ain yourself," said Syme.

"With pleasure, if you don't mind hearing my story," replied the eminent
foreign philosopher. "I am by profession an actor, and my name is
Wilks. When I was on the stage I mixed with all sorts of Bohemian and
blackguard company. Sometimes I touched the edge of the turf, sometimes
the riff-raff of the arts, and occasionally the political refugee.
In some den of exiled dreamers I was introduced to the great German
Nihilist philosopher, Professor de Worms. I did not gather much about
him beyond his appearance, which was very disgusting, and which I
studied carefully. I understood that he had proved that the destructive
principle in the universe was God; hence he insisted on the need for a
furious and incessant energy, rending all things in pieces. Energy, he
said, was the All. He was lame, shortsighted, and partially paralytic.
When I met him I was in a frivolous mood, and I disliked him so much
that I resolved to imitate him. If I had been a draughtsman I would have
drawn a caricature. I was only an actor, I could only act a caricature.
I made myself up into what was meant for a wild exaggeration of the
old Professor's dirty old self. When I went into the room full of his
supporters I expected to be received with a roar of laughter, or (if
they were too far gone) with a roar of indignation at the insult. I
cannot describe the surprise I felt when my entrance was received with
a respectful silence, followed (when I had first opened my lips) with
a murmur of admiration. The curse of the perfect artist had fallen upon
me. I had been too subtle, I had been too true. They thought I really
was the great Nihilist Professor. I was a healthy-minded young man
at the time, and I confess that it was a blow. Before I could fully
recover, however, two or three of these admirers ran up to me radiating
indignation, and told me that a public insult had been put upon me in
the next room. I inquired its nature. It seemed that an impertinent
fellow had dressed himself up as a preposterous parody of myself. I had
drunk more champagne than was good for me, and in a flash of folly I
decided to see the situation through. Consequently it was to meet the
glare of the company and my own lifted eyebrows and freezing eyes that
the real Professor came into the room.

"I need hardly say there was a collision. The pessimists all round me
looked anxiously from one Professor to the other Professor to see which
was really the mo