CHAPTER I.
"NEVER LESS ALONE THAN WHEN ALONE."
More than thirty years ago occurred the first of the series ofremarkable events I am about to relate. The exact date I can not recall;but it was in November, and, to those familiar with November weather inthe Ohio Valley, it is hardly necessary to state that the month is oneof possibilities. That is to say, it is liable to bring every variety ofweather, from the delicious, dreamy Indian summer days that linger latein the fall, to a combination of rain, hail, snow, sleet,--in short,atmospheric conditions sufficiently aggravating to develop a suicidalmania in any one the least susceptible to such influences. While thegeneral character of the month is much the same the countryover,--showing dull grey tones of sky, abundant rains that penetrate manas they do the earth; cold, shifting winds, that search the verymarrow,--it is always safe to count more or less upon the probability ofthe unexpected throughout the month.
The particular day which ushered in the event about to be chronicled,was one of these possible heterogeneous days presenting a combination ofsunshine, shower, and snow, with winds that rang all the changes frombalmy to blustery, a morning air of caloric and an evening of numbingcold. The early morning started fair and sunny; later came light showerssuddenly switched by shifting winds into blinding sleet, until themiddle of the afternoon found the four winds and all the elementscommingled in one wild orgy with clashing and roaring as of a greatorgan with all the stops out, and all the storm-fiends dancing over thekey-boards! Nightfall brought some semblance of order to the soundingchaos, but still kept up the wild music of a typical November day, withevery accompaniment of bleakness, gloom, and desolation.
Thousands of chimneys, exhaling murky clouds of bituminous soot all day,had covered the city with the proverbial pall which the winds in theirsport had shifted hither and yon, but as, thoroughly tired out, theysubsided into silence, the smoky mesh suddenly settled over the housesand into the streets, taking possession of the city and contributing tothe melancholy wretchedness of such of the inhabitants as had to be outof doors. Through this smoke the red sun when visible had dragged hisdownward course in manifest discouragement, and the hastening twilightsoon gave place to the blackness of darkness. Night reigned supreme.
Thirty years ago electric lighting was not in vogue, and the system ofstreet lamps was far less complete than at present, although the gasburned in them may not have been any worse. The lamps were much fewerand farther between, and the light which they emitted had a feeble,sickly aspect, and did not reach any distance into the moist and murkyatmosphere. And so the night was dismal enough, and the few people uponthe street were visible only as they passed directly beneath the lamps,or in front of lighted windows; seeming at other times like movingshadows against a black ground.
As I am like to be conspicuous in these pages, it may be proper to saythat I am very susceptible to atmospheric influences. I figure among myfriends as a man of quiet disposition, but I am at times morose,although I endeavor to conceal this fact from others. My nervous systemis a sensitive weather-glass. Sometimes I fancy that I must have beenborn under the planet Saturn, for I find myself unpleasantly influencedby moods ascribed to that depressing planet, more especially in itsdisagreeable phases, for I regret to state that I do not findcorresponding elation, as I should, in its brighter aspects. I have anespecial dislike for wintry weather, a dislike which I find growing withmy years, until it has developed almost into positive antipathy anddread. On the day I have described, my moods had varied with theweather. The fitfulness of the winds had found its way into myfeelings, and the somber tone of the clouds into my meditations. I wasrestless as the elements, and a deep sense of dissatisfaction withmyself and everything else, possessed me. I could not content myself inany place or position. Reading was distasteful, writing equally so; butit occurred to me that a brisk walk, for a few blocks, might affordrelief. Muffling myself up in my overcoat and fur cap, I took thestreet, only to find the air gusty and raw, and I gave up in stillgreater disgust, and returning home, after drawing the curtains andlocking the doors, planted myself in front of a glowing grate fire,firmly resolved to rid myself of myself by resorting to the oblivion ofthought, reverie, or dream. To sleep was impossible, and I sat moodilyin an easy chair, noting the quarter and half-hour strokes as they werechimed out sweetly from the spire of St. Peter's Cathedral, a few blocksaway.
Nine o'clock passed with its silver-voiced song of "Home, Sweet Home";ten, and then eleven strokes of the ponderous bell which noted thehours, roused me to a strenuous effort to shake off the feelings ofdespondency, unrest, and turbulence, that all combined to produce astate of mental and physical misery now insufferable. Rising suddenlyfrom my chair, without a conscious effort I walked mechanically to abook-case, seized a volume at random, reseated myself before the fire,and opened the book. It proved to be an odd, neglected volume, "Riley'sDictionary of Latin Quotations." At the moment there flashed upon me aconscious duality of existence. Had the old book some mesmeric power? Iseemed to myself two persons, and I quickly said aloud, as if addressingmy double: "If I can not quiet you, turbulent Spirit, I can at leastadapt myself to your condition. I will read this book haphazard frombottom to top, or backward, if necessary, and if this does not changethe subject often enough, I will try Noah Webster." Opening the bookmechanically at page 297, I glanced at the bottom line and read,"Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus" (Never less alone than when alone).These words arrested my thoughts at once, as, by a singular chance, theyseemed to fit my mood; was it or was it not some conscious invisibleintelligence that caused me to select that page, and brought theapothegm to my notice?
Again, like a flash, came the consciousness of duality, and I began toargue with my other self. "This is arrant nonsense," I cried aloud;"even though Cicero did say it, and, it is on a par with many otherdelusive maxims that have for so many years embittered the existence ofour modern youth by misleading thought. Do you know, Mr. Cicero, thatthis statement is not sound? That it is unworthy the position you occupyin history as a thinker and philosopher? That it is a contradiction initself, for if a man is alone he is alone, and that settles it?"
I mused in this vein a few moments, and then resumed aloud: "It won'tdo, it won't do; if one is alone--the word is absolute,--he is single,isolated, in short, alone; and there can by no manner of possibility beany one else present. Take myself, for instance: I am the sole occupantof this apartment; I am alone, and yet you say in so many words that Iwas never less alone than at this instant." It was not without somemisgiving that I uttered these words, for the strange consciousness ofmy own duality constantly grew stronger, and I could not shake off thereflection that even now there were two of myself in the room, and thatI was not so much alone as I endeavored to convince myself.
This feeling oppressed me like an incubus; I must throw it off, and,rising, I tossed the book upon the table, exclaiming: "What folly! I amalone,--positively there is no other living thing visible or invisiblein the room." I hesitated as I spoke, for the strange, undefinedsensation that I was not alone had become almost a conviction; but thesound of my voice encouraged me, and I determined to discuss thesubject, and I remarked in a full, strong voice: "I am surely alone; Iknow I am! Why, I will wager everything I possess, even to my soul, thatI am alone." I stood facing the smoldering embers of the fire which Ihad neglected to replenish, uttering these words to settle thecontroversy for good and all with one person of my dual self, but theother ego seemed to dissent violently, when a soft, clear voice claimedmy ear:
"You have lost your wager; you are not alone."
"AND TO MY AMAZEMENT SAW A WHITE-HAIRED MAN."]
I turned instantly towards the direction of the sound, and, to myamazement, saw a white-haired man seated on the opposite side of theroom, gazing at me with the utmost composure. I am not a coward, nor abeliever in ghosts or illusions, and yet that sight froze me where Istood. It had no supernatural appearance--on the contrary, was a plain,ordinary, flesh-and-blood man; but the weat
her, the experiences ofthe day, the weird, inclement night, had all conspired to strain mynerves to the highest point of tension, and I trembled from head tofoot. Noting this, the stranger said pleasantly: "Quiet yourself, mydear sir; you have nothing to fear; be seated." I obeyed, mechanically,and regaining in a few moments some semblance of composure, took amental inventory of my visitor. Who is he? what is he? how did he enterwithout my notice, and why? what is his business? were all questionsthat flashed into my mind in quick succession, and quickly flashed outunanswered.
The stranger sat eying me composedly, even pleasantly, as if waiting forme to reach some conclusion regarding himself. At last I surmised: "Heis a maniac who has found his way here by methods peculiar to theinsane, and my personal safety demands that I use him discreetly."
"Very good," he remarked, as though reading my thoughts; "as well thinkthat as anything else."
"But why are you here? What is your business?" I asked.
"You have made and lost a wager," he said. "You have committed an act offolly in making positive statements regarding a matter about which youknow nothing--a very common failing, by the way, on the part of mankind,and concerning which I wish first to set you straight."
The ironical coolness with which he said this provoked me, and I hastilyrejoined: "You are impertinent; I must ask you to leave my house atonce."
"Very well," he answered; "but if you insist upon this, I shall, onbehalf of Cicero, claim the stake of your voluntary wager, which meansthat I must first, by natural though violent means, release your soulfrom your body." So saying he arose, drew from an inner pocket a long,keen knife, the blade of which quiveringly glistened as he laid it uponthe table. Moving his chair so as to be within easy reach of thegleaming weapon, he sat down, and again regarded me with the same quietcomposure I had noted, and which was fast dispelling my first impressionconcerning his sanity.
I was not prepared for his strange action; in truth, I was not preparedfor anything; my mind was confused concerning the whole night's doings,and I was unable to reason clearly or consecutively, or even to satisfymyself what I did think, if indeed I thought at all.
The sensation of fear, however, was fast leaving me; there was somethingreassuring in my unbidden guest's perfect ease of manner, and the mild,though searching gaze of his eyes, which were wonderful in theirexpression. I began to observe his personal characteristics, whichimpressed me favorably, and yet were extraordinary. He was nearly sixfeet tall, and perfectly straight; well proportioned, with no tendencyeither to leanness or obesity. But his head was an object from which Icould not take my eyes,--such a head surely I had never before seen onmortal shoulders. The chin, as seen through his silver beard, wasrounded and well developed, the mouth straight, with pleasant linesabout it, the jaws square and, like the mouth, indicating decision, theeyes deep set and arched with heavy eyebrows, and the whole surmountedby a forehead so vast, so high, that it was almost a deformity, and yetit did not impress me unpleasantly; it was the forehead of a scholar, aprofound thinker, a deep student. The nose was inclined to aquiline, andquite large. The contour of the head and face impressed me as indicatinga man of learning, one who had given a lifetime to experimental as wellas speculative thought. His voice was mellow, clear, and distinct,always pleasantly modulated and soft, never loud nor unpleasant in theleast degree. One remarkable feature I must not fail to mention--hishair; this, while thin and scant upon the top of his head, was long, andreached to his shoulders; his beard was of unusual length, descendingalmost to his waist; his hair, eyebrows, and beard were all of singularwhiteness and purity, almost transparent, a silvery whiteness thatseemed an aureolar sheen in the glare of the gaslight. What struck me asparticularly remarkable was that his skin looked as soft and smooth asthat of a child; there was not a blemish in it. His age was a puzzlenone could guess; stripped of his hair, or the color of it changed, hemight be twenty-five,--given a few wrinkles, he might be ninety. Takenaltogether, I had never seen his like, nor anything approaching hislike, and for an instant there was a faint suggestion to my mind that hewas not of this earth, but belonged to some other planet.
I now fancy he must have read my impressions of him as these ideasshaped themselves in my brain, and that he was quietly waiting for meto regain a degree of self-possession that would allow him to disclosethe purpose of his visit.
He was first to break the silence: "I see that you are not disposed topay your wager any more than I am to collect it, so we will not discussthat. I admit that my introduction to-night was abrupt, but you can notdeny that you challenged me to appear." I was not clear upon the point,and said so. "Your memory is at fault," he continued, "if you can notrecall your experiences of the day just past. Did you not attempt tointerest yourself in modern book lore, to fix your mind in turn uponhistory, chemistry, botany, poetry, and general literature? And allthese failing, did you not deliberately challenge Cicero to a practicaldemonstration of an old apothegm of his that has survived for centuries,and of your own free will did not you make a wager that, as an admirerof Cicero's, I am free to accept?" To all this I could but silentlyassent. "Very good, then; we will not pursue this subject further, as itis not relevant to my purpose, which is to acquaint you with a narrativeof unusual interest, upon certain conditions, with which if you comply,you will not only serve yourself, but me as well."
"Please name the conditions," I said.
"They are simple enough," he answered. "The narrative I speak of is inmanuscript. I will produce it in the near future, and my design is toread it aloud to you, or to allow you to read it to me, as you mayselect. Further, my wish is that during the reading you shall interposeany objection or question that you deem proper. This reading will occupymany evenings, and I shall of necessity be with you often. When thereading is concluded, we will seal the package securely, and I shallleave you forever. You will then deposit the manuscript in some safeplace, and let it remain for thirty years. When this period has elapsed,I wish you to publish this history to the world."
"Your conditions seem easy," I said, after a few seconds' pause.
"They are certainly very simple; do you accept?"
I hesitated, for the prospect of giving myself up to a succession ofinterviews with this extraordinary and mysterious personage seemed torequire consideration. He evidently divined my thoughts, for, risingfrom his chair, he said abruptly: "Let me have your answer now."
I debated the matter no further, but answered: "I accept,conditionally."
"Name your conditions," the guest replied.
"I will either publish the work, or induce some other man to do so."
"LET ME HAVE YOUR ANSWER NOW."]
"Good," he said; "I will see you again," with a polite bow; and turningto the door which I had previously locked, he opened it softly, and witha quiet "Good night" disappeared in the hall-way.
I looked after him with bewildered senses; but a sudden impulse causedme to glance toward the table, when I saw that he had forgotten hisknife. With the view of returning this, I reached to pick it up, but myfinger tips no sooner touched the handle than a sudden chill shiveredalong my nerves. Not as an electric shock, but rather as a sensation ofextreme cold was the current that ran through me in an instant. Rushinginto the hall-way to the landing of the stairs, I called after themysterious being, "You have forgotten your knife," but beyond the faintecho of my voice, I heard no sound. The phantom was gone. A moment laterI was at the foot of the stairs, and had thrown open the door. A streetlamp shed an uncertain light in front of the house. I stepped out andlistened intently for a moment, but not a sound was audible, if indeed Iexcept the beating of my own heart, which throbbed so wildly that Ifancied I heard it. No footfall echoed from the deserted streets; allwas silent as a churchyard, and I closed and locked the door softly,tiptoed my way back to my room, and sank collapsed into an easy chair. Iwas more than exhausted; I quivered from head to foot, not with cold,but with a strange nervous chill that found intensest expression in myspinal column, and seemed to f
lash up and down my back vibrating like afeverous pulse. This active pain was succeeded by a feeling of frozennumbness, and I sat I know not how long, trying to tranquilize myselfand think temperately of the night's occurrence. By degrees I recoveredmy normal sensations, and directing my will in the channel of soberreasoning, I said to myself: "There can be no mistake about his visit,for his knife is here as a witness to the fact. So much is sure, and Iwill secure that testimony at all events." With this reflection I turnedto the table, but to my astonishment I discovered that the knife haddisappeared. It needed but this miracle to start the perspiration ingreat cold beads from every pore. My brain was in a whirl, and reelinginto a chair, I covered my face with my hands. How long I sat in thisposture I do not remember. I only know that I began to doubt my ownsanity, and wondered if this were not the way people became deranged.Had not my peculiar habits of isolation, irregular and intense study,erratic living, all conspired to unseat reason? Surely here was everyground to believe so; and yet I was able still to think consistently andhold steadily to a single line of thought. Insane people can not dothat, I reflected, and gradually the tremor and excitement wore away.When I had become calmer and more collected, and my sober judgment said,"Go to bed; sleep just as long as you can; hold your eyelids down, andwhen you awake refreshed, as you will, think out the whole subject atyour leisure," I arose, threw open the shutters, and found that day wasbreaking. Hastily undressing I went to bed, and closed my eyes, vaguelyconscious of some soothing guardianship. Perhaps because I wasphysically exhausted, I soon lost myself in the oblivion of sleep.
"I ESPIED UPON THE TABLE A LONG WHITE HAIR."]
I did not dream,--at least I could not afterwards remember my dream if Ihad one, but I recollect thinking that somebody struck ten distinctblows on my door, which seemed to me to be of metal and very sonorous.These ten blows in my semi-conscious state I counted. I lay very quietfor a time collecting my thoughts and noting various objects about theroom, until my eye caught the dial of a French clock upon the mantel.It was a few minutes past ten, and the blows I had heard were thestrokes of the hammer upon the gong in the clock. The sun was shininginto the room, which was quite cold, for the fire had gone out. I arose,dressed myself quickly, and after thoroughly laving my face and hands inice-cold water, felt considerably refreshed.
Before going out to breakfast, while looking around the room for a fewthings which I wanted to take with me, I espied upon the table a longwhite hair. This was indeed a surprise, for I had about concluded thatmy adventure of the previous night was a species of waking nightmare,the result of overworked brain and weakened body. But here was tangibleevidence to the contrary, an assurance that my mysterious visitor wasnot a fancy or a dream, and his parting words, "I will see you again,"recurred to me with singular effect. "He will see me again; very well; Iwill preserve this evidence of his visit for future use." I wound thedelicate filament into a little coil, folded it carefully in a bit ofpaper, and consigned it to a corner in my pocket-book, though notwithout some misgiving that it too might disappear as did the knife.
The strange experience of that night had a good effect on me; I becamemore regular in all my habits, took abundant sleep and exercise, wasmore methodical in my modes of study and reasoning, and in a short timefound myself vastly improved in every way, mentally and physically.
The days went fleeting into weeks, the weeks into months, and while theform and figure of the white-haired stranger were seldom absent from mymind, he came no more.