In Search of the Unknown

by Robert W. Chambers

  XXIII

  "Daylight was fading in the city of Antwerp. Down into the sea sankthe sun, tinting the vast horizon with flakes of crimson, and touchingwith rich deep undertones the tossing waters of the Scheldt. Its glowfell like a rosy mantle over red-tiled roofs and meadows; and throughthe haze the spires of twenty churches pierced the air like sharp,gilded flames. To the west and south the green plains, over which theSpanish armies tramped so long ago, stretched away until they met thesky; the enchantment of the after-glow had turned old Antwerp intofairy-land; and sea and sky and plain were beautiful and vague as thenight-mists floating in the moats below.

  "Along the sea-wall from the Rubens Gate all Antwerp strolled, andchattered, and flirted, and sipped their Flemish wines from slenderFlemish glasses, or gossiped over krugs of foaming beer.

  "From the Scheldt came the cries of sailors, the creaking of cordage,and the puff! puff! of the ferry-boats. On the bastions of thefortress opposite, a bugler was standing. Twice the mellow notes ofthe bugle came faintly over the water, then a great gun thundered fromthe ramparts, and the Belgian flag fluttered along the lanyards to theground.

  "I leaned listlessly on the sea-wall and looked down at the Scheldtbelow. A battery of artillery was embarking for the fortress. Thetublike transport lay hissing and whistling in the slip, and thestamping of horses, the rumbling of gun and caisson, and the sharpcries of the officers came plainly to the ear.

  "When the last caisson was aboard and stowed, and the last trooper hadsprung jingling to the deck, the transport puffed out into theScheldt, and I turned away through the throng of promenaders; andfound a little table on the terrace, just outside of the pretty cafe.And as I sat down I became aware of a girl at the next table--a girlall in white--the most ravishingly and distractingly pretty girl thatI had ever seen. In the agitation of the moment I forgot my name, myfortune, my aunt, and the Crimson Diamond--all these I forgot in apurely human impulse to see clearly; and to that end I removed mymonocle from my left eye. Some moments later I came to myself andfeebly replaced it. It was too late; the mischief was done. I was notaware at first of the exact state of my feelings--for I had never beenin love more than three or four times in all my life--but I did knowthat at her request I would have been proud to stand on my head, orturn a flip-flap into the Scheldt.

  "I did not stare at her, but I managed to see her most of the timewhen her eyes were in another direction. I found myself drinkingsomething which a waiter brought, presumably upon an order which I didnot remember having given. Later I noticed that it was a loathsomedrink which the Belgians call 'American grog,' but I swallowed it andlighted a cigarette. As the fragrant cloud rose in the air, a voice,which I recognized with a chill, broke, into my dream of enchantment.Could _he_ have been there all the while--there sitting beside thatvision in white? His hat was off, and the ocean-breezes whisperedabout his bald head. His frayed coat-tails were folded carefully overhis knees, and between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand hebalanced a bad cigar. He looked at me in a mildly cheerful way, andsaid, 'I know now.'

  "'Know what?' I asked, thinking it better to humor him, for I wasconvinced that he was mad.

  "'I know why cats bite.'

  "This was startling. I hadn't an idea what to say.

  "'I know why,' he repeated; 'can you guess why?' There was a coverttone of triumph in his voice and he smiled encouragement. 'Come, tryand guess,' he urged.

  "I told him that I was unequal to problems.

  "'Listen, young man,' he continued, folding his coat-tails closelyabout his legs--'try to reason it out: why should cats bite? Don't youknow? I do.'

  "He looked at me anxiously.

  "'You take no interest in this problem?' he demanded.

  "'Oh yes.'

  "'Then why do you not ask me why?' he said, looking vaguelydisappointed.

  "'Well,' I said, in desperation, 'why do cats bite?--hang it all!' Ithought, 'it's like a burned-cork show, and I'm Mr. Bones and he'sTambo!'

  "Then he smiled gently. 'Young man,' he said, 'cats bite because theyfeed on catnip. I have reasoned it out.'

  "I stared at him in blank astonishment. Was this benevolent-lookingold party poking fun at me? Was he paying me up for the morning'ssnub? Was he a malignant and revengeful old party, or was he merelyfeeble-minded? Who might he be? What was he doing here inAntwerp--what was he doing now?--for the bald one had turnedfamiliarly to the beautiful girl in white.

  "'Wilhelmina,' he said, 'do you feel chilly?' The girl shook her head.

  "'Not in the least, papa.'

  "'Her father!' I thought--'her father!' Thank God she did not say'popper'!

  "'I have been to the Zoo to-day,' announced the bald one, turningtowards me.

  "'Ah, indeed,' I observed; 'er--I trust you enjoyed it.'

  "'I have been contemplating the apes,' he continued, dreamily. 'Yes,contemplating the apes.'

  "I tried to look interested.

  "'Yes, the apes,' he murmured, fixing his mild eyes on me. Then heleaned towards me confidentially and whispered, 'Can you tell me whata monkey thinks?'

  "'I cannot,' I replied, sharply.

  "'Ah,' he sighed, sinking back in his chair, and patting the slenderhand of the girl beside him--'ah, who can tell what a monkey thinks?'His gentle face lulled my suspicions, and I replied, very gravely:

  "'Who can tell whether they think at all?'

  "'True, true! Who can tell whether they think at all; and if they dothink, ah! who can tell what they think?'

  "'But,' I began, 'if you can't tell whether they think at all, what'sthe use of trying to conjecture what they _would_ think if they _did_think?'

  "He raised his hand in deprecation. 'Ah, it is exactly that which isof such absorbing interest--exactly that! It is the abstruseness ofthe proposition which stimulates research--which stirs profoundly thebrain of the thinking world. The question is of vital and instantimportance. Possibly you have already formed an opinion.'

  "I admitted that I had thought but little on the subject.

  "'I doubt,' he continued, swathing his knees in his coat-tails--'Idoubt whether you have given much attention to the subject latelydiscussed by the Boston Dodo Society of Pythagorean Research.'

  "'I am not sure,' I said, politely, 'that I recall that particulardiscussion. May I ask what was the question brought up?'

  "'The Felis domestica question.'

  "'Ah, that must indeed be interesting! And--er--what may be the Felisdo--do--'

  "'Domestica--not dodo. Felis domestica, the common or garden cat.'

  "'Indeed,' I murmured.

  "'You are not listening,' he said.

  "I only half heard him. I could not turn my eyes from his daughter'sface.

  "'Cat!' shouted the bald one, and I almost leaped from my chair. 'Areyou deaf?' he inquired, sympathetically.

  "'No--oh no!' I replied, coloring with confusion; 'you were--pardonme--you were--er--speaking of the dodo. Extraordinary bird that--'

  "'I was not discussing the dodo,' he sighed. 'I was speaking of cats.'

  "'Of course,' I said.

  "'The question is,' he continued, twisting his frayed coat-tails intoa sort of rope--'the question is, how are we to ameliorate the presentcondition and social status of our domestic cats?'

  "'Feed 'em,' I suggested.

  "He raised both hands. They were eloquent with patient expostulation.'I mean their spiritual condition,' he said.

  "I nodded, but my eyes reverted to that exquisite face. She satsilent, her eyes fixed on the waning flecks of color in the westernsky.

  "'Yes,' repeated the bald one, 'the spiritual welfare of our domesticcats.'

  "'Toms and tabbies?' I murmured.

  "'Exactly,' he said, tying a large knot in his coat-tails.

  "'You will ruin your coat,' I observed.

  "'Papa!' exclaimed the girl, turning in dismay, as that gentleman gavea guilty start, 'stop it at once!'

  "He smiled apologetically and made a feeble attempt to conceal his
coat-tails.

  "'My dear,' he said, with gentle deprecation, 'I am soabsent-minded--I always do it in the heat of argument.'

  "The girl rose, and, bending over her untidy parent, deftly untied theknot in his flapping coat. When he was disentangled, she sat down andsaid, with a ghost of a smile, 'He is so very absent-minded.'

  "'Your father is evidently a great student,' I ventured, pleasantly.How I pitied her, tied to this old lunatic!

  "'Yes, he is a great student,' she said, quietly.

  "'I am,' he murmured; 'that's what makes me so absent-minded. I oftengo to bed and forget to sleep.' Then, looking at me, he asked me myname, adding, with a bow, that his name was P. Royal Wyeth, Professorof Pythagorean Research and Abstruse Paradox.

  "'My first name is Penny--named after Professor Penny, of Harvard,' hesaid; 'but I seldom use my first name in connection with my second, asthe combination suggests a household remedy of penetrating odor.'

  "'My name is Kensett,' I said, 'Harold Kensett, of New York.'

  "'Student?'

  "'Er--a little.'

  "'Student of diamonds?'

  "I smiled. 'Oh, I see you know who my great-aunt was,' I said.

  "'I know her,' he said.

  "'Ah--perhaps you are unaware that my great-aunt is not now living.'

  "'I know her,' he repeated, obstinately.

  "I bowed. What a crank he was!

  "'What do you study? You don't fiddle away all your time, do you?' heasked.

  "Now that was just what I did, but I was not pleased to have MissWyeth know it. Although my time was chiefly spent in killing time, Ihad once, in a fit of energy, succeeded in writing some verses 'To aTomtit,' so I evaded a humiliating confession by saying that I haddone a little work in ornithology.

  "'Good!' cried the professor, beaming all over. 'I knew you were afellow-scientist. Possibly you are a brother-member of the BostonDodo Society of Pythagorean Research. Are you a dodo?'

  "I shook my head. 'No, I am not a dodo.'

  "'Only a jay?'

  "'A--what?' I said, angrily.

  "'A jay. We call the members of the Junior Ornithological Jay Societyof New York, jays, just as we refer to ourselves as dodos. Are you noteven a jay?'

  "'I am not,' I said, watching him suspiciously.

  "'I must convert you, I see,' said the professor, smiling.

  "'I'm afraid I do not approve of Pythagorean research,' I began, butthe beautiful Miss Wyeth turned to me very seriously, and, looking mefrankly in the eyes, said:

  "'I trust you will be open to conviction.'

  "'Good Lord!' I thought. 'Can she be another lunatic?' I looked at hersteadily. What a little beauty she was! She also, then, belonged tothe Pythagoreans--a sect I despised. Everybody knows all about thePythagorean craze, its rise in Boston, its rapid spread, and itssubsequent consolidation with mental and Christian science, theosophy,hypnotism, the Salvation Army, the Shakers, the Dunkards, and themind-cure cult, upon a business basis. I had hitherto regarded allPythagoreans with the same scornful indifference which I accorded tothe faith-curists; being a member of no particular church, I wasscarcely prepared to take any of them seriously. Least of all did Iapprove of the 'business basis,' and I looked very much askance indeedat the 'Scientific and Religious Trust Company,' duly incorporated andgenerally known as the Pythagorean Trust, which, consolidating withmind-curists, faith-curists, and other flourishing salvationsyndicates, actually claimed a place among ordinary trusts, and at thesame time pretended to a control over man's future life. No, I couldnever listen--I was ashamed of even entertaining the notion, and Ishook my head.

  "'No, Miss Wyeth, I am afraid I do not care to listen to any reasoningon this subject.'

  "'Don't you believe in Pythagoras?' demanded the professor, subduinghis excitement with difficulty, and adding another knot to hiscoat-tails.

  "'No,' I said, 'I do not.'

  "'How do you know you don't?' inquired the professor.

  "'Because,' I said, firmly, 'it is nonsense to say that the soul of ahuman being can inhabit a hen!'

  "'Put it in a more simplified form!' insisted the professor. 'Do youbelieve that the soul of a hen can inhabit a human being?'

  "'No, I don't!'

  "'Did you ever hear of a hen-pecked man?' cried the professor, hisvoice ending in a shout.

  "I nodded, intensely annoyed.

  "'Will you listen to reason, then?' he continued, eagerly.

  "'No,' I began, but I caught Miss Wyeth's blue eyes fixed on mine withan expression so sad, so sweetly appealing, that I faltered.

  "'Yes, I will listen,' I said, faintly.

  "'Will you become my pupil?' insisted the professor.

  "I was shocked to find myself wavering, but my eyes were looking intohers, and I could not disobey what I read there. The longer I lookedthe greater inclination I felt to waver. I saw that I was going togive in, and, strangest of all, my conscience did not trouble me. Ifelt it coming--a sort of mild exhilaration took possession of me. Forthe first time in my life I became reckless--I even gloried in myrecklessness.

  "'Yes, yes,' I cried, leaning eagerly across the table, 'I shall beglad--delighted! Will you take me as your pupil?' My single eye-glassfell from its position unheeded. 'Take me! Oh, will you take me?' Icried. Instead of answering, the professor blinked rapidly at me for amoment. I imagined his eyes had grown bigger, and were assuming agreenish tinge. The corners of his mouth began to quiver, emittingqueer, caressing little noises, and he rapidly added knot after knotto his twitching coat-tails. Suddenly he bent forward across the tableuntil his nose almost touched mine. The pupils of his eyes expanded,the iris assuming a beautiful, changing, golden-green tinge, and hiscoat-tails switched violently. Then he began to mew.

  "I strove to rouse myself from my paralysis--I tried to shrink back,for I felt the end of his cold nose touch mine. I could not move. Thecry of terror died in my straining throat, my hands tightenedconvulsively; I was incapable of speech or motion. At the same time mybrain became wonderfully clear. I began to remember everything thathad ever happened to me--everything that I had ever done or said. Ieven remembered things that I had neither done nor said; I recalleddistinctly much that had never happened. How fresh and strong mymemory! The past was like a mirror, crystal clear, and there, inglorious tints and hues, the scenes of my childhood grew and glowedand faded, and gave place to newer and more splendid scenes. For amoment the episode of the cat at the Hotel St. Antoine flashed acrossmy mind. When it vanished a chilly stupor slowly clouded my brain; thescenes, the memories, the brilliant colors, faded, leaving meenveloped in a gray vapor, through which the two great eyes of theprofessor twinkled with a murky light. A peculiar longing stirredme--a strange yearning for something, I knew not what--but, oh! how Ilonged and yearned for it! Slowly this indefinite, incomprehensiblelonging became a living pain. Ah, how I suffered, and how the vaporsseemed to crowd around me! Then, as at a great distance, I heard hervoice, sweet, imperative:

  "'Mew!' she said.

  "For a moment I seemed to see the interior of my own skull, lighted asby a flash of fire; the rolling eyeballs, veined in scarlet, theglistening muscles quivering along the jaw, the humid masses of theconvoluted brain; then awful darkness--a darkness almost tangible--anutter blackness, through which now seemed to creep a thin, silverthread, like a river crawling across a world--like a thought glidingto the brain--like a song, a thin, sharp song which some distant voicewas singing--which I was singing.

  "And I knew that I was mewing!

  "I threw myself back in my chair and mewed with all my heart. Oh, thatheavy load which was lifted from my breast! How good, how satisfyingit was to mew! And how I did miaul and yowl!

  "I gave myself up to it, heart and soul; my whole being thrilled withthe passionate outpourings of a spirit freed. My voice trembled in theupper bars of a feline love-song, quavered, descended, swelling againinto an intimation that I brooked no rival, and ended with amagnificent crescendo.

  "I finished, somew
hat abashed, and glanced askance at the professorand his daughter, but the one sat nonchalantly disentangling hiscoat-tails, and the other was apparently absorbed in the distantlandscape. Evidently they did not consider me ridiculous. Flushingpainfully, I turned in my chair to see how my grewsome solo hadaffected the people on the terrace. Nobody even looked at me. This,however, gave me little comfort, for, as I began to realize what I haddone, my mortification and rage knew no bounds. I was ready to die ofshame. What on earth had induced me to mew? I looked wildly about forescape--I would leap up--rush home to bury my burning face in mypillows, and, later, in the friendly cabin of a homeward-boundsteamer. I would fly--fly at once! Woe to the man who blocked my way!I started to my feet, but at that moment I caught Miss Wyeth's eyesfixed on mine.

  "'Don't go,' she said.

  "What in Heaven's name lay in those blue eyes? I slowly sank back intomy chair.

  "Then the professor spoke: 'Wilhelmina, I have just received adespatch.'

  "'Where from, papa?'

  "'From India. I'm going at once.'

  "She nodded her head, without turning her eyes from the sea. 'Is itimportant, papa?'

  "'I should say so. The cashier of the local trust has compromised anastral body, and has squandered on her all our funds, including a lotof first mortgages on Nirvana. I suppose he's been dabbling in futuresand is short in his accounts. I sha'n't be gone long.'

  "'Then, good-night, papa,' she said, kissing him; 'try to be back byeleven.' I sat stupidly staring at them.

  "'Oh, it's only to Bombay--I sha'n't go to Thibetto-night--good-night, my dear,' said the professor.

  "Then a singular thing occurred. The professor had at last succeededin disentangling his coat-tails, and now, jamming his hat over hisears, and waving his arms with a batlike motion, he climbed upon theseat of his chair and ejaculated the word 'Presto!' Then I found myvoice.

  "'Stop him!' I cried, in terror.

  "'Presto! Presto!' shouted the professor, balancing himself on theedge of his chair and waving his arms majestically, as if preparingfor a sudden flight across the Scheldt; and, firmly convinced that henot only meditated it, but was perfectly capable of attempting it, Icovered my eyes with my hands.

  "'Are you ill, Mr. Kensett?' asked the girl, quietly.

  "I raised my head indignantly. 'Not at all, Miss Wyeth, only I'll bidyou good-evening, for this is the nineteenth century, and I'm aChristian.'

  "'So am I,' she said. 'So is my father.'

  "'The devil he is,' I thought.

  "Her next words made me jump.

  "'Please do not be profane, Mr. Kensett.'

  "How did she know I was profane? I had not spoken a word! Could it bepossible she was able to read my thoughts? This was too much, and Irose.

  "'I have the honor to bid you good-evening,' I began, and reluctantlyturned to include the professor, expecting to see that gentlemanbalancing himself on his chair. The professor's chair was empty.

  "'Oh,' said the girl, smiling, 'my father has gone.'

  "'Gone! Where?'

  "'To--to India, I believe.'

  "I sank helplessly into my own chair.

  "'I do not think he will stay very long--he promised to return byeleven,' she said, timidly.

  "I tried to realize the purport of it all. 'Gone to India? Gone! How?On a broomstick? Good Heavens,' I murmured, 'am I insane?'

  "'Perfectly,' she said, 'and I am tired; you may take me back to thehotel.'

  "I scarcely heard her; I was feebly attempting to gather up my numbedwits. Slowly I began to comprehend the situation, to review thestartling and humiliating events of the day. At noon, in the court ofthe Hotel St. Antoine, I had been annoyed by a man and a cat. I hadretired to my own room and had slept until dinner. In the evening Imet two tourists on the sea-wall promenade. I had been beguiled intoconversation--yes, into intimacy with these two tourists! I had hadthe intention of embracing the faith of Pythagoras! Then I had mewedlike a cat with all the strength of my lungs. Now the male touristvanishes--and leaves me in charge of the female tourist, alone and atnight in a strange city! And now the female tourist proposes that Itake her home!

  "With a remnant of self-possession I groped for my eye-glass, seizedit, screwed it firmly into my eye, and looked long and earnestly atthe girl. As I looked, my eyes softened, my monacle dropped, and Iforgot everything in the beauty and purity of the face before me. Myheart began to beat against my stiff, white waistcoat. Had Idared--yes, dared to think of this wondrous little beauty as a femaletourist? Her pale, sweet face, turned towards the sea, seemed to casta spell upon the night. How loud my heart was beating! The yellow moonfloated, half dipping in the sea, flooding land and water withenchanted lights. Wind and wave seemed to feel the spell of her eyes,for the breeze died away, the heaving Scheldt tossed noiselessly, andthe dark Dutch luggers swung idly on the tide with every sail adroop.

  "A sudden hush fell over land and water, the voices on the promenadewere stilled; little by little the shadowy throng, the terrace, thesea itself vanished, and I only saw her face, shadowed against themoon.

  "It seemed as if I had drifted miles above the earth, through allspace and eternity, and there was naught between me and high heavenbut that white face. Ah, how I loved her! I knew it--I never doubtedit. Could years of passionate adoration touch her heart--her littleheart, now beating so calmly with no thought of love to startle itfrom its quiet and send it fluttering against the gentle breast? Inher lap her clasped hands tightened--her eyelids drooped as thoughsome pleasant thought was passing. I saw the color dye her temples, Isaw the blue eyes turn, half frightened, to my own, I saw--and I knewshe had read my thoughts. Then we both rose, side by side, and she wasweeping softly, yet for my life I dared not speak. She turned away,touching her eyes with a bit of lace, and I sprang to her side andoffered her my arm.

  "'You cannot go back alone,' I said.

  "She did not take my arm.

  "'Do you hate me, Miss Wyeth?'

  "'I am very tired,' she said; 'I must go home.'

  "'You cannot go alone.'

  "'I do not care to accept your escort.'

  "'Then--you send me away?'

  "'No,' she said, in a hard voice. 'You can come if you like.' So Ihumbly attended her to the Hotel St. Antoine.