A Last Diary | Page 5

intelligent one,
discusses the bone thoroughly. It discovers the natural law of the bone
that it satisfies hunger and provides happiness, and it forms a scientific
theory (intelligent dog, mind you) to explain this inseparable
correlative phenomenon. It says: 'The world is probably to be
considered as an immense mechanism of separate bone-throwing
machines, worked by an unknown creature. Bone is necessary to the
dog existence as it is the ineffable vital essence of Divine Love in
which we live, move, and have our being. This is so, because it has
been proved by experiment that in the absence of bone-throwers, dogs
have been known to die!
"Of course you laugh. But why not? I cannot help thinking that we may
very well be as much in the dark as the dogs. Our philosophy may be
incorrect in respect of the Universe, Reality, and God as the dog's
philosophy is in respect of the simple process of digestion and the
accompanying physiological changes.
"If I could drop my anchor behind a rock of certainty I should be
greatly relieved, but who can convince a man if he cannot convince
himself?
"To sum up, what I think is that we i.e. 9 each one of us separately are
exceedingly unimportant wisps, little bits of body, mind, and spirit, but
that in the whole, as humanity, we are a great immortal organism of
real import if we could see behind the veil. In other words I regard
individuals as ineffectual units, but the mass as a spiritual power. The
old philosophical idea that the world was a big animal had an element
of truth in it."

It was only by the skin of his teeth that Barbellion passed the doctors
after getting through the scientific examination for the South
Kensington post. He was suffering from chronic dyspepsia, he was
more than six feet in height, and as thin as a rake, and he looked like a
typical consumptive. The medical gentlemen solemnly shook their
heads, but after scrutinising him with as much care as if he were one of
his own museum specimens they could discover no organic defect, and
their inability to "classify" him no doubt saved Barbellion from what
would have been the most dreadful disappointment of his life. His
appearance, notwithstanding his emaciation, was striking. His great
height, causing him to stoop slightly, produced an air and attitude of
studiousness peculiar to himself. A head of noble proportions was
crowned by a thick mass of soft, brown hair tumbling carelessly about
his brow. Deepset, lustrous eyes, wide apart and aglow with eager life,
lighted up a pale, sharply pointed countenance with an indescribable
vividness of expression. His nose, once straight and shapely, owing to
an accident was irregular in its contour, but by no means unpleasing in
its irregularity, for it imparted a kind of rugged friendliness to the
whole face; and he had a curious habit in moments of animation of
visibly dilating the nostrils, as if unable to contain his excitement. His
mouth was large, firm, yet mobile, and his chin like a rock. He had a
musical voice, which he used without effort, and when he spoke,
especially when he chose to let himself go on any subject that had
aroused his interest, the energetic play of his features, the vital intensity
which he threw into every expression, had an irresistible effect of
compulsion upon his friends. His hands were strong and sensitive, with
a remarkable fineness of touch very useful to him in the laboratory, and
it was always a pleasure to watch them at work upon a delicate
dissection. His hands and arms were much more active members than
his legs. In conversation he tried in vain to control a lifelong and
amusing habit of throwing them out and beating the air violently to
emphasise a point in argument. But he moved and walked languidly,
like a tired man, as indeed he was. He was continuously unwell
"chronically sub-normal" was how he once described his condition to
me, half playfully. He had lost forever that sense of abounding physical
well-being which gives zest to living and strength to endure. But he has
discussed his own symptoms in the Journal with a force and ironic

humour that I have not the capacity or the will to imitate. I will say no
more than that those who were closest to him remember with
wondering admiration the magnificent struggle which he maintained
against his illness and its effect upon his work. His attacks of
depression he kept almost invariably to himself. In the presence of
others he was full of high courage, engrossed in his plans for the future,
strong in the determination not to be mastered by physical weakness. "I
am not going to be beaten" he declared