A Modern Wizard
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The next occurrence in his life, which now occupied his thoughts, was a day long after, when he was nearing his twelfth year. He was off on a hunting expedition, and had climbed a mountain. Careless in leaping from crag to crag, he landed upon a loose boulder, which rolled from under his feet, so that he was thrown. In falling, his foot twisted, and a moment later, intense pain made him aware that he could not walk upon it. For four hours he slowly, but pluckily, dragged himself down the mountain, and at last reached home. It so chanced that a celebrated physician from New York was spending a vacation in the neighborhood, attracted perhaps by the brooks, which were full of fish. This man was Dr. Emanuel Medjora, and having heard of the boy's hurt, he voluntarily visited the lonely farm-house, and attended upon him so skilfully that Leon soon was well.
Just why the thought of Dr. Medjora should come to him at this time was a problem to Leon, but one upon which he did not dwell. After that summer, he had seen the Doctor again at various times, two or three years apart, always at vacation-time. But it was now three years since they had met.
Swiftly his thoughts passed along the years of his life, until they stopped for a moment, arrested by an incident worthy of being chronicled. I have said that Leon lay in his boat, face skyward, and allowed his bark to drift whither it would. Thus he had not noted his progress until a crunching sound startled him, and he became aware that his boat had found a landing-place, having grounded amidst the sands of a little cove, sheltered by a high rock and overhanging shrubbery. Forced thus from his abstraction into some cognizance of his whereabouts, Leon, without raising his head, merely became aware of the branches and leaves overhead, and peered through them. Almost in the midst of the green, he saw what seemed to be a brilliant but monstrous diamond, pendent from a branch. In the next instant he recognized that he was gazing upon Venus, the morning star, which had risen during his reverie, and now shone resplendent and most beautiful. It was just at this moment, that the incident occurred to which I have alluded. Suddenly it seemed to him that the whole of his surroundings were familiar. Everything had occurred before. His boat drifting into the cove, the shrubbery overhead, and Venus in the sky; all that he now realized, in the most minute detail, had held a place in his experience before. Such a phenomenon is not uncommon. All of us have been impressed similarly. Indeed, some Theosophists, trying to prove a previous life for man, have reverted to this well-known feeling, and have claimed that here is a recollection of a former visit to this earth. But Leon, young philosopher though he was, would have laughed in scorn at such an argument. He had considered this problem, and had solved it satisfactorily for himself. His explanation was thus. Man's brain is divided into two hemispheres. Usually they act co-ordinately, but it is possible that, at least momentarily, they may operate independently. It is a fact that the phenomenon under consideration seldom, or never occurs, except when the mind is greatly interested or occupied. Something, perhaps in itself the merest trifle, diverts the mind from the intensity of its attention. This diversion leads by a train of circumstances to a long-forgotten memory, and one hemisphere of the brain reverts to a moment in the past, the other continuing intent upon its surroundings. Within an infinitesimal period of time, a period too brief to be calculable, both hemispheres are again acting in unison. The abstraction has been so brief, and the cause of it is so dimly defined, that the mind is oblivious of what has occurred, except that, as the diverted hemisphere again takes cognizance of its previous thoughts, and again recognizes the environment of the present, the phenomenon of a dual experience is noted. Of course the scene is identically the same as that which is remembered, because it is the same scene. And the previous experience will impress the individual as having occurred long ago, in exact proportion to the date of that circumstance to which one hemisphere has reverted.
Therefore, Leon did not, at this time, speculate upon the mystery, which he thought he understood, but he welcomed the advent of a long-sought opportunity, to trace out the cause of such an abstraction, so fleeting in its nature.
He was occupied thus, for half an hour, but at length believed that he had analyzed the experience. The turning-point, at which he had been diverted, was when he first recognized Venus. And now he remembered that occasion when he had gone upon a journey. Away from his home for the first time in his life, he felt many sensations which I need not record here. But one amusement had been to sit at night studying the stars, and from them fixing the position of the buildings on the home farm, in relation to those where he was then abiding. One evening, when watching Venus, then the evening star, he was looking across a pool of water, and trying to imagine himself back on Massabesic, with the same planet setting behind the western hill, when, turning his head, he saw a young and beautiful girl standing near him. As his eyes abandoned the planet for the woman, he was startled by the thought that the goddess had been re-embodied. A moment later, the girl asked him for some information relating to the nearest way to her home, which he gave, and she walked on. He had never seen her since, nor had he thought of her again. But now, having analyzed his thoughts and traced them back from the star to that girl, her face thus summoned seemed to take the place of the planet in the heavens, and to gaze down upon him with an assuring smile, which somehow made him feel that the future might hold something for him after all.
What that something might be, he did not even try to guess. Therefore, you must not adopt the conclusion that Leon thus suddenly fell in love with a girl whose face had been seen by him but once. No idea within his mind, connected with that face, was now coupled with a thought of her as an earthly being. He merely summoned up the image of a lovely being, and felt himself refreshed, and hope returning.
A few moments later the twilight brightened and the first red border of the sun, peeping over the tops of the trees, shed a warming ray upon Leon, thus awakened from his dreamy night into the first day of his manhood.
CHAPTER II.
A FRIEND IN NEED
On a bright, warm morning, a week later, Leon had already arisen, though it was barely past five o'clock, and having wandered off into a secluded spot in the woods, lay on the ground, his head pillowed against a tree trunk. Margaret Grath had been laid away beneath the sod, and the old home was no longer homelike to him, since her two sisters had moved in, to take possession until "the auction" which was to occur on this day.
He had never liked these women, and they had lavished no affection upon him. Consequently he was uneasy in their presence, and so avoided them. They had plainly told him that he was no kith nor kin of theirs, and that though he might abide on the farm till the auction, after that event he would be obliged to shift for himself. They also volunteered the advice that he should leave the town, and added that if he did so it would be a good riddance. To all of these kind speeches Leon had listened in silence, determined that he would earn his living without further dependence upon this family, upon whom he now thought that he had already intruded too long, though unknowingly.
Now, as he lay among the fresh mosses, and inhaled the sweet scents of surrounding blossoms which lifted their drooping heads, and unfolded their petals to the kisses of the newly risen sun, he was musing upon the necessities of his situation, while in a measure taking a last farewell of haunts which he had learned to love.
Presently, a sound of rustling twigs arrested his attention, and he saw a tiny chipmunk looking at him. He smiled, and pursing up his lips emitted a sound which was neither whistle, nor warble, but a combination of both. The little creature flirted his head to one side, as though listening. Leon repeated the call a little louder, and with a sudden dash the chipmunk swiftly sped towards him, as suddenly stopping about ten yards away. Here he sat up on his haunches, and, with his forefeet, apparently caressed his head. Now Leon changed his method, and sounded a prolonged and musical trill, like the purling of a brook. The chipmunk came nearer and nearer, his timidity gradually passing away. And now, in the distance, another rush through the shrubbery was heard, and another chipmunk swiftly came out into the open, presently joining his mate, and approaching nearer and nearer to Leon, in short runs. At length they were quite close to him, and he took some peanuts from his pocket. One at a time he threw this tempting food to the little animals, who quickly nibbled off the outer shell and abstracted the kernels, sitting up, their tails gracefully curled over their backs. As Leon continued his chirping to his wild pets, two searching eyes were gazing with intense interest upon the scene. And the man who owned those eyes thought thus of what he saw:
"He has inherited the power. It is untrained at present, but it will be easily developed."
A few moments later, Leon waved his hand and the chipmunks scurried off, leaving the youth once more to his meditations. But soon again he was interrupted. This time the noise of the approaching creature was readily discernible even while he was yet afar off, and in a few moments there came bounding through the brush a magnificent collie, sable and white, and beautifully marked. This was Lossy, or, rather, "The Marquis of Lossy," to give him his full title. Lossy was truly a perfect collie, with long pointed nose, eyes set high in the forehead, and beaming with human intelligence and a dog's love, which, we all know, transcends the human passion which goes by the same name; his ears were small and, at rest, carried so close to the head that, buried in the long fur they were scarcely discernible, yet, they pricked sharply forward when a sound attracted, giving the face that rakish look so peculiar to the species; and besides a grand coat of long, fine hair, and a heavy undercoat for warmth, he had a glorious bushy tail, carried at just the curve that lent a pleasing symmetry to the whole form. In short, Lossy was a collie that would prove a prize-winner in any company.
But what was better than mere physical beauty, he was an exception in intelligence, even for a collie, and lavished a wealth of love upon his young master. On this morning, Leon had purposely stolen away without the dog, for the pleasure of what now occurred. Lossy, finally awakening from his morning nap, and missing his master, had started after him taking almost the same course pursued by Leon. And now, after his long run, he bounded forward, landing upon Leon's breast with force enough to roll him over, and then, whining with joy at the reunion, the dog kissed his master's face and hands again and again.
This display of affection delighted Leon, and he returned it with unusual demonstrativeness. Rising from the ground, he snapped his fingers, and at the sound Lossy bounded into the air, to be caught in the arms of his master, hugged close to his bosom, and then dropped to the ground. This trick was repeated again and again, the dog responding with increasing impatience for the signal. Sometimes it was varied. Leon turning his back, and bending his body at a slight angle, would give the signal, whereupon Lossy would spring with agility upon his back and climb forward, until, by holding the shoulders with his forepaws, he could reach his head around, seeking to kiss Leon's face. Here the fun was, for as the dog's head protruded over one shoulder, Leon turned his face away, whereupon Lossy would quickly essay to reach his goal over the other. In the midst of this sort of play, Leon was surprised to hear his dog growl. Then Lossy leaped to the ground, his hair rose almost straight along his spine, his ears pricked forward, and again he growled ominously. Before Leon could step forward to investigate, the man who had been silently observing the whole scene stepped out, and Leon recognized Dr. Medjora.
While the two men gaze silently upon each other, I may take the opportunity to say a few words about Dr. Medjora.
Immediately after his trial he left New York for a brief period, very much against the wishes of Madam Corona. She pleaded with him for an immediate marriage, but he firmly adhered to his own plans. The wedding occurred, however, a year later, and he resumed the practice of his profession in the Metropolis. Nineteen years later, at the time when Margaret Grath died, he was counted one of the most eminent practitioners in the country. He had steadfastly declined to adopt surgery, that most fascinating field wherein great reputations are frequently acquired through a single audacious operation, happily carried to a successful termination; but instead, he remained the plain medical man, paying special attention to zymotic diseases. Within this sphere he slowly but no less surely acquired fame, as from time to time the dying were plucked almost from the arms of death, and restored to health and usefulness.
Attracting the admiration and esteem of his patients in a most remarkable degree, he nevertheless aroused in them a certain feeling of almost superstitious awe. People did not say aloud that Dr. Medjora was a partner of the Evil One, but many whispers, not easily traceable, finally resulted in his being commonly known as the "Wizard Doctor" or simply the "Wizard."
On this morning, having come into the vicinity during the week for some trout fishing, and then having learned of the auction sale about to take place, he had determined to be present. He was early on his way to the farm, when, crossing the strip of wood, he had first observed Leon with the chipmunks. Now having shown himself he spoke:
"You are Leon Grath, I believe?" said he.
"If you do, your belief is ill founded," replied Leon, speaking with no ill temper, but rather with a touch of sadness.
"Surely you are Leon – "
"I am Leon, but not Grath. You are Dr. Medjora?"
"Ah! Then you remember me?"
"Certainly! I remember all men, friend or foe. You have been more the former than the latter. Therefore the remembrance is quite distinct."
Hearing the sound of his master's voice, untinged by anger, the collie evidently decided that the newcomer was no enemy, and strolling off a short distance, turned thrice, and lay down, resting his nose between his two forepaws, and eying the twain, awaited developments.
"I am glad that you have pleasant recollections of our brief acquaintance. But now, will you explain what you mean by saying that you are not Leon Grath. I thought that Grath was your name?"
"So did I, Doctor, but I have learned that I was mistaken. I was with
Margaret Grath when she died, and she told me – " He paused.
"She told you what?" asked Dr. Medjora, with apparent eagerness.
"That Grath is not my name."
"What then is it? Did she tell you that?"
"No! I am Leon, the nameless!"
There was a touch of bitterness in Leon's voice, and, as he felt a slight difficulty in enunciation caused by rising emotions, he turned away his head and gazed into the deepest part of the wood, closing his jaws tight together, and straining every muscle of his body to high tension, in his endeavor to regain full control of himself. Dr. Medjora observed the inward struggle for mastery of self, and admired the youth for his strength of character. Without, however, betraying that he had noticed anything, he said quietly:
"What will you do about it?"
"I will make a name for myself," was the reply given, with sharp decisiveness of tones, and a smile played around the corners of Leon's mouth, as though the open assertion of his purpose was a victory half won.
Oh, the springtime of our youth! The young man climbs to the top of the first hill, and, gazing off into his future, sees so many roads leading to fortune, that he hesitates only about the choice, not deeming failure possible by any path. But, presently, when his chosen way winds up the mountain-side, growing narrower and more difficult with every setting sun, at length he realizes the difference between expectation and fulfilment. But Leon was now on the top of his first hill, and climbing mountains seemed so brave a task that he was eager to begin. Therefore, he spoke boldly. Almost at once he met his first check.
"You will make a name for yourself!" repeated Dr. Medjora. "How? Have you decided?"
Leon felt at once confronted with the task which he had set himself. Now, the truth was that he had decided upon his way in life; or, rather, I should say he had chosen, and, having made his choice, he considered that he had decided the matter permanently. Yet, the first man who questioned him, caused him to doubt the wisdom of his choice, to hesitate about speaking of it, and to feel diffident, so that he did not answer promptly. Dr. Medjora watched him closely, and spoke again.
"Ah, I see; you think of becoming an author."
"How did you know that?" asked Leon, quickly, very much perplexed to find his secret guessed.
"Then it is a fact? You would not ask me how I know it, were it not true. I will answer your question, though it is of slight consequence. You are evidently a young man of strong will-power, and yet you became awkwardly diffident when I asked you what path in life you had elected to follow. I have observed that diffidence is closely allied to a species of shame, and that both are invariable symptoms of budding authorship. To one of your temperament, I should say that these feelings would come only from two causes, secret authorship and love. The latter being out of consideration, the former became a self-evident fact."
"Dr. Medjora, you seem to be a logician, and I should think that you might be a successful author yourself."
"I might be, but I am not. I could be, only I do not choose to be. But we are speaking of yourself. If you wish to be a writer, I presume that you have written something. Does it satisfy you; that is to say, do you consider that it is as excellent as it need be?"
"I have done a little writing. While thinking, this week, about my future, somehow there came to me a longing to write. I did so, and I have been over my little sketch so many times, that I cannot see wherein it is faulty. Therefore, I must admit, however conceited it may sound, that I am satisfied with it."
"That is a very bad sign. When a man is satisfied with his own work he has already reached the end of his abilities. It is only continual dissatisfaction with our efforts, that ever makes us ambitious to attain better things. You have said that, in your opinion, I could be a successful writer. Then let me read and judge what you have written. You have it with you, I suppose?"
Leon was much embarrassed. He wished that he could say no, but the composition was in his pocket. So he drew it out and handed it to Dr. Medjora, without saying a word. The Doctor glanced at it a moment and then said encouragingly:
"There is a quality in this, as excellent as it is rare. Brevity."
"Ah, Doctor!" said Leon, eagerly. "That is what I have aimed at. I have but a single idea to expound, and I have endeavored to clothe it in as few words as possible. Or, rather, I should say, I have tried to make every word count. Please read it with that view uppermost."
The Doctor nodded assent, and then read the little story, which was as follows:
IMMORTALITYI am dead!
Have you ever experienced the odd sensation of being present at your own funeral, as I am now?
Impossible! For you are alive!
But I? I am dead!
There lies my body, prone and stiff, uncoffined, whilst the grave-digger, by the light of the young moon, turns the sod which is to hide me away forever.
Or so he thinks.
Why should he, a Christian minister, stoop to dig a grave?
Why? Because minister though he be, he is, or was my master; and my murderer.
Murderer did I say? Was it murder to kill a dog?
For only a dog I was; or may I say, I am?
I stupidly tore up one of his sermons, in sport. For this bad, or good deed, my master, in anger, kicked me. He kicked me, and I died.
Was that murder? Or is the word applicable only to Man, who is immortal?
But stay! What is the test of immortality?
The ego says, "I am I," and earns eternity.
Then am I not immortal, since though dead, I may speak the charmed words?
No! For Christianity preaches annihilation to beast, and immortality for Man only. Man, the only animal that murders. Shall I be proof that Christianity contains a flaw?
Yet view it as you may, here I am, dead, yet not annihilated.
I say here I am, yet where am I?
How is it that I, stupid mongrel that I was, though true and loving friend, as all dogs are; how is it that I, who but slowly caught my master's meaning from his words, now understand his thoughts although he does not speak?
At last I comprehend. I know now where I am. I am within his mind. His eagerness to bury my poor carcass is but born of the desire to drive me thence.
But is not mind an attribute of the human soul, and conscience too? And are not both immortal?
Thus then the problem of my future do I solve. Let this good Christian man hide under ground my carcass; evidence of his foul crime. And being buried, let it rot. What care I though it should be annihilated?
I am here, within this man's immortal mind, and here I shall abide forever more, and prick his conscience for my pastime.
Thus do I win immortality, and cheat the Christian's creed.
Having read to the end, Dr. Medjora nodded approvingly to Leon and said:
"For a first composition, you may well rest satisfied with this. It is very subtile. Indeed I am surprised at the originality and thought which you have displayed here. I should like to discuss with you some of the points. May I?"
"With pleasure," Leon replied with ardor, delighted to find his little story so well received.
"The first thought that occurs to me is, that there is a certain amount of inspiration about your essay. I say essay because it is that rather than a story. From this, I deduce a fact discouraging to your ambition, for inspirations are rare, and it is probable that were you to succeed in selling this to some magazine, you would find it difficult to produce anything else as good."
"Why, Doctor," said Leon, anxious to prove his ability, "I wrote that in a few minutes."
"By which statement you mean that with time for thought, you might do better. But your argument is in favor of my theory. The more rapidly you wrote this, the more difficult will it be for you to write another. Let me tell you what I read between the lines here. Miss Grath having died, you were left alone in the world. Her two amiable sisters coming to the farm, probably made your loneliness intensified, and whilst depressed by your mood, your dog showed you some affection, which reaching you when your heart was full, caused it to spill over, and this was the result. Am I wrong?"
"No! You have guessed the circumstances almost exactly. As you say, I was feeling lonely and depressed. I came here for solitude, which is something different from loneliness, and which is as soothing as loneliness is depressing. I was sitting under that tree, thinking bitter things of the world in general, and of the people about me more especially, when without my having heard him approach, my dog, Lossy, dear old brute, pushed his head over my shoulders, placed his paws around my neck, and kissed me. It affected me deeply. It was as though I had received a message from Providence, telling me not to despair. Then like a flash it came to me, that if love is an attribute of the soul, and a dog's love is the most unselfish of all, it must follow logically that a dog has a soul."
"Your deduction is correct, if there be any such thing as soul. But, for the moment, I will not take that up. You have told enough to show that I am right as to the origin of your tale. It is also evident that you cannot hope to be under such emotional excitement at all times, when you might be called upon to write; to write or go without a meal. However, I have faith in you, and do not doubt that we shall find a way for you to earn as many meals as you shall need."