In our definitions we grope after the _spiritual_ by
describing it as invisible. The true meaning of _spiritual_
is _real_.--EMERSON.
*THE CHARIOT OF THE FLESH*
*PART I*
*CHAPTER I*
It is nearly eleven years since Alan Sydney left England, but I have
only recently been released from my promise of secrecy. So sacred to me
is the memory of our friendship, that, even now, I shrink from the task
of narrating his strange and curious history. A strong impulse,
however, urges me to break silence.
The village of Anstead, near which we both lived, is in Surrey, possibly
the best county in England to find mixed society. Here the
old-fashioned farmers, the labourers who have never travelled as far as
London, and a few country squires are mingled with, and influenced by,
retired London shopkeepers, merchant princes--with or without H's--and a
sprinkling of literary and scientific dabblers; these last are regarded
with suspicion by all, but especially by the retired Army and Navy
magnates.
Nobody seemed to know to which class Alan Sydney belonged, and strange
to say he was admitted, chiefly, I fancy, because he was an eccentric
bachelor, into all societies. As I am wealthy and have been a confirmed
idler from my youth, the same privilege has been granted to me; a
privilege of which, however, I am seldom inclined to take advantage.
I had known Alan Sydney for some years before we became at all intimate.
He fascinated, repelled and puzzled me. "Why," I would say to myself,
"is this man so confoundedly unlike other men?"
It is not easy to describe him, because, instead of having to portray an
identity, I seem rather obliged to describe a number of individualities
peeping out through one person. Often you would fancy when speaking to
him that you were in the presence of a fool, to be sharply awakened to
the unpleasant discovery that it was far more probable you were being
fooled yourself. You had hardly decided that he was a liar before you
were conscious that, if once able to get behind the outside spray of
speech with which he was purposely blinding you, it might be possible to
trust him more fully than other men. I usually left him with the
unpleasant impression that instead of treating me as a man, he had been
dissecting me as a mental or spiritual corpse. He seemed to have about
as much regard for the opinion any one formed of his character as a
surgeon would have of the views once entertained by his unconscious
subject. Yet it was difficult to tell why one felt these sensations, for
his manner was outwardly pleasant even at times jovial; and if there was
satire in what he said it was certainly quite impossible for a third
party to be conscious of it. I have heard him at a dinner-party make
some trivial remark in his quiet voice to one of the guests which would
cause the person addressed to flush up with annoyance and surprise as
though he had been detected in a crime or stung by the lash of a whip.
I have never been able to find out why he chose me as his only
confidant, but so it came about.
It was a warm summer evening, and after dinner it occurred to me that I
would stroll over and consult him about an old manuscript which I had
recently purchased. From something that he had once said it seemed
probable that he might be able to help me with the Old English, which
was more than usually difficult on account of the writer having been a
North-countryman. Alan Sydney was in the garden inhaling a cigarette, a
bad habit which he frequently denounced and perpetually practised.
Sitting down beside him I remarked on his inconsistency.
"Consistency," he replied, smiling, "if we may believe Bacon, Emerson,
and at least ten other original thinkers, is the quixotism of little
minds. Inhaling cigarettes is the last infirmity of habitual smokers.
The boy-child begins with a cigarette; in youth or manhood he drifts
into cigars and pipes; later on, if he should be unfortunate enough once
to try the experiment of inhaling, he reverts to his first love."
I turned the subject by handing to him the manuscript, which he looked
over for some time with evident interest. When asked if he could make
out the meaning of some of the Old English words he answered that he
could not, and that there was probably no one living who could.
"You think I am conceited in making such a remark, but in that you are
mistaken. It is simply that I am better acquainted with ignorance than
you are. Most of these early English provincialisms, if I may use the
term for want of a better, can only be guessed at. There are not
sufficient local manuscripts of similar date for comparison to be of
much service. If a word cannot be traced either to Anglo-Saxon,
Moeso-Gothic, or Scandinavian, you may safely translate it as you please
and defy criticism. But let us come in, it is getting chilly."
We entered the house together, passing on to his study. The home was
typical of the man. From outside it might easily have been mistaken for
a small farm-house. It had the appearance of age, though built by its
present owner. It was constructed after the model of the oldest
existing style of a Surrey cottage. The walls were supported by and
interlaced with massive oak beams, and the roof was entirely composed of
thin slabs of rough ironstone which had served a similar purpose for
many centuries, having been collected from various dilapidated and
condemned buildings. The greatest care had been taken in removing these
slabs not to destroy the moss and lichen attached to them, and a few
years after the house was finished, an antiquarian might easily have
been deceived, so perfectly had every detail, external and internal,
been studied.
This humble-looking abode cost probably as much as many of the
surrounding mansions, and was unquestionably far more comfortable.
I thought that I was well acquainted with the interior. How far this
idea was correct will shortly be seen.
We looked over the manuscript together for some time, and I was
surprised to find that many words I had considered provincial were known
to my friend; and it was not often that he had to own himself beaten.
The matter, however, was most uninteresting, being a homily on the Roman
faith.
Presently my companion leaned back in his chair, and seemed to be
looking fixedly on some spot on the wall opposite him. I followed the
direction of his eyes, but could see nothing likely to attract his
attention. I spoke, but he did not answer. The light was rather dim,
and it was not possible to see his face distinctly, as the shade from
the lamp screened it, but I felt certain that something was wrong. I
placed my hand upon his arm, but he took no notice, and this now
thoroughly alarmed me.
My first inclination was to ring the bell; my second to move the shade
from the lamp so as to be quite sure that I was not mistaken. Lifting
the screen, I let the light fall brightly on Sydney's face, and turned
to look more closely. For a moment his eyes still maintained their
fixed and vacant expression, then turned slowly toward the light. He
heaved a deep sigh, and then looked at me with a slightly dazed
expression.
"I am afraid you are not well," I said.
"It is nothing," he replied. "For the moment I felt faint, but the
sensation has passed."
Knowing something of fainting fits, and having noticed that he had never
changed colour nor shown any of the usual signs of faintness, I presumed
that he wished to deceive me, and began wondering what the attack could
have been.
"You are not satisfied," he continued. "However, let it pass now. Some
time I will explain."
Seeing that he wished to be alone, I said good-night.
"Can you come and dine with me to-morrow?" he asked. "I shall be alone,
and should be glad to have a quiet talk with you."
Accepting the invitation gladly, I went out into the warm summer night,
little thinking how much I was to learn before that door again closed
behind me.
*CHAPTER II*
On the following evening I dined with Alan Sydney for the first time.
It was one of his peculiarities not to ask acquaintances to his house;
his bachelorhood excused him from the necessity. I was therefore not a
little surprised to notice the dainty epicureanism of his meal. The
wines were such as it is an unexpected delight to find; the service a
thing to remember, but scarcely to hope to attain. Why have some men
this curious power of getting their slightest wish gratified, apparently
without effort? Money cannot purchase it, and ordinary mortals, whilst
they approach the semblance, miss the ease and quietude.
My host talked freely on many subjects, leaving me to suggest a topic,
and seeming equally at home whatever I might choose. Sport, philosophy,
science, history--I tried each subject, and seemed always the pupil of
an expert. At last I started on my pet hobby, Ancient Engravings.
"_Now_," I thought, "_it will be my turn_."
"I know little or nothing of the subject," he said.
I went off gaily, but even while preparing to air my wisdom, he would
apparently intercept my thought and take the very words out of my mouth.
"_This man must be deceiving me_," I mused. "_He has purposely led me
on to my favourite topic, to show that even in that he is my
superior!_."