him. Weak as he was, there was every reason to fear the issue +of this return of his threatening symptoms. There was not much to do +besides keeping up the little strength which still remained. It was all +needed. + +Does the reader of these pages ever think of the work a sick man as much +as a well one has to perform while he is lying on his back and taking +what we call his “rest”? More than a thousand times an hour, between a +hundred and fifty and two hundred thousand times a week, he has to lift +the bars of the cage in which his breathing organs are confined, to save +himself from asphyxia. Rest! There is no rest until the last long sigh +tells those who look upon the dying that the ceaseless daily task, to +rest from which is death, is at last finished. We are all galley-slaves, +pulling at the levers of respiration,--which, rising and falling like so +many oars, drive us across an unfathomable ocean from one unknown shore +to another. No! Never was a galley-slave so chained as we are to these +four and twenty oars, at which we must tug day and night all our life +long. + +The doctor could not find any accidental cause to account for this +relapse. It presently occurred to him that there might be some local +source of infection which had brought on the complaint, and was still +keeping up the symptoms which were the ground of alarm. He determined to +remove Maurice to his own house, where he could be sure of pure air, +and where he himself could give more constant attention to his patient +during this critical period of his disease. It was a risk to take, +but he could be carried on a litter by careful men, and remain wholly +passive during the removal. Maurice signified his assent, as he could +hardly help doing,--for the doctor's suggestion took pretty nearly the +form of a command. He thought it a matter of life and death, and was +gently urgent for his patient's immediate change of residence. The +doctor insisted on having Maurice's books and other movable articles +carried to his own house, so that he should be surrounded by familiar +sights, and not worry himself about what might happen to objects which +he valued, if they were left behind him. + +All these dispositions were quickly and quietly made, and everything +was ready for the transfer of the patient to the house of the hospitable +physician. Paolo was at the doctor's, superintending the arrangement +of Maurice's effects and making all ready for his master. The nurse in +attendance, a trustworthy man enough in the main, finding his patient in +a tranquil sleep, left his bedside for a little fresh air. While he +was at the door he heard a shouting which excited his curiosity, and he +followed the sound until he found himself at the border of the lake. It +was nothing very wonderful which had caused the shouting. A Newfoundland +dog had been showing off his accomplishments, and some of the idlers +were betting as to the time it would take him to bring back to his +master the various floating objects which had been thrown as far from +the shore as possible. He watched the dog a few minutes, when his +attention was drawn to a light wherry, pulled by one young lady and +steered by another. It was making for the shore, which it would soon +reach. The attendant remembered all at once, that he had left his +charge, and just before the boat came to land he turned and hurried back +to the patient. Exactly how long he had been absent he could not have +said,--perhaps a quarter of an hour, perhaps longer; the time appeared +short to him, wearied with long sitting and watching. + +It had seemed, when he stole away from Maurice's bedside, that he was +not in the least needed. The patient was lying perfectly quiet, and to +all appearance wanted nothing more than letting alone. It was such a +comfort to look at something besides the worn features of a sick man, to +hear something besides his labored breathing and faint, half-whispered +words, that the temptation to indulge in these luxuries for a few +minutes had proved irresistible. + +Unfortunately, Maurice's slumbers did not remain tranquil during the +absence of the nurse. He very soon fell into a dream, which began +quietly enough, but in the course of the sudden transitions which dreams +are in the habit of undergoing became successively anxious, distressing, +terrifying. His earlier and later experiences came up before him, +fragmentary, incoherent, chaotic even, but vivid as reality. He was at +the bottom of a coal-mine in one of those long, narrow galleries, or +rather worm-holes, in which human beings pass a large part of their +lives, like so many larvae boring their way into the beams and rafters +of some old building. How close the air was in the stifling passage +through which he was crawling! The scene changed, and he was climbing a +slippery sheet of ice with desperate effort, his foot on the floor of a +shallow niche, his hold an icicle ready to snap in an instant, an abyss +below him waiting for his foot to slip or the icicle to break. How thin +the air seemed, how desperately hard to breathe! He was thinking of +Mont Blanc, it may be, and the fearfully rarefied atmosphere which he +remembered well as one of the great trials in his mountain ascents. No, +it was not Mont Blanc,--it was not any one of the frozen Alpine summits; +it was Hecla that he was climbing. + +The smoke of the burning mountain was wrapping itself around him; he was +choking with its dense fumes; he heard the flames roaring around him, he +felt the hot lava beneath his feet, he uttered a faint cry, and awoke. + +The room was full of smoke. He was gasping for breath, strangling in the +smothering oven which his chamber had become. + +The house was on fire! + +He tried to call for help, but his voice failed him, and died away in a +whisper. He made a desperate effort, and rose so as to sit up in the bed +for an instant, but the effort was too much for him, and he sank back +upon his pillow, helpless. He felt that his hour had come, for he could +not live in this dreadful atmosphere, and he was left alone. He could +hear the crackle of fire as the flame crept along from one partition to +another. It was a cruel fate to be left to perish in that way,--the +fate that many a martyr had had to face,--to be first strangled and +then burned. Death had not the terror for him that it has for most +young persons. He was accustomed to thinking of it calmly, sometimes +wistfully, even to such a degree that the thought of self-destruction +had come upon him as a temptation. But here was death in an unexpected +and appalling shape. He did not know before how much he cared to live. +All his old recollections came before him as it were in one long, vivid +flash. The closed vista of memory opened to its far horizon-line, and +past and present were pictured in a single instant of clear vision. The +dread moment which had blighted his life returned in all its terror. He +felt the convulsive spring in the form of a faint, impotent spasm,--the +rush of air,--the thorns of the stinging and lacerating cradle into +which he was precipitated. One after another those paralyzing seizures +which had been like deadening blows on the naked heart seemed to repeat +themselves, as real as at the moment of their occurrence. The pictures +passed in succession with such rapidity that they appeared almost as if +simultaneous. The vision of the “inward eye” was so intensified in this +moment of peril that an instant was like an hour of common existence. +Those who have been very near drowning know well what this description +means. The development of a photograph may not explain it, but it +illustrates the curious and familiar fact of the revived recollections +of the drowning man's experience. The sensitive plate has taken one look +at a scene, and remembers it all, + +Every little circumstance is there,--the hoof in air, the wing in +flight, the leaf as it falls, the wave as it breaks. All there, but +invisible; potentially present, but impalpable, inappreciable, as if not +existing at all. A wash is poured over it, and the whole scene comes +out in all its perfection of detail. In those supreme moments when death +stares a man suddenly in the face the rush of unwonted emotion floods +the undeveloped pictures of vanished years, stored away in the memory, +the vast panorama of a lifetime, and in one swift instant the past comes +out as vividly as if it were again the present. So it was at this moment +with the sick man, as he lay helpless and felt that he was left to die. +For he saw no hope of relief: the smoke was drifting in clouds into +the room; the flames were very near; if he was not reached and rescued +immediately it was all over with him. + +His past life had flashed before him. Then all at once rose the thought +of his future,--of all its possibilities, of the vague hopes which he +had cherished of late that his mysterious doom would be lifted from him. +There was something, then, to be lived for, something! There was a new +life, it might be, in store for him, and such a new life! He thought of +all he was losing. Oh, could he but have lived to know the meaning of +love! And the passionate desire of life came over him,--not the dread of +death, but the longing for what the future might yet have of happiness +for him. + +All this took place in the course of a very few moments. Dreams and +visions have little to do with measured time, and ten minutes, possibly +fifteen or twenty, were all that had passed since the beginning of those +nightmare terrors which were evidently suggested by the suffocating air +he was breathing. + +What had happened? In the confusion of moving books and other articles +to the doctor's house, doors and windows had been forgotten. Among the +rest a window opening into the cellar, where some old furniture had +been left by a former occupant, had been left unclosed. One of the lazy +natives, who had lounged by the house smoking a bad cigar, had thrown +the burning stump in at this open window. He had no particular intention +of doing mischief, but he had that indifference to consequences which is +the next step above the inclination to crime. The burning stump happened +to fall among the straw of an old mattress which had been ripped open. +The smoker went his way without looking behind him, and it so chanced +that no other person passed the house for some time. Presently the straw +was in a blaze, and from this the fire extended to the furniture, to the +stairway leading up from the cellar, and was working its way along the +entry under the stairs leading up to the apartment where Maurice was +lying. + +The blaze was fierce and swift, as it could not help being with such a +mass of combustibles,--loose straw from the mattress, dry old furniture, +and old warped floors which had been parching and shrinking for a score +or two of years. The whole house was, in the common language of the +newspaper reports, “a perfect tinder-box,” and would probably be a heap +of ashes in half an hour. And there was this unfortunate deserted sick +man lying between life and death, beyond all help unless some unexpected +assistance should come to his rescue. + +As the attendant drew near the house where Maurice was lying, he was +horror-struck to see dense volumes of smoke pouring out of the lower +windows. It was beginning to make its way through the upper windows, +also, and presently a tongue of fire shot out and streamed upward along +the side of the house. The man shrieked Fire! Fire! with all his might, +and rushed to the door of the building to make his way to Maurice's +room and save him. He penetrated but a short distance when, blinded and +choking with the smoke, he rushed headlong down the stairs with a cry of +despair that roused every man, woman, and child within reach of a human +voice. Out they came from their houses in every quarter of the village. +The shout of Fire! Fire! was the chief aid lent by many of the young and +old. Some caught up pails and buckets: the more thoughtful ones filling +them; the hastier snatching them up empty, trusting to find water nearer +the burning building. + +Is the sick man moved? + +This was the awful question first asked,--for in the little village all +knew that Maurice was about being transferred to the doctor's house. The +attendant, white as death, pointed to the chamber where he had left him, +and gasped out, + +“He is there!” + +A ladder! A ladder! was the general cry, and men and boys rushed off +in search of one. But a single minute was an age now, and there was no +ladder to be had without a delay of many minutes. The sick man was going +to be swallowed up in the flames before it could possibly arrive. Some +were going for a blanket or a coverlet, in the hope that the young man +might have strength enough to leap from the window and be safely caught +in it. The attendant shook his head, and said faintly, + +“He cannot move from his bed.” + +One of the visitors at the village,--a millionaire, it was said,--a +kind-hearted man, spoke in hoarse, broken tones: + +“A thousand dollars to the man that will bring him from his chamber!” + +The fresh-water fisherman muttered, “I should like to save the man and +to see the money, but it ain't a thaousan' dollars, nor ten thaousan' +dollars, that'll pay a fellah for burnin' to death,--or even chokin' to +death, anyhaow.” + +The carpenter, who knew the framework of every house in the village, +recent or old, shook his head. + +“The stairs have been shored up,” he said, “and when the fists that +holds 'em up goes, down they'll come. It ain't safe for no man to go +over them stairs. Hurry along your ladder,--that's your only chance.” + +All was wild confusion around the burning house. The ladder they had +gone for was missing from its case,--a neighbor had carried it off for +the workmen who were shingling his roof. It would never get there in +time. There was a fire-engine, but it was nearly half a mile from the +lakeside settlement. Some were throwing on water in an aimless, useless +way; one was sending a thin stream through a garden syringe: it seemed +like doing something, at least. But all hope of saving Maurice was fast +giving way, so rapid was the progress of the flames, so thick the cloud +of smoke that filled the house and poured from the windows. Nothing was +heard but confused cries, shrieks of women, all sorts of orders to +do this and that, no one knowing what was to be done. The ladder! The +ladder! Five minutes more and it will be too late! + +In the mean time the alarm of fire had reached Paolo, and he had stopped +his work of arranging Maurice's books in the same way as that in which +they had stood in his apartment, and followed in the direction of the +sound, little thinking that his master was lying helpless in the burning +house. “Some chimney afire,” he said to himself; but he would go and +take a look, at any rate. + +Before Paolo had reached the scene of destruction and impending death, +two young women, in boating dresses of decidedly Bloomerish aspect, +had suddenly joined the throng. “The Wonder” and “The Terror” of their +school-days--Miss Euthymia rower and Miss Lurida Vincent had just come +from the shore, where they had left their wherry. A few hurried words +told them the fearful story. Maurice Kirkwood was lying in the chamber +to which every eye was turned, unable to move, doomed to a dreadful +death. All that could be hoped was that he would perish by suffocation +rather than by the flames, which would soon be upon him. The man who had +attended him had just tried to reach his chamber, but had reeled back +out of the door, almost strangled by the smoke. A thousand dollars had +been offered to any one who would rescue the sick man, but no one had +dared to make the attempt; for the stairs might fall at any moment, if +the smoke did not blind and smother the man who passed them before they +fell. + +The two young women looked each other in the face for one swift moment. + +“How can he be reached?” asked Lurida. “Is there nobody that will +venture his life to save a brother like that?” + +“I will venture mine,” said Euthymia. + +“No! no!” shrieked Lurida,--“not you! not you! It is a man's work, not +yours! You shall not go!” Poor Lurida had forgotten all her theories +in this supreme moment. But Euthymia was not to be held back. Taking a +handkerchief from her neck, she dipped it in a pail of water and bound +it about her head. Then she took several deep breaths of air, and filled +her lungs as full as they would hold. She knew she must not take a +single breath in the choking atmosphere if she could possibly help it, +and Euthymia was noted for her power of staying under water so long that +more than once those who saw her dive thought she would never come up +again. So rapid were her movements that they paralyzed the bystanders, +who would forcibly have prevented her from carrying out her purpose. +Her imperious determination was not to be resisted. And so Euthymia, a +willing martyr, if martyr she was to be, and not saviour, passed within +the veil that hid the sufferer. + +Lurida turned deadly pale, and sank fainting to the ground. She was +the first, but not the only one, of her sex that fainted as Euthymia +disappeared in the smoke of the burning building. Even the rector grew +very white in the face,--so white that one of his vestry-men begged him +to sit down at once, and sprinkled a few drops of water on his forehead, +to his great disgust and manifest advantage. The old landlady was crying +and moaning, and her husband was wiping his eyes and shaking his head +sadly. + +“She will nevar come out alive,” he said solemnly. + +“Nor dead, neither,” added the carpenter. “Ther' won't be nothing left +of neither of 'em but ashes.” And the carpenter hid his face in his +hands. + +The fresh-water fisherman had pulled out a rag which he called a +“hangkercher,”--it had served to carry bait that morning,--and was +making use of its best corner to dry the tears which were running down +his cheeks. The whole village was proud of Euthymia, and with these more +quiet signs of grief were mingled loud lamentations, coming alike from +old and young. + +All this was not so much like a succession of events as it was like a +tableau. The lookers-on were stunned with its suddenness, and before +they had time to recover their bewildered senses all was lost, or seemed +lost. They felt that they should never look again on either of those +young faces. + +The rector, not unfeeling by nature, but inveterately professional by +habit, had already recovered enough to be thinking of a text for the +funeral sermon. The first that occurred to him was this,--vaguely, of +course, in the background of consciousness: + +“Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego came forth of the midst of the +fire.” + +The village undertaker was of naturally sober aspect and reflective +disposition. He had always been opposed to cremation, and here was a +funeral pile blazing before his eyes. He, too, had his human sympathies, +but in the distance his imagination pictured the final ceremony, and how +he himself should figure in a spectacle where the usual centre piece of +attraction would be wanting,--perhaps his own services uncalled for. + +Blame him not, you whose garden-patch is not watered with the tears of +mourners. The string of self-interest answers with its chord to every +sound; it vibrates with the funeral-bell, it finds itself trembling to +the wail of the De Profundis. Not always,--not always; let us not be +cynical in our judgments, but common human nature, we may safely say, +is subject to those secondary vibrations under the most solemn and +soul-subduing influences. + +It seems as if we were doing great wrong to the scene we are +contemplating in delaying it by the description of little circumstances +and individual thoughts and feelings. But linger as we may, we cannot +compress into a chapter--we could not crowd into a volume--all that +passed through the minds and stirred the emotions of the awe-struck +company which was gathered about the scene of danger and of terror. We +are dealing with an impossibility: consciousness is a surface; narrative +is a line. + +Maurice had given himself up for lost. His breathing was becoming every +moment more difficult, and he felt that his strength could hold out but +a few minutes longer. + +“Robert!” he called in faint accents. But the attendant was not there to +answer. + +“Paolo! Paolo!” But the faithful servant, who would have given his +life for his master, had not yet reached the place where the crowd was +gathered. + +“Oh, for a breath of air! Oh, for an arm to lift me from this bed! +Too late! Too late!” he gasped, with what might have seemed his dying +expiration. + +“Not too late!” The soft voice reached his obscured consciousness as if +it had come down to him from heaven. + +In a single instant he found himself rolled in a blanket and in the arms +of--a woman! + +Out of the stifling chamber,--over the burning stairs,--close by the +tongues of fire that were lapping up all they could reach,--out into the +open air, he was borne swiftly and safely,--carried as easily as if he +had been a babe, in the strong arms of “The Wonder” of the gymnasium, +the captain of the Atalanta, who had little dreamed of the use she was +to make of her natural gifts and her school-girl accomplishments. + +Such a cry as arose from the crowd of on-lookers! It was a sound that +none of them had ever heard before or could expect ever to hear again, +unless he should be one of the last boat-load rescued from a sinking +vessel. Then, those who had resisted the overflow of their emotion, who +had stood in white despair as they thought of these two young lives +soon to be wrapped in their burning shroud,--those stern men--the old +sea-captain, the hard-faced, moneymaking, cast-iron tradesmen of the +city counting-room--sobbed like hysteric women; it was like a convulsion +that overcame natures unused to those deeper emotions which many who are +capable of experiencing die without ever knowing. + +This was the scene upon which the doctor and Paolo suddenly appeared at +the same moment. + +As the fresh breeze passed over the face of the rescued patient, his +eyes opened wide, and his consciousness returned in almost supernatural +lucidity. Euthymia had sat down upon a bank, and was still supporting +him. His head was resting on her bosom. Through his awakening senses +stole the murmurs of the living cradle which rocked him with the +wavelike movements of respiration, the soft susurrus of the air that +entered with every breath, the double beat of the heart which throbbed +close to his ear. And every sense, and every instinct, and every +reviving pulse told him in language like a revelation from another +world that a woman's arms were around him, and that it was life, and not +death, which her embrace had brought him. + +She would have disengaged him from her protecting hold, but the doctor +made her a peremptory sign, which he followed by a sharp command:-- + +“Do not move him a hair's breadth,” he said. “Wait until the litter +comes. Any sudden movement might be dangerous. Has anybody a brandy +flask about him?” + +One or two members of the local temperance society looked rather +awkward, but did not come forward. + +The fresh-water fisherman was the first who spoke. + +“I han't got no brandy,” he said, “but there's a drop or two of old +Medford rum in this here that you're welcome to, if it'll be of any +help. I alliz kerry a little on 't in case o' gettin' wet 'n' chilled.” + +So saying he held forth a flat bottle with the word Sarsaparilla stamped +on the green glass, but which contained half a pint or more of the +specific on which he relied in those very frequent exposures which +happen to persons of his calling. + +The doctor motioned back Paolo, who would have rushed at once to the aid +of Maurice, and who was not wanted at that moment. So poor Paolo, in an +agony of fear for his master, was kept as quiet as possible, and had to +content himself with asking all sorts of questions and repeating all +the prayers he could think of to Our Lady and to his holy namesake the +Apostle. + +The doctor wiped the mouth of the fisherman's bottle very carefully. +“Take a few drops of this cordial,” he said, as he held it to his +patient's lips. “Hold him just so, Euthymia, without stirring. I will +watch him, and say when he is ready to be moved. The litter is near by, +waiting.” Dr. Butts watched Maurice's pulse and color. The “Old Medford” + knew its business. It had knocked over its tens of thousands; it had its +redeeming virtue, and helped to set up a poor fellow now and then. It +did this for Maurice very effectively. When he seemed somewhat restored, +the doctor had the litter brought to his side, and Euthymia softly +resigned her helpless burden, which Paolo and the attendant Robert +lifted with the aid of the doctor, who walked by the patient as he was +borne to the home where Mrs. Butts had made all ready for his reception. + +As for poor Lurida, who had thought herself equal to the sanguinary +duties of the surgeon, she was left lying on the grass with an old woman +over her, working hard with fan and smelling-salts to bring her back +from her long fainting fit. + + + + + + +XXIV. THE INEVITABLE. + +Why should not human nature be the same in Arrowhead Village as +elsewhere? It could not seem strange to the good people of that place +and their visitors that these two young persons, brought together under +circumstances that stirred up the deepest emotions of which the human +soul is capable, should become attached to each other. But the bond +between them was stronger than any knew, except the good doctor, who had +learned the great secret of Maurice's life. For the first time since +his infancy he had fully felt the charm which the immediate presence +of youthful womanhood carries with it. He could hardly believe the fact +when he found himself no longer the subject of the terrifying seizures +of which he had had many and threatening experiences. + +It was the doctor's business to save his patient's life, if he could +possibly do it. Maurice had been reduced to the most perilous state of +debility by the relapse which had interrupted his convalescence. Only by +what seemed almost a miracle had he survived the exposure to suffocation +and the mental anguish through which he had passed. It was perfectly +clear to Dr. Butts that if Maurice could see the young woman to whom he +owed his life, and, as the doctor felt assured, the revolution in his +nervous system which would be the beginning of a new existence, it would +be of far more value as a restorative agency than any or all of the +drugs in the pharmacopoeia. He told this to Euthymia, and explained the +matter to her parents and friends. She must go with him on some of his +visits. Her mother should go with her, or her sister; but this was a +case of life and death, and no maidenly scruples must keep her from +doing her duty. + +The first of her visits to the sick, perhaps dying, man presented a +scene not unlike the picture before spoken of on the title-page of the +old edition of Galen. The doctor was perhaps the most agitated of the +little group. He went before the others, took his seat by the bedside, +and held the patient's wrist with his finger on the pulse. As Euthymia +entered it gave a single bound, fluttered for an instant as if with +a faint memory of its old habit, then throbbed full and strong, +comparatively, as if under the spur of some powerful stimulus. +Euthymia's task was a delicate one, but she knew how to disguise its +difficulty. + +“Here is a flower I have brought you, Mr. Kirkwood,” she said, and +handed him a white chrysanthemum. He took it from her hand, and before +she knew it he took her hand into his own, and held it with a gentle +constraint. What could she do? Here was the young man whose life she +had saved, at least for the moment, and who was yet in danger from the +disease which had almost worn out his powers of resistance. + +“Sit down by Mr. Kirkwood's side,” said the doctor. “He wants to thank +you, if he has strength to do it, for saving him from the death which +seemed inevitable.” + +Not many words could Maurice command. He was weak enough for womanly +tears, but their fountains no longer flowed; it was with him as with the +dying, whose eyes may light up, but rarely shed a tear. + +The river which has found a new channel widens and deepens it; it lets +the old water-course fill up, and never returns to its forsaken bed. +The tyrannous habit was broken. The prophecy of the gitana had verified +itself, and the ill a fair woman had wrought a fairer woman had +conquered and abolished. + +The history of Maurice Kirkwood loses its exceptional character from the +time of his restoration to his natural conditions. His convalescence +was very slow and gradual, but no further accident interrupted its even +progress. The season was over, the summer visitors had left Arrowhead +Village; the chrysanthemums were going out of flower, the frosts had +come, and Maurice was still beneath the roof of the kind physician. The +relation between him and his preserver was so entirely apart from all +common acquaintances and friendships that no ordinary rules could apply +to it. Euthymia visited him often during the period of his extreme +prostration. + +“You must come every day,” the doctor said. “He gains with every visit +you make him; he pines if you miss him for a single day.” So she came +and sat by him, the doctor or good Mrs. Butts keeping her company in +his presence. He grew stronger,--began to sit up in bed; and at last +Euthymia found him dressed as in health, and beginning to walk about the +room. She was startled. She had thought of herself as a kind of nurse, +but the young gentleman could hardly be said to need a nurse any longer. +She had scruples about making any further visits. She asked Lurida what +she thought about it. + +“Think about it?” said Lurida. “Why should n't you go to see a brother +as well as a sister, I should like to know? If you are afraid to go to +see Maurice Kirkwood, I am not afraid, at any rate. If you would rather +have me go than go yourself, I will do it, and let people talk just as +much as they want to. Shall I go instead of you?” + +Euthymia was not quite sure that this would be the best thing for the +patient. The doctor had told her he thought there were special reasons +for her own course in coming daily to see him. “I am afraid,” she said, +“you are too bright to be safe for him in his weak state. Your mind is +such a stimulating one, you know. A dull sort of person like myself is +better for him just now. I will continue visiting him as long as the +doctor says it is important that I should; but you must defend me, +Lurida,--I know you can explain it all so that people will not blame +me.” + +Euthymia knew full well what the effect of Lurida's penetrating +head-voice would be in a convalescent's chamber. She knew how that +active mind of hers would set the young man's thoughts at work, when +what he wanted was rest of every faculty. Were not these good and +sufficient reasons for her decision? What others could there be? + +So Euthymia kept on with her visits, until she blushed to see that she +was continuing her charitable office for one who was beginning to +look too well to be called an invalid. It was a dangerous condition of +affairs, and the busy tongues of the village gossips were free in their +comments. Free, but kindly, for the story of the rescue had melted every +heart; and what could be more natural than that these two young people +whom God had brought together in the dread moment of peril should find +it hard to tear themselves asunder after the hour of danger was past? +When gratitude is a bankrupt, love only can pay his debts; and if +Maurice gave his heart to Euthymia, would not she receive it as payment +in full? + +The change which had taken place in the vital currents of Maurice +Kirkwood's system was as simple and solid a fact as the change in +a magnetic needle when the boreal becomes the austral pole, and the +austral the boreal. It was well, perhaps, that this change took place +while he was enfeebled by the wasting effects of long illness. For +all the long-defeated, disturbed, perverted instincts had found their +natural channel from the centre of consciousness to the organ which +throbs in response to every profound emotion. As his health gradually +returned, Euthymia could not help perceiving a flush in his cheek, +a glitter in his eyes, a something in the tone of his voice, which +altogether were a warning to the young maiden that the highway of +friendly intercourse was fast narrowing to a lane, at the head of which +her woman's eye could read plainly enough, “Dangerous passing.” + +“You look so much better to-day, Mr. Kirkwood,” she said, “that I think +I had better not play Sister of Charity any longer. The next time we +meet I hope you will be strong enough to call on me.” + +She was frightened to see how pale he turned,--he was weaker than she +thought. There was a silence so profound and so long that Mrs. Butts +looked up from the stocking she was knitting. They had forgotten the +good woman's presence. + +Presently Maurice spoke,--very faintly, but Mrs. Butts dropped a stitch +at the first word, and her knitting fell into her lap as she listened to +what followed. + +“No! you must not leave me. You must never leave me. You saved my life. +But you have done more than that,--more than you know or can ever know. +To you I owe it that I am living; with you I live henceforth, if I am +to live at all. All I am, all I hope,--will you take this poor offering +from one who owes you everything, whose lips never touched those of +woman or breathed a word of love before you?” + +What could Euthymia reply to this question, uttered with all the depth +of a passion which had never before found expression. + +Not one syllable of answer did listening Mrs. Butts overhear. But she +told her husband afterwards that there was nothing in the tableaux they +had had in September to compare with what she then saw. It was indeed a +pleasing picture which those two young heads presented as Euthymia gave +her inarticulate but infinitely expressive answer to the question of +Maurice Kirkwood. The good-hearted woman thought it time to leave the +young people. Down went the stocking with the needles in it; out of her +lap tumbled the ball of worsted, rolling along the floor with its yarn +trailing after it, like some village matron who goes about circulating +from hearth to hearth, leaving all along her track the story of the new +engagement or of the arrival of the last “little stranger.” + +Not many suns had set before it was told all through Arrowhead Village +that Maurice Kirkwood was the accepted lover of Euthymia Tower. + + + + + + +POSTSCRIPT: AFTER-GLIMPSES. + +MISS LURIDA VINCENT TO MRS. EUTHYMIA KIRKWOOD. ARROWHEAD VILLAGE, May +18. + +MY DEAREST EUTHYMIA,--Who would have thought, when you broke your oar as +the Atalanta flashed by the Algonquin, last June, that before the roses +came again you would find yourself the wife of a fine scholar and grand +gentleman, and the head of a household such as that of which you are the +mistress? You must not forget your old Arrowhead Village friends. What +am I saying?---you forget them! No, dearest, I know your heart too well +for that! You are not one of those who lay aside their old friendships +as they do last years bonnet when they get a new one. You have told me +all about yourself and your happiness, and now you want me to tell you +about myself and what is going on in our little place. + +And first about myself. I have given up the idea of becoming a doctor. I +have studied mathematics so much that I have grown fond of certainties, +of demonstrations, and medicine deals chiefly in probabilities. The +practice of the art is so mixed up with the deepest human interests that +it is hard to pursue it with that even poise of the intellect which is +demanded by science. I want knowledge pure and simple,--I do not fancy +having it mixed. Neither do I like the thought of passing my life in +going from one scene of suffering to another; I am not saintly enough +for such a daily martyrdom, nor callous enough to make it an easy +occupation. I fainted at the first operation I saw, and I have never +wanted to see another. I don't say that I wouldn't marry a physician, +if the right one asked me, but the young doctor is not forthcoming at +present. Yes, I think I might make a pretty good doctor's wife. I could +teach him a good deal about headaches and backaches and all sorts of +nervous revolutions, as the doctor says the French women call their +tantrums. I don't know but I should be willing to let him try his new +medicines on me. If he were a homeopath, I know I should; for if a +billionth of a grain of sugar won't begin to sweeten my tea or coffee, +I don't feel afraid that a billionth of a grain of anything would poison +me,--no, not if it were snake-venom; and if it were not disgusting, I +would swallow a handful of his lachesis globules, to please my husband. +But if I ever become a doctor's wife, my husband will not be one of that +kind of practitioners, you may be sure of that, nor an “eclectic,” nor +a “faith-cure man.” On the whole, I don't think I want to be married at +all. I don't like the male animal very well (except such noble specimens +as your husband). They are all tyrants,--almost all,--so far as our sex +is concerned, and I often think we could get on better without them. + +However, the creatures are useful in the Society. They send us papers, +some of them well worth reading. You have told me so often that you +would like to know how the Society is getting on, and to read some of +the papers sent to it if they happened to be interesting, that I have +laid aside one or two manuscripts expressly for your perusal. You will +get them by and by. + +I am delighted to know that you keep Paolo with you. Arrowhead Village +misses him dreadfully, I can tell you. That is the reason people become +so attached to these servants with Southern sunlight in their natures? I +suppose life is not long enough to cool their blood down to our Northern +standard. Then they are so child-like, whereas the native of these +latitudes is never young after he is ten or twelve years old. Mother +says,--you know mother's old-fashioned notions, and how shrewd and +sensible she is in spite of them,--mother says that when she was a +girl families used to import young men and young women from the country +towns, who called themselves “helps,” not servants,--no, that was +Scriptural; “but they did n't know everything down in Judee,” and it is +not good American language. She says that these people would live in the +same household until they were married, and the women often remain in +the same service until they died or were old and worn out, and then, +what with the money they had saved and the care and assistance they got +from their former employers, would pass a decent and comfortable old +age, and be buried in the family lot. Mother has made up her mind to the +change, but grandmother is bitter about it. She says there never was +a country yet where the population was made up of “ladies” and +“gentlemen,” and she does n't believe there can be; nor that putting a +spread eagle on a copper makes a gold dollar of it. She is a pessimist +after her own fashion. She thinks all sentiment is dying out of our +people. No loyalty for the sovereign, the king-post of the political +edifice, she says; no deep attachment between employer and employed; no +reverence of the humbler members of a household for its heads; and to +make sure of continued corruption and misery, what she calls “universal +suffrage” emptying all the sewers into the great aqueduct we all must +drink from. “Universal suffrage!” I suppose we women don't belong to the +universe! Wait until we get a chance at the ballot-box, I tell grandma, +and see if we don't wash out the sewers before they reach the aqueduct! +But my pen has run away with me. I was thinking of Paolo, and what a +pleasant thing it is to have one of those child-like, warm-hearted, +attachable, cheerful, contented, humble, faithful, companionable, but +never presuming grownup children of the South waiting on one, as if +everything he could do for one was a pleasure, and carrying a look of +content in his face which makes every one who meets him happier for a +glimpse of his features. + +It does seem a shame that the charming relation of master and servant, +intelligent authority and cheerful obedience, mutual interest in each +other's welfare, thankful recognition of all the advantages which belong +to domestic service in the better class of families, should be almost +wholly confined to aliens and their immediate descendants. Why should +Hannah think herself so much better than Bridget? When they meet at the +polls together, as they will before long, they will begin to feel more +of an equality than is recognized at present. The native female turns +her nose up at the idea of “living out;” does she think herself so much +superior to the women of other nationalities? Our women will have to +come to it,--so grandmother says,--in another generation or two, and in +a hundred years, according to her prophecy, there will be a new set of +old “Miss Pollys” and “Miss Betseys” who have lived half a century in +the same families, respectful and respected, cherished, cared for in +time of need (citizens as well as servants, holding a ballot as well +as a broom, I tell her), and bringing back to us the lowly, underfoot +virtues of contentment and humility, which we do so need to carpet the +barren and hungry thoroughfare of our unstratified existence. + +There, I have got a-going, and am forgetting all the news I have to tell +you. There is an engagement you will want to know all about. It came to +pass through our famous boat-race, which you and I remember, and shall +never forget as long as we live. It seems that the young fellow who +pulled the bow oar of that men's college boat which we had the pleasure +of beating got some glimpses of Georgina, our handsome stroke oar. I +believe he took it into his head that it was she who threw the bouquet +that won the race for us. He was, as you know, greatly mistaken, and +ought to have made love to me, only he did n't. Well, it seems he came +posting down to the Institute just before the vacation was over, and +there got a sight of Georgina. I wonder whether she told him she didn't +fling the bouquet! Anyhow, the acquaintance began in that way, and now +it seems that this young fellow, good-looking and a bright scholar, but +with a good many months more to pass in college, is her captive. It was +too bad. Just think of my bouquet's going to another girl's credit! No +matter, the old Atalanta story was paid off, at any rate. + +You want to know all about dear Dr. Butts. They say he has just been +offered a Professorship in one of the great medical colleges. I asked +him about it, and he did not say that he had or had not. “But,” said he, +“suppose that I had been offered such a place; do you think I ought to +accept it and leave Arrowhead Village? Let us talk it over,” said he, +“just as if I had had such an offer.” I told him he ought to stay. There +are plenty of men that can get into a Professor's chair, I said, and +talk like Solomons to a class of wondering pupils: but once get a really +good doctor in a place, a man who knows all about everybody, whether +they have this or that tendency, whether when they are sick they have +a way of dying or a way of getting well, what medicines agree with them +and what drugs they cannot take, whether they are of the sort that think +nothing is the matter with them until they are dead as smoked herring, +or of the sort that send for the minister if they get a stomach-ache +from eating too many cucumbers,--who knows all about all the people +within half a dozen miles (all the sensible ones, that is, who employ a +regular practitioner),--such a man as that, I say, is not to be replaced +like a missing piece out of a Springfield musket or a Waltham watch. +Don't go! said I. Stay here and save our precious lives, if you can, or +at least put us through in the proper way, so that we needn't be ashamed +of ourselves for dying, if we must die. Well, Dr. Butts is not going +to leave us. I hope you will have no unwelcome occasion for his +services,--you are never ill, you know,--but, anyhow, he is going to be +here, and no matter what happens he will be on hand. + +The village news is not of a very exciting character. Item 1. A new +house is put up over the ashes of the one in which your husband +lived while he was here. It was planned by one of the autochthonous +inhabitants with the most ingenious combination of inconveniences that +the natural man could educe from his original perversity of intellect. +To get at any one room you must pass through every other. It is blind, +or nearly so, on the only side which has a good prospect, and commands +a fine view of the barn and pigsty through numerous windows. Item 2. We +have a small fire-engine near the new house which can be worked by a man +or two, and would be equal to the emergency of putting out a bunch of +fire-crackers. Item 3. We have a new ladder, in a bog, close to the new +fire-engine, so if the new house catches fire, like its predecessor, and +there should happen to, be a sick man on an upper floor, he can be got +out without running the risk of going up and down a burning staircase. +What a blessed thing it was that there was no fire-engine near by and no +ladder at hand on the day of the great rescue! If there had been, what a +change in your programme of life! You remember that “cup of tea spilt +on Mrs. Masham's apron,” which we used to read of in one of Everett's +Orations, and all its wide-reaching consequences in the affairs of +Europe. I hunted up that cup of tea as diligently as ever a Boston +matron sought for the last leaves in her old caddy after the tea-chests +had been flung overboard at Griffin's wharf,--but no matter about that, +now. That is the way things come about in this world. I must write a +lecture on lucky mishaps, or, more elegantly, fortunate calamities. It +will be just the converse of that odd essay of Swift's we read together, +the awkward and stupid things done with the best intentions. Perhaps I +shall deliver the lecture in your city: you will come and hear it, and +bring him, won't you, dearest? Always, your loving + +LURIDA. + + + + + +MISS LURIDA VINCENT TO MRS. EUTHYMIA KIRKWOOD. + +It seems forever since you left us, dearest Euthymia! And are you, and +is your husband, and Paolo,--good Paolo,--are you all as well and happy +as you have been and as you ought to be? I suppose our small village +seems a very quiet sort of place to pass the winter in, now that you +have become accustomed to the noise and gayety of a great city. For all +that, it is a pretty busy place this winter, I can tell you. We have +sleighing parties,--I never go to them, myself, because I can't keep +warm, and my mind freezes up when my blood cools down below 95 or 96 +deg. Fahrenheit. I had a great deal rather sit by a good fire and +read about Arctic discoveries. But I like very well to hear the bells' +jingling and to see the young people trying to have a good time as hard +as they do at a picnic. It may be that they do, but to me a picnic is +purgatory and a sleigh-ride that other place, where, as my favorite +Milton says, “frost performs the effect of fire.” I believe I have +quoted him correctly; I ought to, for I could repeat half his poems from +memory once, if I cannot now. + +You must have plenty of excitement in your city life. I suppose you +recognized yourself in one of the society columns of the “Household +Inquisitor:” “Mrs. E. K., very beautiful, in an elegant,” etc., etc., +“with pearls,” etc., etc.,--as if you were not the ornament of all that +you wear, no matter what it is! + +I am so glad that you have married a scholar! Why should not +Maurice--you both tell me to call him so--take the diplomatic office +which has been offered him? It seems to me that he would find himself in +exactly the right place. He can talk in two or three languages, has good +manners, and a wife who--well, what shall I say of Mrs. Kirkwood but +that “she would be good company for a queen,” as our old friend the +quondam landlady of the Anchor Tavern used to say? I should so like to +see you presented at Court! It seems to me that I should be willing to +hold your train for the sake of seeing you in your court feathers and +things. + +As for myself, I have been thinking of late that I would become either a +professional lecturer or head mistress of a great school or college for +girls. I have tried the first business a little. Last month I delivered +a lecture on Quaternions. I got three for my audience; two came over +from the Institute, and one from that men's college which they try to +make out to be a university, and where no female is admitted unless she +belongs among the quadrupeds. I enjoyed lecturing, but the subject is +a difficult one, and I don't think any one of them had any very clear +notion of what I was talking about, except Rhodora,--and I know she did +n't. To tell the truth, I was lecturing to instruct myself. I mean to +try something easier next time. I have thought of the Basque language +and literature. What do you say to that? + +The Society goes on famously. We have had a paper presented and read +lately which has greatly amused some of us and provoked a few of the +weaker sort. The writer is that crabbed old Professor of Belles-Lettres +at that men's college over there. He is dreadfully hard on the poor +“poets,” as they call themselves. It seems that a great many young +persons, and more especially a great many young girls, of whom the +Institute has furnished a considerable proportion, have taken to sending +him their rhymed productions to be criticised,--expecting to be praised, +no doubt, every one of them. I must give you one of the sauciest +extracts from his paper in his own words: + +“It takes half my time to read the 'poems' sent me by young people +of both sexes. They would be more shy of doing it if they knew that I +recognize a tendency to rhyming as a common form of mental weakness, +and the publication of a thin volume of verse as prima facie evidence of +ambitious mediocrity, if not inferiority. Of course there are exceptions +to this rule of judgment, but I maintain that the presumption is always +against the rhymester as compared with the less pretentious persons +about him or her, busy with some useful calling,--too busy to be tagging +rhymed commonplaces together. Just now there seems to be an epidemic +of rhyming as bad as the dancing mania, or the sweating sickness. +After reading a certain amount of manuscript verse one is disposed to +anathematize the inventor of homophonous syllabification. [This phrase +made a great laugh when it was read.] This, that is rhyming, must have +been found out very early, + + + “'Where are you, Adam?' + + “'Here am I, Madam;' + +“but it can never have been habitually practised until after the Fall. +The intrusion of tintinnabulating terminations into the conversational +intercourse of men and angels would have spoiled Paradise itself. Milton +would not have them even in Paradise Lost, you remember. For my own +part, I wish certain rhymes could be declared contraband of written or +printed language. Nothing should be allowed to be hurled at the world or +whirled with it, or furled upon it or curled over it; all eyes should +be kept away from the skies, in spite of os homini sublime dedit; youth +should be coupled with all the virtues except truth; earth should +never be reminded of her birth; death should never be allowed to stop +a mortal's breath, nor the bell to sound his knell, nor flowers from +blossoming bowers to wave over his grave or show their bloom upon his +tomb. We have rhyming dictionaries,--let us have one from which all +rhymes are rigorously excluded. The sight of a poor creature grubbing +for rhymes to fill up his sonnet, or to cram one of those voracious, +rhyme-swallowing rigmaroles which some of our drudging poetical +operatives have been exhausting themselves of late to satiate with +jingles, makes my head ache and my stomach rebel. Work, work of some +kind, is the business of men and women, not the making of jingles! +No,--no,--no! I want to see the young people in our schools and +academies and colleges, and the graduates of these institutions, +lifted up out of the little Dismal Swamp of self-contemplating and +self-indulging and self-commiserating emotionalism which is surfeiting +the land with those literary sandwiches,--thin slices of tinkling +sentimentality between two covers looking like hard-baked gilt +gingerbread. But what faces these young folks make up at my good advice! +They get tipsy on their rhymes. Nothing intoxicates one like his--or +her--own verses, and they hold on to their metre-ballad-mongering as the +fellows that inhale nitrous oxide hold on to the gas-bag.” + +We laughed over this essay of the old Professor; though it hit us pretty +hard. The best part of the joke is that the old man himself published +a thin volume of poems when he was young, which there is good reason to +think he is not very proud of, as they say he buys up all the copies he +can find in the shops. No matter what they say, I can't help agreeing +with him about this great flood of “poetry,” as it calls itself, and +looking at the rhyming mania much as he does. + +How I do love real poetry! That is the reason hate rhymes which have not +a particle of it in them. The foolish scribblers that deal in them are +like bad workmen in a carpenter's shop. They not only turn out bad jobs +of work, but they spoil the tools for better workmen. There is hardly a +pair of rhymes in the English language that is not so dulled and hacked +and gapped by these 'prentice hands that a master of the craft hates to +touch them, and yet he cannot very well do without them. I have not +been besieged as the old Professor has been with such multitudes +of would-be-poetical aspirants that he could not even read their +manuscripts, but I have had a good many letters containing verses, and I +have warned the writers of the delusion under which they were laboring. + +You may like to know that I have just been translating some extracts +from the Greek Anthology. I send you a few specimens of my work, with a +Dedication to the Shade of Sappho. I hope you will find something of +the Greek rhythm in my versions, and that I have caught a spark of +inspiration from the impassioned Lesbian. I have found great delight +in this work, at any rate, and am never so happy as when I read from my +manuscript or repeat from memory the lines into which I have transferred +the thought of the men and women of two thousand years ago, or given +rhythmical expression to my own rapturous feelings with regard to them. +I must read you my Dedication to the Shade of Sappho. I cannot help +thinking that you will like it better than either of my last two, The +Song of the Roses, or The Wail of the Weeds. + +How I do miss you, dearest! I want you: I want you to listen to what I +have written; I want you to hear all about my plans for the future; I +want to look at you, and think how grand it must be to feel one's self +to be such a noble and beautiful-creature; I want to wander in the woods +with you, to float on the lake, to share your life and talk over every +day's doings with you. Alas! I feel that we have parted as two friends +part at a port of embarkation: they embrace, they kiss each other's +cheeks, they cover their faces and weep, they try to speak good-by to +each other, they watch from the pier and from the deck; the two forms +grow less and less, fainter and fainter in the distance, two white +handkerchiefs flutter once and again, and yet once more, and the last +visible link of the chain which binds them has parted. Dear, dear, +dearest Euthymia, my eyes are running over with tears when I think that +we may never, never meet again. + +Don't you want some more items of village news? We are threatened with +an influx of stylish people: “Buttons” to answer the door-bell, in place +of the chamber-maid; “butler,” in place of the “hired man;” footman +in top-boots and breeches, cockade on hat, arms folded a la Napoleon; +tandems, “drags,” dogcarts, and go-carts of all sorts. It is rather +amusing to look at their ambitious displays, but it takes away the good +old country flavor of the place. + +I don't believe you mean to try to astonish us when you come back to +spend your summers here. I suppose you must have a large house, and I +am sure you will have a beautiful one. I suppose you will have some fine +horses, and who would n't be glad to? But I do not believe you will try +to make your old Arrowhead Village friends stare their eyes out of their +heads with a display meant to outshine everybody else that comes here. +You can have a yacht on the lake, if you like, but I hope you will pull +a pair of oars in our old boat once in a while, with me to steer you. I +know you will be just the same dear Euthymia you always were and always +must be. How happy you must make such a man as Maurice Kirkwood! And how +happy you ought to be with him!--a man who knows what is in books, and +who has seen for himself, what is in men. If he has not seen so much of +women, where could he study all that is best in womanhood as he can in +his own wife? Only one thing that dear Euthymia lacks. She is not quite +pronounced enough in her views as to the rights and the wrongs of +the sex. When I visit you, as you say I shall, I mean to indoctrinate +Maurice with sound views on that subject. I have written an essay for +the Society, which I hope will go a good way towards answering all the +objections to female suffrage. I mean to read it to your husband, if +you will let me, as I know you will, and perhaps you would like to hear +it,--only you know my thoughts on the subject pretty well already. + +With all sorts of kind messages to your dear husband, and love to your +precious self, I am ever your LURIDA. + + + + + + +DR. BUTTS TO MRS. EUTHYMIA KIRKWOOD. + +MY DEAR EUTHYMIA,--My pen refuses to call you by any other name. +Sweet-souled you are, and your Latinized Greek name is--the one which +truly designates you. I cannot tell you how we have followed you, with +what interest and delight through your travels, as you have told their +story in your letters to your mother. She has let us have the privilege +of reading them, and we have been with you in steamer, yacht, felucca, +gondola, Nile-boat; in all sorts of places, from crowded capitals to +“deserts where no men abide,”--everywhere keeping company with you in +your natural and pleasant descriptions of your experiences. And now that +you have returned to your home in the great city I must write you a few +lines of welcome, if nothing more. + +You will find Arrowhead Village a good deal changed since you left it. +We are discovered by some of those over-rich people who make the little +place upon which they swarm a kind of rural city. When this happens +the consequences are striking,--some of them desirable and some far +otherwise. The effect of well-built, well-furnished, well-kept houses +and of handsome grounds always maintained in good order about them shows +itself in a large circuit around the fashionable centre. Houses get on +a new coat of paint, fences are kept in better order, little plots +of flowers show themselves where only ragged weeds had rioted, the +inhabitants present themselves in more comely attire and drive in +handsomer vehicles with more carefully groomed horses. On the other +hand, there is a natural jealousy on the part of the natives of the +region suddenly become fashionable. They have seen the land they sold at +farm prices by the acre coming to be valued by the foot, like the +corner lots in a city. Their simple and humble modes of life look almost +poverty-stricken in the glare of wealth and luxury which so outshines +their plain way of living. It is true that many of them have found them +selves richer than in former days, when the neighborhood lived on +its own resources. They know how to avail themselves of their altered +position, and soon learn to charge city prices for country products; but +nothing can make people feel rich who see themselves surrounded by men +whose yearly income is many times their own whole capital. I think it +would be better if our rich men scattered themselves more than they +do,--buying large country estates, building houses and stables which +will make it easy to entertain their friends, and depending for society +on chosen guests rather than on the mob of millionaires who come +together for social rivalry. But I do not fret myself about it. Society +will stratify itself according to the laws of social gravitation. It +will take a generation or two more, perhaps, to arrange the strata by +precipitation and settlement, but we can always depend on one principle +to govern the arrangement of the layers. People interested in the same +things will naturally come together. The youthful heirs of fortunes +who keep splendid yachts have little to talk about with the oarsman who +pulls about on the lake or the river. What does young Dives, who drives +his four-in-hand and keeps a stable full of horses, care about Lazarus, +who feels rich in the possession of a horse-railroad ticket? You +know how we live at our house, plainly, but with a certain degree of +cultivated propriety. We make no pretensions to what is called “style.” + We are still in that social stratum where the article called “a +napkin-ring” is recognized as admissible at the dinner-table. That fact +sufficiently defines our modest pretensions. The napkin-ring is the +boundary mark between certain classes. But one evening Mrs. Butts and +I went out to a party given by the lady of a worthy family, where the +napkin itself was a newly introduced luxury. The conversation of the +hostess and her guests turned upon details of the kitchen and the +laundry; upon the best mode of raising bread, whether with “emptins” + (emptyings, yeast) or baking powder; about “bluing” and starching and +crimping, and similar matters. Poor Mrs. Butts! She knew nothing more +about such things than her hostess did about Shakespeare and the musical +glasses. What was the use of trying to enforce social intercourse under +such conditions? Incompatibility of temper has been considered ground +for a divorce; incompatibility of interests is a sufficient warrant for +social separation. The multimillionaires have so much that is common +among themselves, and so little that they share with us of moderate +means, that they will naturally form a specialized class, and in virtue +of their palaces, their picture-galleries, their equipages, their +yachts, their large hospitality, constitute a kind of exclusive +aristocracy. Religion, which ought to be the great leveller, cannot +reduce these elements to the same grade. You may read in the parable, +“Friend, how camest thou in hither not having a wedding garment?” The +modern version would be, “How came you at Mrs. Billion's ball not having +a dress on your back which came from Paris?” + +The little church has got a new stained window, a saint who reminds me +of Hamlet's uncle,--a thing “of shreds and patches,” but rather pretty +to look at, with an inscription under it which is supposed to be the +name of the person in whose honor the window was placed in the church. +Smith was a worthy man and a faithful churchwarden, and I hope posterity +will be able to spell out his name on his monumental window; but that +old English lettering would puzzle Mephistopheles himself, if he found +himself before this memorial tribute, on the inside,--you know he goes +to church sometimes, if you remember your Faust. + +The rector has come out, in a quiet way, as an evolutionist. He +has always been rather “broad” in his views, but cautious in their +expression. You can tell the three branches of the mother-island church +by the way they carry their heads. The low-church clergy look down, as +if they felt themselves to be worms of the dust; the high-church priest +drops his head on one side, after the pattern of the mediaeval saints; +the broad-church preacher looks forward and round about him, as if he +felt himself the heir of creation. Our rector carries his head in the +broad-church aspect, which I suppose is the least open to the charge of +affectation,--in fact, is the natural and manly way of carrying it. + +The Society has justified its name of Pansophian of late as never +before. Lurida has stirred up our little community and its neighbors, so +that we get essays on all sorts of subjects, poems and stories in large +numbers. I know all about it, for she often consults me as to the merits +of a particular contribution. + +What is to be the fate of Lurida? I often think, with no little interest +and some degree of anxiety, about her future. Her body is so frail and +her mind so excessively and constantly active that I am afraid one or +the other will give way. I do not suppose she thinks seriously of ever +being married. She grows more and more zealous in behalf of her own sex, +and sterner in her judgment of the other. She declares that she never +would marry any man who was not an advocate of female suffrage, and as +these gentlemen are not very common hereabouts the chance is against her +capturing any one of the hostile sex. + +What do you think? I happened, just as I was writing the last sentence, +to look out of my window, and whom should I see but Lurida, with a young +man in tow, listening very eagerly to her conversation, according to all +appearance! I think he must be a friend of the rector, as I have seen a +young man like this one in his company. Who knows? + +Affectionately yours, etc. + + + + + + +DR. BUTTS TO MRS. BUTTS. + +MY BELOVED WIFE,--This letter will tell you more news than you would +have thought could have been got together in this little village during +the short time you have been staying away from it. + +Lurida Vincent is engaged! He is a clergyman with a mathematical +turn. The story is that he put a difficult problem into one of the +mathematical journals, and that Lurida presented such a neat solution +that the young man fell in love with her on the strength of it. I don't +think the story is literally true, nor do I believe that other report +that he offered himself to her in the form of an equation chalked on the +blackboard; but that it was an intellectual rather than a sentimental +courtship I do not doubt. Lurida has given up the idea of becoming +a professional lecturer,--so she tells me,--thinking that her future +husband's parish will find her work enough to do. A certain amount of +daily domestic drudgery and unexciting intercourse with simple-minded +people will be the best thing in the world for that brain of hers, +always simmering with some new project in its least fervid condition. + +All our summer visitors have arrived. Euthymia Mrs. Maurice Kirkwood and +her husband and little Maurice are here in their beautiful house looking +out on the lake. They gave a grand party the other evening. You ought +to have been there, but I suppose you could not very well have left your +sister in the middle of your visit: All the grand folks were there, of +course. Lurida and her young man--Gabriel is what she calls him--were +naturally the objects of special attention. Paolo acted as major-domo, +and looked as if he ought to be a major-general. Nothing could be +pleasanter than the way in which Mr. and Mrs. Kirkwood received their +plain country neighbors; that is, just as they did the others of more +pretensions, as if they were really glad to see them, as I am sure they +were. The old landlord and his wife had two arm-chairs to themselves, +and I saw Miranda with the servants of the household looking in at +the dancers and out at the little groups in the garden, and evidently +enjoying it as much as her old employers. It was a most charming and +successful party. We had two sensations in the course of the evening. +One was pleasant and somewhat exciting, the other was thrilling and of +strange and startling interest. + +You remember how emaciated poor Maurice Kirkwood was left after his +fever, in that first season when he was among us. He was out in a boat +one day, when a ring slipped off his thin finger and sunk in a place +where the water was rather shallow. “Jake”--you know Jake,--everybody +knows Jake--was rowing him. He promised to come to the spot and fish +up the ring if he could possibly find it. He was seen poking about with +fish-hooks at the end of a pole, but nothing was ever heard from +him about the ring. It was an antique intaglio stone in an Etruscan +setting,--a wild goose flying over the Campagna. Mr. Kirkwood valued it +highly, and regretted its loss very much. + +While we were in the garden, who should appear at the gate but Jake, +with a great basket, inquiring for Mr. Kirkwood. “Come,” said Maurice to +me, “let us see what our old friend the fisherman has brought us. What +have you got there, Jake?” + +“What I 've got? Wall, I 'll tell y' what I've got: I 've got the +biggest pickerel that's been ketched in this pond for these ten year. +An' I 've got somethin' else besides the pickerel. When I come to cut +him open, what do you think I faound in his insides but this here ring +o' yourn,”--and he showed the one Maurice had lost so long before. There +it was, as good as new, after having tried Jonah's style of housekeeping +for all that time. There are those who discredit Jake's story about +finding the ring in the fish; anyhow, there was the ring and there +was the pickerel. I need not say that Jake went off well paid for his +pickerel and the precious contents of its stomach. Now comes the chief +event of the evening. I went early by special invitation. Maurice took +me into his library, and we sat down together. + +“I have something of great importance,” he said, “to say to you. I +learned within a few days that my cousin Laura is staying with a friend +in the next town to this. You know, doctor, that we have never met since +the last, almost fatal, experience of my early years. I have determined +to defy the strength of that deadly chain of associations connected +with her presence, and I have begged her to come this evening with the +friends with whom she is staying. Several letters passed between us, +for it was hard to persuade her that there was no longer any risk in my +meeting her. Her imagination was almost as deeply impressed as mine had +been at those alarming interviews, and I had to explain to her fully +that I had become quite indifferent to the disturbing impressions of +former years. So, as the result of our correspondence, Laura is coming +this evening, and I wish you to be present at our meeting. There is +another reason why I wish you to be here. My little boy is not far from +the age at which I received my terrifying, almost disorganizing shock. +I mean to have little Maurice brought into the presence of Laura, who is +said to be still a very handsome woman, and see if he betrays any hint +of that peculiar sensitiveness which showed itself in my threatening +seizure. It seemed to me not impossible that he might inherit some +tendency of that nature, and I wanted you to be at hand if any sign of +danger should declare itself. For myself I have no fear. Some radical +change has taken place in my nervous system. I have been born again, as +it were, in my susceptibilities, and am in certain respects a new man. +But I must know how it is with my little Maurice.” + +Imagine with what interest I looked forward to this experiment; for +experiment it was, and not without its sources of anxiety, as it seemed +to me. The evening wore along; friends and neighbors came in, but +no Laura as yet. At last I heard the sound of wheels, and a carriage +stopped at the door. Two ladies and a gentleman got out, and soon +entered the drawing room. + +“My cousin Laura!” whispered Maurice to me, and went forward to +meet her. A very handsome woman, who might well have been in the +thirties,--one of those women so thoroughly constituted that they cannot +help being handsome at every period of life. I watched them both as +they approached each other. Both looked pale at first, but Maurice soon +recovered his usual color, and Laura's natural, rich bloom came back by +degrees. Their emotion at meeting was not to be wondered at, but there +was no trace in it of the paralyzing influence on the great centres of +life which had once acted upon its fated victim like the fabled head +which turned the looker-on into a stone. + +“Is the boy still awake?” said Maurice to Paolo, who, as they used to +say of Pushee at the old Anchor Tavern, was everywhere at once on that +gay and busy evening. + +“What! Mahser Maurice asleep an' all this racket going on? I hear him +crowing like young cockerel when he fus' smell daylight.” + +“Tell the nurse to bring him down quietly to the little room that leads +out of the library.” + +The child was brought down in his night-clothes, wide awake, wondering +apparently at the noise he heard, which he seemed to think was for his +special amusement. + +“See if he will go to that lady,” said his father. Both of us held our +breath as Laura stretched her arms towards little Maurice. + +The child looked for an instant searchingly, but fearlessly, at her +glowing cheeks, her bright eyes, her welcoming smile, and met her +embrace as she clasped him to her bosom as if he had known her all his +days. + +The mortal antipathy had died out of the soul and the blood of Maurice +Kirkwood at that supreme moment when he found himself snatched from the +grasp of death and cradled in the arms of Euthymia. + + + -------------------------- + +In closing the New Portfolio I remember that it began with a prefix +which the reader may by this time have forgotten, namely, the First +Opening. It was perhaps presumptuous to thus imply the probability of a +second opening. + +I am reminded from time to time by the correspondents who ask a certain +small favor of me that, as I can only expect to be with my surviving +contemporaries a very little while longer, they would be much obliged if +I would hurry up my answer before it is too late. They are right, these +delicious unknown friends of mine, in reminding me of a fact which I +cannot gainsay and might suffer to pass from my recollection. I thank +them for recalling my attention to a truth which I shall be wiser, if +not more hilarious, for remembering. + +No, I had no right to say the First Opening. How do I know that I shall +have a chance to open it again? How do I know that anybody will want it +to be opened a second time? How do I know that I shall feel like opening +it? It is safest neither to promise to open the New Portfolio once more, +nor yet to pledge myself to keep it closed hereafter. There are many +papers potentially existent in it, some of which might interest a +reader here and there. The Records of the Pansophian Society contain +a considerable number of essays, poems, stories, and hints capable of +being expanded into presentable dimensions. In the mean time I will say +with Prospero, addressing my old readers, and my new ones, if such I +have, + + + “If you be pleased, retire into my cell + And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk, + To still my beating mind.” + +When it has got quiet I may take up the New Portfolio again, and +consider whether it is worth while to open it consider whether it is +worth while to open it. + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Mortal Antipathy, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, +Sr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MORTAL ANTIPATHY *** + +***** This file should be named 2698-0.txt or 2698-0.zip ***** This and all +associated files of various formats will be found in: https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/9/2698/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be +renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one +owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and +you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission +and without paying copyright royalties. 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