CHAPTER XV
THE INCIPIENCE OF MY SUBJECTION TO THE WONDER
I
Victor Stott was in his eighth year when I met him for the third time. Imust have stayed longer than I imagined by the pond on the Common, forMrs. Stott and her son had had tea, and the boy was preparing to go out.He stopped when he saw me coming; an unprecedented mark of recognition,so I have since learned.
As I saw him then, he made a remarkable, but not a repulsively abnormalfigure. His baldness struck one immediately, but it did not give him alook of age. Then one noticed that his head was unmistakably out ofproportion to his body, yet the disproportion was not nearly so markedas it had been in infancy. These two things were conspicuous; the lesssalient peculiarities were observed later; the curious little beaky nosethat jutted out at an unusual angle from the face, the lips that weretoo straight and determined for a child, the laxity of the limbs whenthe body was in repose--lastly, the eyes.
When I met Victor Stott on this, third, occasion, there can be no doubtthat he had lost something of his original power. This may have been dueto his long sojourn in the world of books, a sojourn that had, perhaps,altered the strange individuality of his thought; or it may have beendue, in part at least, to his recent recognition of the fact that thepower of his gaze exercised no influence over creatures such as theHarrison idiot. Nevertheless, though something of the original force hadabated, he still had an extraordinary, and, so far as I can learn,altogether unprecedented power of enforcing his will without word orgesture; and I may say here that in those rare moments when Victor Stottlooked me in the face, I seemed to see a rare and wonderful personalitypeering out through his eyes,--the personality which had, no doubt,spoken to Challis and Lewes through that long afternoon in the libraryof Challis Court. Normally one saw a curious, unattractive, ratherrepulsive figure of a child; when he looked at one with that rare lookof intention, the man that lived within that unattractive body wasrevealed, his insight, his profundity, his unexampled wisdom. If we markthe difference between man and animals by a measure of intelligence,then surely this child was a very god among men.
II
Victor Stott did not look at me when I entered his mother's cottage; Isaw only the unattractive exterior of him, and I blundered into an airof patronage.
"Is this your boy?" I said, when I had greeted her. "I hear he is agreat scholar."
"Yes, sir," replied Ellen Mary quietly. She never boasted to strangers.
"You don't remember me, I suppose?" I went on, foolishly; trying,however, to speak as to an equal. "You were in petticoats the last timeI saw you."
The Wonder was standing by the window, his arms hanging loosely at hissides; he looked out aslant up the lane; his profile was turned towardsme. He made no answer to my question.
"Oh yes, sir, he remembers," replied Ellen Mary. "He never forgetsanything."
I paused, uncomfortably. I was slightly huffed by the boy's silence.
"I have come to spend the summer here," I said at last. "I hope he willcome to see me. I have brought a good many books with me; perhaps hemight care to read some of them."
I had to talk _at_ the boy; there was no alternative. Inwardly I wasthinking that I had Kant's Critique and Hegel's Phenomenology among mybooks. "He may put on airs of scholarship," I thought; "but I fancy thathe will find those two works rather above the level of his comprehensionas yet." I did not recognise the fact that it was I who was putting onairs, not Victor Stott.
"'E's given up reading the past six weeks, sir," said Ellen Mary, "but Idaresay he will come and see your books."
She spoke demurely, and she did not look at her son; I received theimpression that her statements were laid before him to take up, reject,or pass unnoticed as he pleased.
I was slightly exasperated. I turned to the Wonder. "Would you care tocome?" I asked.
He nodded without looking at me, and walked out of the cottage.
I hesitated.
"'E'll go with you now, sir," prompted Ellen Mary. "That's what 'emeans."
I followed the Wonder in a condition of suppressed irritation. "Hismother might be able to interpret his rudeness," I thought, "but I wouldteach him to convey his intentions more clearly. The child had beenspoilt."
III
The Wonder chose the road over the Common. I should have gone by thewood, but when we came to the entrance of the wood, he turned up on tothe Common. He did not ask me which way I preferred. Indeed, we neitherof us spoke during the half-mile walk that separated the Wood Farm fromthe last cottage in Pym.
I was fuming inwardly. I had it in my mind at that time to put theWonder through some sort of an examination. I was making plans tocontribute towards his education, to send him to Oxford, later. I hadadumbrated a scheme to arouse interest in his case among certainscholars and men of influence with whom I was slightly acquainted. I hadbeen very much engrossed with these plans as I had made my way to theStotts' cottage. I was still somewhat exalted in mind with my dreams ofa vicarious brilliance. I had pictured the Wonder's magnificent passagethrough the University; I had acted, in thought, as the generous andkindly benefactor.... It had been a grandiose dream, and the reality wasso humiliating. Could I make this mannerless child understand hispossibilities? Had he any ambition?
Thinking of these things, I had lagged behind as we crossed the Common,and when I came to the gate of the farmyard, the Wonder was at the doorof the house. He did not wait for me, but walked straight into mysitting-room. When I entered, I found him seated on the low window-sill,turning over the top layer of books in the large case which had beenopened, but not unpacked. There was no place to put the books; in fact,I was proposing to have some shelves put up, if Mrs. Berridge had noobjection.
I entered the room in a condition of warm indignation. "Cheek" was theword that was in my mind. "Confounded cheek," I muttered. Nevertheless Idid not interrupt the boy; instead, I lit a cigarette, sat down andwatched him.
I was sceptical at first. I noted at once the sure touch with which theboy handled my books, the practised hand that turned the pages, thequick examination of title-page and the list of contents, the occasionalswift reference to the index, but I did not believe it possible that anyone could read so fast as he read when he did condescend for a fewmoments to give his attention to a few consecutive pages. "Was it apose?" I thought, yet he was certainly an adept in handling the books. Iwas puzzled, yet I was still sceptical--the habit of experience wastowards disbelief--a boy of seven and a half could not possibly have themental equipment to skim all that philosophy....
My books were being unpacked very quickly. Kant, Hegel, Schelling,Fichte, Leibnitz, Nietzsche, Hume, Bradley, William James had all beenrejected and were piled on the floor, but he had hesitated longer overBergson's _Creative Evolution_. He really seemed to be giving that someattention, though he read it--if he were reading it--so fast that thehand which turned the pages hardly rested between each movement.
When Bergson was sent to join his predecessors, I determined that Iwould get some word out of this strange child--I had never yet heard himspeak, not a single syllable. I determined to brave all rebuffs. I wasprepared for that.
"Well?" I said, when Bergson was laid down. "Well! What do you make ofthat?"
He turned and looked out of the window.
I came and sat on the end of the table within a few feet of him. Fromthat position I, too, could see out of the window, and I saw the figureof the Harrison idiot slouching over the farmyard gate.
A gust of impatience whirled over me. I caught up my stick and went outquickly.
"Now then," I said, as I came within speaking distance of the idiot,"get away from here. Out with you!"
The idiot probably understood no word of what I said, but like a dog hewas quick to interpret my tone and gesture. He made a revoltinglyinhuman sound as he shambled away, a kind of throaty yelp. I walked backto the house. I could not avoid the feeling that I had beenunnecessarily brutal.
When I returned the Wonde
r was still staring out of the window; butthough I did not guess it then, the idiot had served my purpose betterthan my determination. It was to the idiot that I owed my subsequentknowledge of Victor Stott. The Wonder had found a use for me. He wasresigned to bear with my feeble mental development, because I was strongenough to keep at bay that half-animal creature who appeared to believethat Victor Stott was one of his own kind--the only one he had ever met.The idiot in some unimaginable way had inferred a likeness betweenhimself and the Wonder--they both had enormous heads--and the idiot wasthe only human being over whom the Wonder was never able to exercise theleast authority.
IV
I went in and sat down again on the end of the table. I was ratherheated. I lit another cigarette and stared at the Wonder, who was stilllooking out of the window.
There was silence for a few seconds, and then he spoke of his owninitiative.
"Illustrates the weakness of argument from history and analogy," he saidin a clear, small voice, addressing no one in particular. "Hegel'slimitations are qualitatively those of Harrison, who argues that I andhe are similar in kind."
The proposition was so astounding that I could find no answerimmediately. If the statement had been made in boyish language I shouldhave laughed at it, but the phraseology impressed me.
"You've read Hegel, then?" I asked evasively.
"Subtract the endeavour to demonstrate a preconceived hypothesis fromany known philosophy," continued the Wonder, without heeding myquestion, "and the remainder, the only valuable material, is found to bedistorted." He paused as if waiting for my reply.
How could one answer such propositions as these offhand? I tried,however, to get at the gist of the sentence, and, as the silencecontinued, I said with some hesitation: "But it is impossible, surely,to approach the work of writing, say a philosophy, without someapprehension of the end in view?"
"Illogical," replied the Wonder, "not philosophy; a system of trial anderror--to evaluate a complex variable function." He paused a moment, andthen glanced down at the pile of books on the floor. "More millions," hesaid.
I think he meant that more millions of books might be written on thissystem without arriving at an answer to the problem, but I admit that Iam at a loss, that I cannot interpret his remarks. I wrote them down anhour or two after they were uttered, but I may have made mistakes. Themathematical metaphor is beyond me. I have no acquaintance with thehigher mathematics.
The Wonder had a very expressionless face, but I thought at this momentthat he wore a look of sadness; and that look was one of the factorswhich helped me to understand the unbridgeable gulf that lay between hisintellect and mine. I think it was at this moment that I first began tochange my opinion. I had been regarding him as an unbearable littleprig, but it flashed across me as I watched him now, that his mind andmy own might be so far differentiated that he was unable to convey histhoughts to me. "Was it possible," I wondered, "that he had been tryingto talk down to my level?"
"I am afraid I don't quite follow you," I said. I had intended toquestion him further, to urge him to explain, but it came to me that itwould be quite hopeless to go on. How can one answer the unreasoningquestions of a child? Here I was the child, though a child of slightlyadvanced development. I could appreciate that it was useless to persistin a futile "Why, why?" when the answer could only be given in termsthat I could not comprehend. Therefore I hesitated, sighed, and thenwith that obstinacy of vanity which creates an image of self-protectionand refuses to relinquish it, I said:
"I wish you could explain yourself; not on this particular point ofphilosophy, but your life----" I stopped, because I did not know how tophrase my demand. What was it, after all, that I wanted to learn?
"That I can't explain," said the Wonder. "There are no data."
I saw that he had accepted my request for explanation in a much widersense than I had intended, and I took him up on this.
"But haven't you any hypothesis?"
"I cannot work on the system of trial and error," replied the Wonder.
Our conversation went no further this afternoon, for Mrs. Berridge camein to lay the cloth. She looked askance, I thought, at the figure on thewindow-sill, but she ventured no remark save to ask if I was ready formy supper.
"Yes, oh! yes!" I said.
"Shall I lay for two, sir?" asked Mrs. Berridge.
"Will you stay and have supper?" I said to the Wonder, but he shook hishead, got up and walked out of the room. I watched him cross thefarmyard and make his way over the Common.
"Well!" I said to Mrs. Berridge, when the boy was out of sight, "thatchild is what in America they call 'the limit,' Mrs. Berridge."
My landlady put her lips together, shook her head, and shiveredslightly. "He gives me the shudders," she said.
V
I neither read nor wrote that evening. I forgot to go out for a walk atsunset. I sat and pondered until it was time for bed, and then Ipondered myself to sleep. No vision came to me, and I had no relevantdreams.
The next morning at seven o'clock I saw Mrs. Stott come over the Commonto fetch her milk from the farm. I waited until her business was done,and then I went out and walked back with her.
"I want to understand about your son," I said by way of making anopening.
She looked at me quickly. "You know, 'e 'ardly ever speaks to me, sir,"she said.
I was staggered for a moment. "But you understand him?" I said.
"In some ways, sir," was her answer.
I recognised the direction of the limitation. "Ah! we none of usunderstand him in all ways," I said, with a touch of patronage.
"No, sir," replied Ellen Mary. She evidently agreed to that statementwithout qualification.
"But what is he going to do?" I asked. "When he grows up, I mean?"
"I can't say, sir. We must leave that to 'im."
I accepted the rebuke more mildly than I should have done on theprevious day. "He never speaks of his future?" I said feebly.
"No, sir."
There seemed to be nothing more to say. We had only gone a couple ofhundred yards, but I paused in my walk. I thought I might as well goback and get my breakfast. But Mrs. Stott looked at me as though she hadsomething more to say. We stood facing each other on the cart track.
"I suppose I can't be of any use?" I asked vaguely.
Ellen Mary became suddenly voluble.
"I 'ope I'm not askin' too much, sir," she said, "but there is a way youcould 'elp if you would. 'E 'ardly ever speaks to me, as I've said, butI've been opset about that 'Arrison boy. 'E's a brute beast, sir, if youknow what I mean, and _'e_" (she differentiated her pronouns only byaccent, and where there is any doubt I have used italics to indicatethat her son is referred to) "doesn't seem to 'ave the same 'old on 'imas _'e_ does over others. It's truth, I am not easy in my mind about it,sir, although _'e_ 'as never said a word to me, not being afraid ofanything like other children, but 'e seems to have took a sort of afancy to you, sir" (I think this was intended as the subtlest flattery),"and if you was to go with 'im when 'e takes 'is walks--'e's much in theair, sir, and a great one for walkin'--I think 'e'd be glad of yourcump'ny, though maybe 'e won't never say it in so many words. Youmustn't mind 'im being silent, sir; there's some things we can'tunderstand, and though, as I say, 'e 'asn't said anything to me, it'snot that I'm scheming be'ind 'is back, for I know 'is meaning withoutwords being necessary."
She might have said more, but I interrupted her at this point."Certainly, I will come and fetch him,"--I lapsed unconsciously into hersystem of denomination--"this morning, if you are sure he would like tocome out with me."
"I'm quite sure, sir," she said.
"About nine o'clock?" I asked.
"That would do nicely, sir," she answered.
As I walked back to the farm I was thinking of the life of those twooccupants of the Stotts' cottage. The mother who watched her son insilence, studying his every look and action in order to gather hismeaning; who never asked her son a question nor expected from hi
m anystatement of opinion; and the son wrapped always in that profoundspeculation which seemed to be his only mood. What a household!
It struck me while I was having breakfast that I seemed to have letmyself in for a duty that might prove anything but pleasant.
VI
There is nothing to say of that first walk of mine with the Wonder. Ispoke to him once or twice and he answered by nodding his head; eventhis notice I now know to have been a special mark of favour, acondescension to acknowledge his use for me as a guardian. He did notspeak at all on this occasion.
I did not call for him in the afternoon; I had made other plans. Iwanted to see the man Challis, whose library had been at the disposal ofthis astonishing child. Challis might be able to give me furtherinformation. The truth of the matter is that I was in two minds as towhether I would stay at Pym through the summer, as I had originallyintended. I was not in love with the prospect which the sojourn now heldout for me. If I were to be constituted head nursemaid to Master VictorStott, there would remain insufficient time for the progress of my ownbook on certain aspects of the growth of the philosophic method.
I see now, when I look back, that I was not convinced at that time, thatI still doubted the Wonder's learning. I may have classed it as afreakish pedantry, the result of an unprecedented memory.
Mrs. Berridge had much information to impart on the subject of HenryChallis. He was her husband's landlord, of course, and his was ahallowed name, to be spoken with decency and respect. I am afraid Ishocked Mrs. Berridge at the outset by my casual "Who's this manChallis?" She certainly atoned by her own manner for my irreverence; shevery obviously tried to impress me. I professed submission, but was notintimidated, rather my curiosity was aroused.
Mrs. Berridge was not able to tell me the one thing I most desired toknow, whether the lord of Challis Court was in residence; but it was notfar to walk, and I set out about two o'clock.
VII
Challis was getting into his motor as I walked up the drive. I hurriedforward to catch him before the machine was started. He saw me comingand paused on the doorstep.
"Did you want to see me?" he asked, as I came up.
"Mr. Challis?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"I won't keep you now," I said, "but perhaps you could let me know sometime when I could see you."
"Oh, yes," he said, with the air of a man who is constantly subjected toannoyance by strangers. "But perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me whatit is you wish to see me about? I might be able to settle it now, atonce."
"I am staying at the Wood Farm," I began. "I am interested in a veryremarkable child----"
"Ah! take my advice, leave him alone," interrupted Challis quickly.
I suppose I looked my amazement, for Challis laughed. "Oh, well," hesaid, "of course you won't take such spontaneous advice as that. I'm inno hurry. Come in." He took off his heavy overcoat and threw it into thetonneau. "Come round again in an hour," he said to the chauffeur.
"It's very good of you," I protested, "I could come quite well at anyother time."
"I'm in no hurry," he repeated. "You had better come to the scene ofVictor Stott's operations. He hasn't been here for six weeks, by theway. Can you throw any light on his absence?"
I made a friend that afternoon. When the car came back at four o'clock,Challis sent it away again. "I shall probably stay down here to-night,"he said to the butler, and to me: "Can you stay to dinner? I mustconvince you about this child."
"I have dined once to-day," I said. "At half-past twelve. I have noother excuse."
"Oh! well," said Challis, "you needn't eat, but I must. Get ussomething, Heathcote," he said to the butler, "and bring tea here."
Much of our conversation after dinner was not relevant to the subject ofthe Wonder; we drifted into a long argument upon human origins which hasno place here. But by that time I had been very well informed as to allthe essential facts of the Wonder's childhood, of his entry into theworld of books, of his earlier methods, and of the significance of thatlong speech in the library. But at that point Challis became reserved.He would give me no details.
"You must forgive me; I can't go into that," he said.
"But it is so incomparably important," I protested.
"That may be, but you must not question me. The truth of the matter isthat I have a very confused memory of what the boy said, and the littleI might remember, I prefer to leave undisturbed."
He piqued my curiosity, but I did not press him. It was so evident thathe did not wish to speak on that head.
He walked up with me to the farm at ten o'clock and came into my room.
"We need not keep you out of bed, Mrs. Berridge," he said to myflustered landlady. "I daresay we shall be up till all hours. We promiseto see that the house is locked up." Mr. Berridge stood a figure ofsubservience in the background.
My books were still heaped on the floor. Challis sat down on thewindow-sill and looked over some of them. "Many of these Master Stottprobably read in my library," he remarked, "in German. Language is nobar to him. He learns a language as you or I would learn a page ofhistory."
Later on, I remember that we came down to essentials. "I must try andunderstand something of this child's capacities," I said in answer to ahint of Challis's that I should leave the Wonder alone. "It seems to methat here we have something which is of the first importance, of greaterimportance, indeed, than anything else in the history of the world."
"But you can't make him speak," said Challis.
"I shall try," I said. "I recognise that we cannot compel him, but Ihave a certain hold over him. I see from what you have told me that hehas treated me with most unusual courtesy. I assure you that severaltimes when I spoke to him this morning he nodded his head."
"A good beginning," laughed Challis.
"I can't understand," I went on, "how it is that you are not moreinterested. It seems to me that this child knows many things which wehave been patiently attempting to discover since the dawn ofcivilisation."
"Quite," said Challis. "I admit that, but ... well, I don't think I wantto know."
"Surely," I said, "this key to all knowledge----"
"We are not ready for it," replied Challis. "You can't teach metaphysicsto children."
Nevertheless my ardour was increased, not abated, by my long talk withChallis.
"I shall go on," I said, as I went out to the farm gate with him athalf-past two in the morning.
"Ah! well," he answered, "I shall come over and see you when I getback." He had told me earlier that he was going abroad for some months.
We hesitated a moment by the gate, and instinctively we both looked upat the vault of the sky and the glimmering dust of stars.
The same thought was probably in both our minds, the thought of theinsignificance of this little system that revolves round one of thelesser lights of the Milky Way, but that thought was not to be expressedsave by some banality, and we did not speak.
"I shall certainly look you up when I come back," said Challis.
"Yes; I hope you will," I said lamely.
I watched the loom of his figure against the vague background till Icould distinguish it no longer.