diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696-0.txt | 388 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696-0.zip | bin | 102268 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696-8.txt | 6397 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696-8.zip | bin | 102011 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696-h.zip | bin | 268909 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696-h/43696-h.htm | 416 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696.txt | 6397 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 43696.zip | bin | 101983 -> 0 bytes |
8 files changed, 5 insertions, 13593 deletions
diff --git a/43696-0.txt b/43696-0.txt index f956aa7..d892235 100644 --- a/43696-0.txt +++ b/43696-0.txt @@ -1,33 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Story of Mary MacLane - -Author: Mary MacLane - -Release Date: September 11, 2013 [EBook #43696] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - - - - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43696 *** [Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and small-capital text by =equal signs=.] @@ -6039,359 +6010,4 @@ THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - -***** This file should be named 43696-0.txt or 43696-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/6/9/43696/ - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43696 *** diff --git a/43696-0.zip b/43696-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f66b57d..0000000 --- a/43696-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/43696-8.txt b/43696-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ce56700..0000000 --- a/43696-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6397 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Story of Mary MacLane - -Author: Mary MacLane - -Release Date: September 11, 2013 [EBook #43696] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - - - - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - - - - - -[Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and -small-capital text by =equal signs=.] - - - - - The STORY of MARY MACLANE - - - - - [Photograph: _MARY MACLANE_] - - - - - The STORY - of - MARY MACLANE - - - BY HERSELF - - - [Illustration: Publisher's logo] - - - CHICAGO - HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY - MCMII - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY - HERBERT S. STONE & CO - PUBLISHED APRIL 26, 1902 - - - - -The Story of Mary MacLane - - - - - Butte, Montana, - January 13, 1901. - -I of womankind and of nineteen years, will now begin to set down as -full and frank a Portrayal as I am able of myself, Mary MacLane, -for whom the world contains not a parallel. - -I am convinced of this, for I am odd. - -I am distinctly original innately and in development. - -I have in me a quite unusual intensity of life. - -I can feel. - -I have a marvelous capacity for misery and for happiness. - -I am broad-minded. - -I am a genius. - -I am a philosopher of my own good peripatetic school. - -I care neither for right nor for wrong--my conscience is nil. - -My brain is a conglomeration of aggressive versatility. - -I have reached a truly wonderful state of miserable morbid unhappiness. - -I know myself, oh, very well. - -I have attained an egotism that is rare indeed. - -I have gone into the deep shadows. - -All this constitutes oddity. I find, therefore, that I am quite, -quite odd. - -I have hunted for even the suggestion of a parallel among the several -hundred persons that I call acquaintances. But in vain. There are -people and people of varying depths and intricacies of character, -but there is none to compare with me. The young ones of my own -age--if I chance to give them but a glimpse of the real workings of -my mind--can only stare at me in dazed stupidity, uncomprehending; -and the old ones of forty and fifty--for forty and fifty are always -old to nineteen--can but either stare also in stupidity, or else, -their own narrowness asserting itself, smile their little devilish -smile of superiority which they reserve indiscriminately for all -foolish young things. The utter idiocy of forty and fifty at times! - -These, to be sure, are extreme instances. There are among my young -acquaintances some who do not stare in stupidity, and yes, even at -forty and fifty there are some who understand some phases of my -complicated character, though none to comprehend it in its entirety. - -But, as I said, even the suggestion of a parallel is not to be -found among them. - -I think at this moment, however, of two minds famous in the -world of letters between which and mine there are certain fine -points of similarity. These are the minds of Lord Byron and of -Marie Bashkirtseff. It is the Byron of "Don Juan" in whom I find -suggestions of myself. In this sublime outpouring there are few -to admire the character of Don Juan, but all must admire Byron. He -is truly admirable. He uncovered and exposed his soul of mingled -good and bad--as the terms are--for the world to gaze upon. He knew -the human race, and he knew himself. - -As for that strange notable, Marie Bashkirtseff, yes, I am rather -like her in many points, as I've been told. But in most things I -go beyond her. - -Where she is deep, I am deeper. - -Where she is wonderful in her intensity, I am still more wonderful -in my intensity. - -Where she had philosophy, I am a philosopher. - -Where she had astonishing vanity and conceit, I have yet more -astonishing vanity and conceit. - -But she, forsooth, could paint good pictures,--and I--what can -I do? - -She had a beautiful face, and I am a plain-featured, insignificant -little animal. - -She was surrounded by admiring, sympathetic friends, and I am -alone--alone, though there are people and people. - -She was a genius, and still more am I a genius. - -She suffered with the pain of a woman, young; and I suffer with -the pain of a woman, young and all alone. - -And so it is. - -Along some lines I have gotten to the edge of the world. A step -more and I fall off. I do not take the step. I stand on the edge, -and I suffer. - -Nothing, oh, nothing on the earth can suffer like a woman young -and all alone! - ---Before proceeding farther with the Portraying of Mary MacLane, -I will write out some of her uninteresting history. - -I was born in 1881 at Winnepeg, in Canada. Whether Winnepeg will -yet live to be proud of this fact is a matter for some conjecture -and anxiety on my part. When I was four years old I was taken with -my family to a little town in western Minnesota, where I lived a -more or less vapid and lonely life until I was ten. We came then -to Montana. - -Whereat the aforesaid life was continued. - -My father died when I was eight. - -Apart from feeding and clothing me comfortably and sending me to -school--which is no more than was due me--and transmitting to me -the MacLane blood and character, I can not see that he ever gave -me a single thought. - -Certainly he did not love me, for he was quite incapable of loving -any one but himself. And since nothing is of any moment in this -world without the love of human beings for each other, it is a -matter of supreme indifference to me whether my father, Jim MacLane -of selfish memory, lived or died. - -He is nothing to me. - -There are with me still a mother, a sister, and two brothers. - -They also are nothing to me. - -They do not understand me any more than if I were some strange live -curiosity, as which I dare say they regard me. - -I am peculiarly of the MacLane blood, which is Highland Scotch. My -sister and brothers inherit the traits of their mother's family, -which is of Scotch Lowland descent. This alone makes no small degree -of difference. Apart from this the MacLanes--these particular -MacLanes--are just a little bit different from every family in -Canada, and from every other that I've known. It contains and has -contained fanatics of many minds--religious, social, whatnot, and -I am a true MacLane. - -There is absolutely no sympathy between my immediate family and -me. There can never be. My mother, having been with me during the -whole of my nineteen years, has an utterly distorted idea of my -nature and its desires, if indeed she has any idea of it. - -When I think of the exquisite love and sympathy which might be -between a mother and daughter, I feel myself defrauded of a beautiful -thing rightfully mine, in a world where for me such things are -pitiably few. - -It will always be so. - -My sister and brothers are not interested in me and my analyses -and philosophy, and my wants. Their own are strictly practical and -material. The love and sympathy between human beings is to them, -it seems, a thing only for people in books. - -In short, they are Lowland Scotch, and I am a MacLane. - -And so, as I've said, I carried my uninteresting existence into -Montana. The existence became less uninteresting, however, as my -versatile mind began to develop and grow and know the glittering -things that are. But I realized as the years were passing that my -own life was at best a vapid, negative thing. - -A thousand treasures that I wanted were lacking. - -I graduated from the high school with these things: very good Latin; -good French and Greek; indifferent geometry and other mathematics; a -broad conception of history and literature; peripatetic philosophy -that I acquired without any aid from the high school; genius of a -kind, that has always been with me; an empty heart that has taken on -a certain wooden quality; an excellent strong young woman's-body; -a pitiably starved soul. - -With this equipment I have gone my way through the last two years. -But my life, though unsatisfying and warped, is no longer insipid. -It is fraught with a poignant misery--the misery of nothingness. - -I have no particular thing to occupy me. I write every day. Writing -is a necessity--like eating. I do a little housework, and on the -whole I am rather fond of it--some parts of it. I dislike dusting -chairs, but I have no aversion to scrubbing floors. Indeed, I have -gained much of my strength and gracefulness of body from scrubbing -the kitchen floor--to say nothing of some fine points of philosophy. -It brings a certain energy to one's body and to one's brain. - -But mostly I take walks far away in the open country. Butte and its -immediate vicinity present as ugly an outlook as one could wish to -see. It is so ugly indeed that it is near the perfection of ugliness. -And anything perfect, or nearly so, is not to be despised. I have -reached some astonishing subtleties of conception as I have walked -for miles over the sand and barrenness among the little hills and -gulches. Their utter desolateness is an inspiration to the long, -long thoughts and to the nameless wanting. Every day I walk over -the sand and barrenness. - -And so, then, my daily life seems an ordinary life enough, and -possibly, to an ordinary person, a comfortable life. - -That's as may be. - -To me it is an empty, damned weariness. - -I rise in the morning; eat three meals; and walk; and work a little, -read a little, write; see some uninteresting people; go to bed. - -Next day, I rise in the morning; eat three meals; and walk; and -work a little, read a little, write; see some uninteresting people; -go to bed. - -Again I rise in the morning; eat three meals; and walk; and work -a little, read a little, write; see some uninteresting people; go -to bed. - -Truly an exalted, soulful life! - -What it does for me, how it affects me, I am now trying to portray. - - - - - January 14. - -I have in me the germs of intense life. If I could _live_, and if -I could succeed in writing out my living, the world itself would -feel the heavy intensity of it. - -I have the personality, the nature, of a Napoleon, albeit a feminine -translation. And therefore I do not conquer; I do not even fight. -I manage only to exist. - -Poor little Mary MacLane!--what might you not be? What wonderful -things might you not do? But held down, half-buried, a seed fallen -in barren ground, alone, uncomprehended, obscure--poor little Mary -MacLane! Weep, world,--why don't you?--for poor little Mary MacLane! - -Had I been born a man I would by now have made a deep impression -of myself on the world--on some part of it. But I am a woman, and -God, or the Devil, or Fate, or whosoever it was, has flayed me of -the thick outer skin and thrown me out into the midst of life--has -left me a lonely, damned thing filled with the red, red blood of -ambition and desire, but afraid to be touched, for there is no -thick skin between my sensitive flesh and the world's fingers. - -But I want to be touched. - -Napoleon was a man, and though sensitive his flesh was safely -covered. - -But I am a woman, awakening, and upon awakening and looking about -me, I would fain turn and go back to sleep. - -There is a pain that goes with these things when one is a woman, -young, and all alone. - -I am filled with an ambition. I wish to give to the world a naked -Portrayal of Mary MacLane: her wooden heart, her good young -woman's-body, her mind, her soul. - -I wish to write, write, write! - -I wish to acquire that beautiful, benign, gentle, satisfying -thing--Fame. I want it--oh, I want it! I wish to leave all my -obscurity, my misery--my weary unhappiness--behind me forever. - -I am deadly, deadly tired of my unhappiness. - -I wish this Portrayal to be published and launched into that deep -salt sea--the world. There are some there surely who will understand -it and me. - -Can I be that thing which I am--can I be possessed of a peculiar -rare genius, and yet drag out my life in obscurity in this uncouth, -warped, Montana town? - -It must be impossible! If I thought the world contained nothing more -than that for me--oh, what should I do? Would I make an end of my -dreary little life now? I fear I would. I am a philosopher--and a -coward. And it were infinitely better to die now in the high-beating -pulses of youth than to drag on, year after year, year after year, -and find oneself at last a stagnant old woman, spiritless, hopeless, -with a declining body, a declining mind,--and nothing to look back -upon except the visions of things that might have been--and the -weariness. - -I see the picture. I see it plainly. Oh, kind Devil, deliver me -from it! - -Surely there must be in a world of manifold beautiful things -something among them for me. And always, while I am still young, -there is that dim light, the Future. But it is indeed a dim, dim -light, and ofttimes there's a treachery in it. - - - - - January 15. - -So then, yes. I find myself at this stage of womankind and nineteen -years, a genius, a thief, a liar--a general moral vagabond, a fool -more or less, and a philosopher of the peripatetic school. Also I -find that even this combination can not make one happy. It serves, -however, to occupy my versatile mind, to keep me wondering what it -is a kind Devil has in store for me. - -A philosopher of my own peripatetic school--hour after hour I walk -over the desolate sand and dreariness among tiny hills and gulches -on the outskirts of this mining town; in the morning, in the long -afternoon, in the cool of the night. And hour after hour, as I walk, -through my brain some long, long pageants march: the pageant of my -fancies, the pageant of my unparalleled egotism, the pageant of my -unhappiness, the pageant of my minute analyzing, the pageant of -my peculiar philosophy, the pageant of my dull, dull life,--and -the pageant of the Possibilities. - -We three go out on the sand and barrenness: my wooden heart, my -good young woman's-body, my soul. We go there and contemplate the -long sandy wastes, the red, red line on the sky at the setting of -the sun, the cold gloomy mountains under it, the ground without a -weed, without a grass-blade even in their season--for they have -years ago been killed off by the sulphur smoke from the smelters. - -So this sand and barrenness forms the setting for the personality -of me. - - - - - January 16. - -I feel about forty years old. - -Yet I know my feeling is not the feeling of forty years. These are -the feelings of miserable, wretched youth. - -Every day the atmosphere of a house becomes unbearable, so every -day I go out to the sand and barrenness. It is not cold, neither -is it mild. It is gloomy. - -I sit for two hours on the ground by the side of a pitiably small -narrow stream of water. It is not even a natural stream. I dare -say it comes from some mine among the hills. But it is well enough -that the stream is not natural--when you consider the sand and -barrenness. It is singularly appropriate. - -And I am singularly appropriate to all of them. It is good, after -all, to be appropriate to something--to be in touch with something, -even sand and barrenness. The sand and barrenness is old--oh, very -old. You think of this when you look at it. - -What should I do if the earth were made of wood, with a paper sky! - -I feel about forty years old. - -And again I say I know my feeling is not the feeling of forty years. -These are the feelings of miserable, wretched youth. - -Still more pitiable than the sand and barrenness and the poor -unnatural stream is the dry, warped cemetery where the dry, -warped people of Butte bury their dead friends. It is a source of -satisfaction to me to walk down to this cemetery and contemplate -it, and revel in its utter pitiableness. - -"It is more pitiable than I and my sand and barrenness and my poor -unnatural stream," I say over and over, and take my comfort. - -Its condition is more forlorn than that of a woman young and alone. -It is unkempt. It is choked with dust and stones. The few scattered -blades of grass look rather ashamed to be seen growing there. A -great many of the headstones are of wood and are in a shameful -state of decay. Those that are of stone are still more shameful in -their hard brightness. - -The dry, warped friends of the dry, warped people of Butte are -buried in this dusty, dreary, wind-havocked waste. They are left -here and forgotten. - -The Devil must rejoice in this graveyard. - -And I rejoice with the Devil. - -It is something for me to contemplate that is more pitiable than -I and my sand and barrenness and my unnatural stream. - -I rejoice with the Devil. - -The inhabitants of this cemetery are forgotten. I have watched once -the burying of a young child. Every day for a fortnight afterward I -came back, and I saw the mother of the child there. She came and -stood by the small new grave. After a few days more she stopped -coming. - -I knew the woman and went to her house to see her. She was beginning -to forget the child. She was beginning to take up again the thread -of her life where she had let it go. The thread of her life is -involved in the divorces and fights of her neighbors. - -Out in the warped graveyard her child is forgotten. And presently -the wooden headstone will begin to decay. But the worms will not -forget their part. They have eaten the small body by now, and -enjoyed it. Always worms enjoy a body to eat. - -And also the Devil rejoiced. - -And I rejoiced with the Devil. - -They are more pitiable, I insist, than I and my sand and -barrenness--the mother whose life is involved in divorces and -fights, and the worms eating at the child's body, and the wooden -headstone which will presently decay. - -And so the Devil and I rejoice. - -But no matter how ferociously pitiable is the dried-up graveyard, -the sand and barrenness and the sluggish little stream have their -own persistent individual damnation. The world is at least so -constructed that its treasures may be damned each in a different -manner and degree. - -I feel about forty years old. - -And I know my feeling is not the feeling of forty years. They do -not feel any of these things at forty. At forty the fire has long -since burned out. When I am forty I shall look back to myself and -my feelings at nineteen--and I shall smile. - -Or shall I indeed smile? - - - - - January 17. - -As I have said, I want Fame. I want to write--to write such things -as compel the admiring acclamations of the world at large; such -things as are written but once in years, things subtly but distinctly -different from the books written every day. - -I can do this. - -Let me but make a beginning, let me but strike the world in a -vulnerable spot, and I can take it by storm. Let me but win my -spurs, and then you will see me--of womankind and young--valiantly -astride a charger riding down the world, with Fame following at -the charger's heels, and the multitudes agape. - -But oh, more than all this I want to be happy! - -Fame is indeed benign and gentle and satisfying. But Happiness is -something at once tender and brilliant beyond all things. - -I want Fame more than I can tell. - -But more than I want Fame I want Happiness. I have never been happy -in my weary young life. - -Think, oh, _think_, of being happy for a year--for a day! How -brilliantly blue the sky would be; how swiftly and joyously would -the green rivers run; how madly, merrily triumphant the four winds -of heaven would sweep round the corners of the fair earth! - -What would I not give for one day, one hour, of that charmed thing -Happiness! What would I not give up? - -How we eager fools tread on each other's heels, and tear each other's -hair, and scratch each other's faces, in our furious gallop after -Happiness! For some it is embodied in Fame, for some in Money, for -some in Power, for some in Virtue--and for me in something very -much like love. - -None of the other fools desires Happiness as I desire it. For one -single hour of Happiness I would give up at once these things: Fame, -and Money, and Power, and Virtue, and Honor, and Righteousness, and -Truth, and Logic, and Philosophy, and Genius. The while I would -say, What a little, little price to pay for dear Happiness! - -I am ready and waiting to give all that I have to the Devil in -exchange for Happiness. I have been tortured so long with the dull, -dull misery of Nothingness--all my nineteen years. I want to be -happy--oh, I want to be happy! - -The Devil has not yet come. But I know that he usually comes, and -I wait him eagerly. - -I am fortunate that I am not one of those who are burdened with -an innate sense of virtue and honor which must come always before -Happiness. They are but few who find their Happiness in their -Virtue. The rest of them must be content to see it walk away. But -with me Virtue and Honor are nothing. - -I long unspeakably for Happiness. - -And so I await the Devil's coming. - - - - - January 18. - -And meanwhile--as I wait--my mind occupies itself with its own -good odd philosophy, so that even the Nothingness becomes almost -endurable. - -The Devil has given me some good things--for I find that the Devil -owns and rules the earth and all that therein is. He has given me, -among other things--my admirable young woman's-body, which I enjoy -thoroughly and of which I am passionately fond. - -A spasm of pleasure seizes me when I think in some acute moment of -the buoyant health and vitality of this fine young body that is -feminine in every fiber. - -You may gaze at and admire the picture in the front of this book. -It is the picture of a genius--a genius with a good strong young -woman's-body,--and inside the pictured body is a liver, a MacLane -liver, of admirable perfectness. - -Other young women and older women and men of all ages have good -bodies also, I doubt not--though the masculine body is merely flesh, -it seems, flesh and bones and nothing else. But few recognize the -value of their bodies; few have grasped the possibilities, the -artistic graceful perfection, the poetry of human flesh in its -health. Few have even sense enough indeed to keep their flesh in -health, or to know what health is until they have ruined some vital -organ, and so banished it forever. - -I have not ruined any of my vital organs, and I appreciate what -health is. I have grasped the art, the poetry of my fine feminine -body. - -This at the age of nineteen is a triumph for me. - -Sometime in the midst of the brightness of an October I have walked -for miles in the still high air under the blue of the sky. The -brightness of the day and the blue of the sky and the incomparable -high air have entered into my veins and flowed with my red blood. -They have penetrated into every remote nerve-center and into the -marrow of my bones. - -At such a time this young body glows with life. - -My red blood flows swiftly and joyously--in the midst of the -brightness of October. - -My sound, sensitive liver rests gently with its thin yellow bile -in sweet content. - -My calm, beautiful stomach silently sings, as I walk, a song of -peace. - -My lungs, saturated with mountain ozone and the perfume of the -pines, expand in continuous ecstasy. - -My heart beats like the music of Schumann, in easy, graceful rhythm -with an undertone of power. - -My strong and sensitive nerves are reeking and swimming in sensuality -like drunken little Bacchantes, gay and garlanded in mad revelling. - -The entire wonderful, graceful mechanism of my woman's-body has -fallen at the time--like the wonderful, graceful mechanism of my -woman's-mind--under the enchanting spell of a day in October. - -"It is good," I think to myself, "oh, it is good to be alive! It -is wondrously good to be a woman young in the fullness of nineteen -springs. It is unutterably lovely to be a healthy young animal -living on this charmed earth." - -After I have walked for several hours I reach a region where the -sulphur smoke has not penetrated, and I sit on the ground with -drawn-up knees and rest as the shadows lengthen. The shadows lengthen -early in October. - -Presently I lie flat on my back and stretch my lithe slimness to its -utmost like a mountain lioness taking her comfort. I am intensely -thankful to the Devil for my two good legs and the full use of -them under a short skirt, when, as now, they carry me out beyond -the pale of civilization away from tiresome dull people. There is -nothing in the world that can become so maddeningly wearisome as -people, people, people! - -And so, Devil, accept, for my two good legs, my sincerest gratitude. -I lie on the ground for some minutes and meditate idly. There is -a worldful of easy indolent, beautiful sensuality in the figure -of a young woman lying on the ground under a warm setting sun. A -man may lie on the ground--but that is as far as it goes. A man -would go to sleep, probably, like a dog or a pig. He would even -snore, perhaps--under the setting sun. But then, a man has not a -good young feminine body to feel with, to receive into itself the -spirit of a warm sun at its setting, on a day in October,--and so -let us forgive him for sleeping, and for snoring. - -When I rise again to a sitting posture all the brightness has focused -itself to the west. It casts a yellow glamor over the earth, a -glamor not of joy, nor of pleasure, nor of happiness--but of peace. - -The young poplar trees smile gently in the deathly still air. The -sage brush and the tall grass take on a radiant quietness. The high -hills of Montana, near and distant, appear tender and benign. All -is peace--peace. I think of that beautiful old song: - - "Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest - In thy bosom of shade----." - -But I am too young yet to think of peace. It is not peace that I -want. Peace is for forty and fifty. I am waiting for my Experience. - -I am awaiting the coming of the Devil. - -And now, just before twilight, after the sun has vanished over the -edge, is the red, red line on the sky. - -There will be days wild and stormy, filled with rain and wind and -hail; and yet nearly always at the sun's setting there will be -calm--and the red line of sky. - -There is nothing in the world quite like this red sky at sunset. -It is Glory, Triumph, Love, Fame! - -Imagine a life bereft of things, and fingers pointed at it, and -eyebrows raised; tossed and bandied hither and yon; crushed, beaten, -bled, rent asunder, outraged, convulsed with pain; and then, into -this life while still young, the red, red line of sky! - -Why did I cry out against Fate, says the line; why did I rebel -against my term of anguish! I now rather rejoice at it; now in my -Happiness I remember it only with deep pleasure. - -Think of that wonderful, admirable, matchless man of steel, Napoleon -Bonaparte. He threw himself heavily on the world, and the world has -never since been the same. He hated himself, and the world, and -God, and Fate, and the Devil. His hatred was his term of anguish. - -Then the sun threw on the sky for him a red, red line--the red line -of Triumph, Glory, Fame! - -And afterward there was the blackness of Night, the blackness that -is not tender, not gentle. - -But black as our Night may be, nothing can take from us the memory -of the red, red sky. "Memory is possession," and so the red sky we -have with us always. - -Oh, Devil, Fate, World--some one, bring me my red sky! For a little -brief time, and I will be satisfied. Bring it to me intensely -red, intensely full, intensely alive! Short as you will, but red, -red, red! - -I am weary--weary, and, oh, I want my red sky! Short as it might -be, its memory, its fragrance would stay with me always--always. -Bring me, Devil, my red line of sky for one hour and take all, -_all_--everything I possess. Let me keep my Happiness for one short -hour, and take away all from me forever. I will be satisfied when -Night has come and everything is gone. - -Oh, I await you, Devil, in a wild frenzy of impatience! - -And as I hurry back through the cool darkness of October, I feel -this frenzy in every fiber of my fervid woman's-body. - - - - - January 19. - -I come from a long line of Scotch and Canadian MacLanes. There are -a great many MacLanes, but there is usually only one real MacLane -in each generation. There is but one who feels again the passionate -spirit of the clans, those barbaric dwellers in the bleak, but -well-beloved Highlands of Scotland. - -I am the real MacLane of my generation. The real MacLane in these -later centuries is always a woman. The men of the family never amount -to anything worth naming--if one accepts the acme, the zenith, of -pure selfishness, with a large letter "s." Life may be easy enough -for the innumerable Canadian MacLanes who are not real. But it is -certain to be more or less a Hill of Difficulty for the one who is. -She finds herself somewhat alone. I have brothers and a sister and -a mother in the same house with me--and I find myself somewhat -alone. Between them and me there is no tenderness, no sympathy, no -binding ties. Would it affect me in the least--do you suppose--if -they should all die to-morrow? If I were not a real MacLane perhaps -it would have been different, or perhaps I should not have missed -these things. - -How much, Devil, have I lost for the privilege of being a real -MacLane? - -But yes, I have also gained much. - - - - - January 20. - -I have said that I am alone. - -I am not quite, quite alone. - -I have one friend--of that Friendship that is real and is inlaid -with the beautiful thing Truth. And because it has the beautiful -thing Truth in it, this my one Friendship is somehow above and -beyond me; there is something in it that I reach after in vain--for -I have not that divinely beautiful thing Truth. Have I not said -that I am a thief and a liar? But in this Friendship nevertheless -there is a rare, ineffably sweet something that is mine. It is the -one tender thing in this dull dreariness that wraps me round. - -Are there many things in this cool-hearted world so utterly exquisite -as the pure love of one woman for another woman? - -My one friend is a woman some twelve or thirteen years older than I. -She is as different from me as is day from night. She believes in -God--that God that is shown in the Bible of the Christians. And she -carries with her an atmosphere of gentleness and truth. The while I -am ready and waiting to dedicate my life to the Devil in exchange -for Happiness--or some lesser thing. But I love Fannie Corbin with -a peculiar and vivid intensity, and with all the sincerity and -passion that is in me. Often I think of her, as I walk over the -sand in my Nothingness, all day long. The Friendship of her and -me is a fair, dear benediction upon me, but there is something in -it--deep within it--that eludes me. In moments when I realize this, -when I strain and reach vainly at a thing beyond me, when indeed -I see in my mind a vision of the personality of Fannie Corbin, it -is then that it comes on me with force that I am not good. - -But I can love her with all the ardor of a young and passionate -heart. - -Yes, I can do that. - -For a year I have loved my one friend. During the eighteen years -of my life before she came into it I loved no one, for there was -no one. - -It is an extremely hard thing to go through eighteen years with no -one to love, and no one to love you--the first eighteen years. - -But now I have my one friend to love and to worship. - -I have named my friend the "anemone lady," a name beautifully -appropriate. - -The anemone lady used to teach me literature in the Butte High -School. She used to read poetry in the class-room in a clear, sweet -voice that made one wish one might sit there forever and listen -to it. - -But now I have left the high school, and the dear anemone lady has -gone from Butte. Before she went she told me she would be my friend. - -Think of it--to live and have a friend! - -My friend does not fully understand me; she thinks much too well -of me. She has not a correct idea of my soul's depths and shallows. -But if she did know them she would still be my friend. She knows -the heavy weight of my unrest and unhappiness. She is tenderly -sympathetic. She is the one in all the world who is dear to me. - -Often I think, if only I could have my anemone lady and go and live -with her in some little out-of-the-world place high up on the side -of a mountain for the rest of my life--what more would I desire? My -friendship would constitute my life. The unrest, the dreariness, -the Nothingness of my existence now is so dull and gray by contrast -that there would be Happiness for me in that life, Happiness softly -radiant, if quiet--redolent of the fresh, thin fragrance of the -dear blue anemone that grows in the winds and rains of spring. - -But Miss Corbin would doubtless look somewhat askance at the idea -of spending the rest of her life with me on a mountain. She is -very fond of me, but her feeling for me is not like mine for -her, which indeed is natural. And her life is made up mostly of -sacrifices--doing for her fellow-creatures, giving of herself. She -never would leave this. - -And so, then, the mountainside and the solitude and the friend with -me are, like every good thing, but a vision. - -"Thy friend is always thy friend; not to have, nor to hold, nor to -love, nor to rejoice in: but to remember." - -And so do I remember my one friend, the anemone lady--and think -often about her with passionate love. - - - - - January 21. - -Happiness, don't you know, is of three kinds--and all are transitory. -It never stays, but it comes and goes. - -There is that happiness that comes from newly-washed feet, for -instance, and a pair of clean stockings on them, particularly -after one has been upon a tramp into the country. Always I have -identified this kind of happiness with a Maltese cat, dipping a -hungry, stealthy, sensual tongue into a bowl of fresh, thick cream. - -There is that still happiness that has come to me at rare times -when I have been with my one friend--and which does very well for -people whose feelings are moderate. They need wish for nothing -beyond it. They could not appreciate anything deeper. - -And there is that kind of happiness which is of the red sunset sky. -There is something terrible in the thought of this indescribable mad -Happiness. What a thing it is for a human being to be _happy_--with -the red, red Happiness of the sunset sky! - -It's like a terrific storm in summer with rain and wind, beating quiet -water into wild waves, bending great trees to the ground,--convulsing -the green earth with delicious pain. - -It's like something of Schubert's played on the violin that stirs -you within to exquisite torture. - -It's like the human voice divine singing a Scotch ballad in a manner -to drag your soul from your body. - -But there are no words to tell it. It is something infinitely above -and beyond words. It is the kind of Happiness the Devil will bring -to me when he comes,--to me, to _me_! Oh, why does he not come now -when I am in the midst of my youth! Why is he so long in coming? - -Often you hear a dozen stories of how the Devil was most ready -and willing to take all from some one and give him his measure of -Happiness. And sometimes the person was innately virtuous and so -could not take the Happiness when it was offered. But Happiness is -its own justification, and it should be eagerly grasped when it -comes. - -A world filled with fools will never learn this. - -And so here I stand in the midst of Nothingness waiting and longing -for the Devil, and he doesn't come. I feel a choking, strangling, -frenzied feeling of waiting--oh, why doesn't my Happiness come! I -have waited so long--so long. - -There are persons who say to me that I ought not to think of the -Devil, that I ought not to think of Happiness--Happiness for me -would be sure to mean something wicked (as if Happiness could ever -be wicked!); that I ought to think of being good. I ought to think -of God. These are persons who help to fill the world with fools. At -any rate their words are unable to affect me. I can not distinguish -between right and wrong in this scheme of things. It is one of the -lines of reasoning in which I have gotten to the edge, the end. I -have gotten to the point to which all logic finally leads. I can -only say, What is wrong? What is right? What is good? What is evil? -The words are merely words, with word-meanings. - -Truth is Love, and Love is the only Truth, and Love is the one -thing out of all that is real. - -The Devil is really the only one to whom we may turn, and he exacts -payment in full for every favor. - -But surely he will come one day with Happiness for me. - -Yet, oh, how can I wait! - -To be a woman, young and all alone, is hard--_hard_!--is to want -things, is to carry a heavy, heavy weight. - -Oh, damn! damn! damn! Damn every living thing, the world!--the -universe be damned! - -Oh, I am weary, weary! Can't you see that I am weary and pity me -in my own damnation? - - - - - January 22. - -It is night. I might well be in my bed taking a needed rest. But -first I shall write. - -To-day I walked far away over the sand in the teeth of a bitter -wind. The wind was determined that I should turn and come back, -and equally I was determined I would go on. I went on. - -There is a certain kind of wind in the autumn to walk in the midst -of which causes one's spirits to rise ecstatically. To walk in the -midst of a bitter wind in January may have almost any effect. - -To-day the bitter wind swept over me and around me and into the -remote corners of my brain and swept away the delusions, and buffeted -my philosophy with rough insolence. - -The world is made up mostly of nothing. You may be convinced of -this when a bitter wind has swept away your delusions. - -What is the wind? - -Nothing. - -What is the sky? - -Nothing. - -What do we know? - -Nothing. - -What is fame? - -Nothing. - -What is my heart? - -Nothing. - -What is my soul? - -Nothing. - -What are we? - -We are nothing. - -We think we progress wonderfully in the arts and sciences as one -century follows another. What does it amount to? It does not teach -us the all-why. It does not let us cease to wonder what it is that -we are doing, where it is that we are going. It does not teach us -why the green comes again to the old, old hills in the spring; why -the benign balm-o'-Gilead shines wet and sweet after the rain; -why the red never fails to come to the breast of the robin, the -black to the crow, the gray to the little wren; why the sand and -barrenness lies stretched out around us; why the clouds float high -above us; why the moon stands in the sky, night after night; why -the mountains and valleys live on as the years pass. - -The arts and sciences go on and on--still we wonder. We have not yet -ceased to weep. And we suffer still in 1902, even as they suffered -in 1802, and in 802. - -To-day we eat our good dinners with forks. - -A thousand years ago they had no forks. - -Yet, though we have forks, we are not happy. We scream and kick -and struggle and weep just as they did a thousand years ago--when -they had no forks. - -We are "no wiser than when Omar fell asleep." - -And in the midst of our great wondering, we wonder why some of us -are given faith to trust without question, while the rest of us -are left to eat out our life's vitals with asking. - -I have walked once in summer by the side of a little marsh filled -with mint and white hawthorn. The mint and white hawthorn have with -them a vivid, rare, delicious perfume. It makes you want to grovel -on the ground--it makes you think you might crawl in the dust all -your days, and well for you. The perfume lingers with you afterward -when years have passed. You may scream and kick and struggle and -weep right lustily every day of your life, but in your moments of -calmness sometimes there will come back to you the fragrance of a -swamp filled with mint and white hawthorn. - -It is meltingly beautiful. - -What does it mean? - -What would it tell? - -Why does the marsh, and the mint and white hawthorn, freeze over -in the fall? And why do they come again, voluptuous, enticing, in -the damp spring days--and rack the souls of wretches who look and -wonder? - -You are superb, Devil! You have done a magnificent piece of work. I -kneel at your feet and worship you. You have wrought a perfection, -a pinnacle of fine, invisible damnation. - -The world is like a little marsh filled with mint and white -hawthorn. It is filled with things likewise damnably beautiful. -There are the green, green grass-blades and the gray dawns; there -are swiftly-flowing rivers and the honking of wild geese, flying -low; there are human voices and human eyes; there are stories of -women and men who have learned to give up and to wait; there is -poetry; there is Charity; there is Truth. - -The Devil has made all of these things, and also he has made human -beings who can feel. - -Who was it that said, long ago, "Life is always a tragedy to those -who feel"? - -In truth, the Devil has constructed a place of infinite torture--the -fair green earth, the world. - -But he has made that other infinite thing--Happiness. I forgive him -for making me wonder, since possibly he may bring me Happiness. I -cast myself at his feet. I adore him. - -The first third of our lives is spent in the expectation of Happiness. -Then it comes, perhaps, and stays ten years, or a month, or three -days, and the rest of our lives is spent in peace and rest--with -the memory of the Happiness. - -Happiness--though it is infinite--is a transient emotion. - -It is too brilliant, too magnificent, too overwhelming to be a -lasting thing. And it is merely an emotion. But, ah--_such_ an -emotion! Through it the Devil rules his domains. What would one -not do to have it! - -I can think of no so-called vile deed that I would scruple about if -I could be happy. Everything is justified if it gives me Happiness. -The Devil has done me some great favors; he has made me without a -conscience, and without Virtue. - -For which I thank thee, Devil. - -At least I shall be able to take my Happiness when it comes--even -though the piles of nice distinctions between it and me be mountains -high. - -But meanwhile, the world, I say, and the people are nothing, nothing, -nothing. The splendid castles, the strong bridges, that we are -building are of small moment. We can only go down the wide roadway -wondering and weeping, and without where to lay our heads. - - - - - January 23. - -I have eaten my dinner. - -I have had, among other things, fine, rare-broiled porterhouse steak -from Omaha, and some fresh, green young onions from California. And -just now I am a philosopher, pure and simple--except that there's -nothing very pure about my philosophy, nor yet very simple. - -Let the Devil come and go; let the wild waters rush over me; let -nations rise and fall; let my favorite theories form themselves -in line suddenly and run into the ground; let the little earth be -bandied about from one belief to another; but, I say in the midst -of my young peripatetic philosophy, I need not be in complete -despair--the world still contains things for me, while I have my -fine rare porterhouse steak from Omaha--and my fresh green young -onions from California. - -Fame may pass over my head; money may escape me; my one friend may -fail me; every hope may fold its tent and steal away; Happiness may -remain a sealed book; every remnant of human ties may vanish; I may -find myself an outcast; good things held out to me may suddenly be -withdrawn; the stars may go out, one by one; the sun may go dark; -yet still I may hold upright my head, if I have but my steak--and -my onions. - -I may find myself crowded out from many charmed circles; I may find -the ethical world too small to contain me; the social world may also -exclude me; the professional world may know me not; likewise the -worlds of the arts and the sciences; I may find myself superfluous -in literary haunts; I may see myself going gladly back to the -vile dust from whence I sprung--to live in a green forest like -the melancholy Jacques; but fare they well, I will say with what -cheerfulness I can summon, while I have my steak--and my onions. - -Possibly I may grow old and decrepit; my hair may turn gray; my -bones may become rheumatic; I may grow weak in the knees; my -ankle-joints which have withstood many a peripatetic journey may -develop dropsical tendencies; my heart may miss a beat now and -then; my lungs may begin to fight shy of wintry blasts; my eyes may -fail me; my figure that is now in its slim gracefulness may swathe -itself in layers of flesh, or worse, it may wither and decay and -stoop at the shoulders; my red blood may flow sluggishly; but if I -still have left teeth to eat with, why need I lament while I have -my steak--and my onions? - -I am obscure; I am morbid; I am unhappy; my life is made up of -Nothingness; I want everything and I have nothing; I have been -made to feel the "lure of green things growing," and I have been -made to feel also that something of them is withheld from me; I -have felt the deadly tiredness that is among the birthrights of a -human being; but with it all the Devil has given me a philosophy of -my own--the Devil has enabled me to count, if need be, the world -well lost for a fine rare porterhouse steak--and some green young -onions. - -For which I thank thee, Devil, profoundly. - -Who says the Devil is not your friend? Who says the Devil does not -believe in the all-merciful Law of Compensation? - -And so it is--do you see?--that all things look different after -a satisfying dinner, that the color of the world changes, that -life in fact resolves itself into two things: a fine rare-broiled -porterhouse steak from Omaha, and some fresh green young onions -from California. - - - - - January 24. - -I am charmingly original. I am delightfully refreshing. I am -startlingly Bohemian. I am quaintly interesting--the while in my -sleeve I may be smiling and smiling--and a villain. I can talk to a -roomful of dull people and compel their interest, admiration, and -astonishment. I do this sometimes for my own amusement. As I have -said, I am a rather plain-featured, insignificant-looking genius, -but I have a graceful personality. I have a pretty figure. I am -well set up. And when I choose to talk in my charmingly original -fashion, embellishing my conversation with many quaint lies, I have -a certain very noticeable way with me, an "air." - -It is well, if one has nothing else, to acquire an air. And an air -taken in conjunction with my charming originality, my delightfully -refreshing candor, is something powerful and striking in its way. - -I do not, however, exert myself often in this way; partly because -I can sometimes foresee, from the character of the assembled -company, that my performance will not have the desired effect--for -I am a genius, and genius at close range at times carries itself -unconsciously to the point where it becomes so interesting that it -is atrocious, and can not be carried farther without having somewhat -mildly disastrous results; and then, again, the facial antics of -some ten or a dozen persons possessed more or less of the qualities -of the genus fool--even they become tiresome after a while. - -Always I talk about myself on an occasion of this kind. Indeed, my -conversation is on all occasions devoted directly or indirectly to -myself. - -When I talk on the subject of ethics, I talk of it as it is related -to Mary MacLane. - -When I give out broad-minded opinions about Ninon de l'Enclos, I -demonstrate her relative position to Mary MacLane! - -When I discourse liberally on the subject of the married relation, -I talk of it only as it will affect Mary MacLane. - -An interesting creature, Mary MacLane. - -As a matter of fact, it is so with every one, only every one is -far from realizing and acknowledging it. And I have not lacked -listeners, though these people do not appreciate me. They do not -realize that I am a genius. - -I am of womankind and of nineteen years. I am able to stand off -and gaze critically and dispassionately at myself and my relation -to my environment, to the world, to everything the world contains. -I am able to judge whether I am good and whether I am bad. I am -able, indeed, to tell what I am and where I stand. I can see far, -far inward. I am a genius. - -Charlotte Bronté did this in some degree, and she was a genius; -and also Marie Bashkirtseff, and Olive Schreiner, and George Eliot. -They are all geniuses. - -And so, then, I am a genius--a genius in my own right. - -I am fundamentally, organically egotistic. My vanity and self-conceit -have attained truly remarkable development as I've walked and -walked in the loneliness of the sand and barrenness. Not the -least remarkable part of it is that I know my egotism and vanity -thoroughly--thoroughly, and plume myself thereon. - -These are the ear-marks of a genius--and of a fool. There is a -finely-drawn line between a genius and a fool. Often this line is -overstepped and your fool becomes a genius, or your genius becomes -a fool. - -It is but a tiny step. - -There's but a tiny step between the great and the little, the -tender and the contemptuous, the sublime and the ridiculous, the -aggressive and the humble, the paradise and the perdition. - -And so is it between the genius and the fool. - -I am a genius. - -I am not prepared to say how many times I may overstep the -finely-drawn line, or how many times I have already overstepped -it. 'Tis a matter of small moment. - -I have entered into certain things marvelously deep. I know things, -I know that I know them, and I know that I know that I know them, -which is a fine psychological point. - -It is magnificent of me to have gotten so far, at the age of nineteen, -with no training other than that of the sand and barrenness. -Magnificent--do you hear? - -Very often I take this fact in my hand and squeeze it hard like an -orange, to get the sweet, sweet juice from it. I squeeze a great deal -of juice from it every day, and every day the juice is renewed, -like the vitals of Prometheus. And so I squeeze and squeeze, and -drink the juice, and try to be satisfied. - -Yes, you may gaze long and curiously at the portrait in the front -of this book. It is of one who is a genius of egotism and analysis, -a genius who is awaiting the Devil's coming,--a genius, with a -wondrous liver within. - -I shall tell you more about this liver, I think, before I have done. - - - - - January 25. - -I can remember a time long, oh, very long ago. That is the time -when I was a child. It is ten or a dozen years ago. - -Or is it a thousand years ago? - -It is when you have but just parted from your friend that he seems -farthest from you. When I have lived several more years the time -when I was a child will not seem so far behind me. - -Just now it is frightfully far away. It is so far away that I can -see it plainly outlined on the horizon. - -It is there always for me to look at. And when I look I can feel -the tears deep within me--a salt ocean of tears that roll and surge -and swell bitterly in a dull, mad anguish, and never come to the -surface. - -I do not know which is the more weirdly and damnably pathetic: I -when I was a child, or I when I am grown to a woman, young and -all alone. I weigh the question coldly and logically, but my logic -trembles with rage and grief and unhappiness. - -When I was a child I lived in Canada and in Minnesota. I was a -little wild savage. In Minnesota there were swamps where I used -to wet my feet in the spring, and there were fields of tall grass -where I would lie flat on my stomach in company with lizards and -little garter snakes. And there were poplar leaves that turned -their pale green backs upward on a hot afternoon, and soon there -would be terrific thunder and lightning and rain. And there were -robins that sang at dawn. These things stay with one always. And -there were children with whom I used to play and fight. - -I was tanned and sunburned, and I had an unkempt appearance. My face -was very dirty. The original pattern of my frock was invariably -lost in layers and vistas of the native soil. My hair was braided -or else it flew about, a tangled maze, according as I could be -caught by some one and rubbed and straightened before I ran away -for the day. My hands were little and strong and brown, and wrought -much mischief. I came and went at my own pleasure. I ate what I -pleased; I went to bed all in my own good time; I tramped wherever -my stubborn little feet chose. I was impudent; I was contrary; I -had an extremely bad temper; I was hard-hearted; I was full of -infantile malice. Truly I was a vicious little beast. - -I was a little piece of untrained Nature. - -And I am unable to judge which is the more savagely forlorn: the -starved-hearted child, or the woman, young and all alone. - -The little wild stubborn child felt things and wanted things. She -did not know that she felt things and wanted things. - -Now I feel and I want things and I know it with burning vividness. - -The little vicious Mary MacLane suffered, but she did not know that -she suffered. Yet that did not make the suffering less. - -And she reached out with a little sunburned hand to touch and take -something. - -But the sunburned little hand remained empty. There was nothing -for it. No one had anything to put into it. - -The little wild creature wanted to be loved; she wanted something -to put in her hungry little heart. - -But no one had anything to put into a hungry little heart. - -No one said "dear." - -The little vicious child was the only MacLane, and she felt somewhat -alone. But there, after all, were the lizards and the little garter -snakes. - -The wretched, hardened little piece of untrained Nature has grown -and developed into a woman, young and alone. For the child there -was a Nothingness, and for the woman there is a great Nothingness. - -Perhaps the Devil will bring me something in my lonely womanhood -to put in my wooden heart. - -But the time when I was a child will never come again. It is -gone--gone. I may live through some long, long years, but nothing -like it will ever come. For there is nothing like it. - -It is a life by itself. It has naught to do with philosophy, or -with genius, or with heights and depths, or with the red sunset -sky, or with the Devil. - -These come later. - -The time of the child is a thing apart. It is the Planting and -Seed-time. It is the Beginning of things. It decides whether there -shall be brightness or bitterness in the long after-years. - -I have left that time far enough behind me. It will never come -back. And it had a Nothingness--do you hear, a _Nothingness_! Oh, -the pity of it! the pity of it! - -Do you know why it is that I look back to the horizon at the figure -of an unkempt, rough child, and why I feel a surging torrent of -tears and anguish and despair? - -I feel more than that indeed, but I have no words to tell it. - -I shall have to miss forever some beautiful, wonderful things -because of that wretched, lonely childhood. - -There will always be a lacking, a wanting--some dead branches that -never grew leaves. - -It is not deaths and murders and plots and wars that make life -tragedy. - -It is Nothing that makes life tragedy. - -It is day after day, and year after year, and Nothing. - -It is a sunburned little hand reached out and Nothing put into it. - - - - - January 26. - -I sit at my window and look out upon the housetops and chimneys of -Butte. As I look I have a weary, disgusted feeling. - -People are abominable creatures. - -Under each of the roofs live a man and woman joined together by that -very slender thread, the marriage ceremony--and their children, -the result of the marriage ceremony. - -How many of them love each other? Not two in a hundred, I warrant. -The marriage ceremony is their one miserable, petty, paltry excuse -for living together. - -This marriage rite, it appears, is often used as a cloak to cover -a world of rather shameful things. - -How virtuous these people are, to be sure, under their different -roof-trees. So virtuous are they indeed that they are able to draw -themselves up in the pride of their own purity, when they happen -upon some corner where the marriage ceremony is lacking. So virtuous -are they that the men can afford to find amusement and diversion -in the woes of the corner that is without the marriage rite; and -the women may draw away their skirts in shocked horror and wonder -that such things can be, in view of their own spotless virtue. - -And so they live on under the roofs, and they eat and work and sleep -and die; and the children grow up and seek other roofs, and call -upon the marriage ceremony even as their parents before them--and -then they likewise eat and work and sleep and die; and so on world -without end. - -This also is life--the life of the good, virtuous Christians. - -I think, therefore, that I should prefer some life that is not -virtuous. - -I shall never make use of the marriage ceremony. I hereby register -a vow, Devil, to that effect. - -When a man and a woman love one another that is enough. That is -marriage. A religious rite is superfluous. And if the man and woman -live together without the love, no ceremony in the world can make -it marriage. The woman who does this need not feel the tiniest bit -better than her lowest sister in the streets. Is she not indeed -a step lower since she pretends to be what she is not--plays the -virtuous woman? While the other unfortunate pretends nothing. She -wears her name on her sleeve. - -If I were obliged to be one of these I would rather be she who -wears her name on her sleeve. I certainly would. The lesser of two -evils, always. - -I can think of nothing in the world like the utter littleness, the -paltriness, the contemptibleness, the degradation, of the woman who -is tied down under a roof with a man who is really nothing to her; -who wears the man's name, who bears the man's children--who plays -the virtuous woman. There are too many such in the world now. - -May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that -deformed monstrosity--a virtuous woman. - -Anything, Devil, but that. - -And so, as I look out over the roofs and chimneys, I have a weary, -disgusted feeling. - - - - - January 27. - -This is not a diary. It is a Portrayal. It is my inner life shown -in its nakedness. I am trying my utmost to show everything--to -reveal every petty vanity and weakness, every phase of feeling, -every desire. It is a remarkably hard thing to do, I find, to probe -my soul to its depths, to expose its shades and half-lights. - -Not that I am troubled with modesty or shame. Why should one be -ashamed of anything? - -But there are elements in one's mental equipment so vague, so -opaque, so undefined--how is one to grasp them? I have analyzed and -analyzed, and I have gotten down to some extremely fine points--yet -still there are things upon my own horizon that go beyond me. - -There are feelings that rise and rush over me overwhelmingly. I am -helpless, crushed, and defeated, before them. It is as if they were -written on the walls of my soul-chamber in an unknown language. - -My soul goes blindly seeking, seeking, asking. Nothing answers. -I cry out after some unknown Thing with all the strength of my -being; every nerve and fiber in my young woman's-body and my young -woman's-soul reaches and strains in anguished unrest. At times as I -hurry over my sand and barrenness all my life's manifold passions -culminate in utter rage and woe. Waves of intense, hopeless longing -rush over me and envelop me round and round. My heart, my soul, my -mind go wandering--wandering; ploughing their way through darkness -with never a ray of light; groping with helpless hands; asking, -longing, wanting things: pursued by a Demon of Unrest. - -I shall go mad--I shall go mad, I say over and over to myself. - -But no. No one goes mad. The Devil does not propose to release any -one from a so beautifully-wrought, artistic damnation. He looks to -it that one's senses are kept fully intact, and he fastens to them -with steel chains the Demon of Unrest. - -It hurts--oh, it tortures me in the days and days! But when the -Devil brings me my Happiness I will forgive him all this. - -When my Happiness is given me, the Unrest will still be with me, -I doubt not, but the Happiness will change the tenor of it, will -make it an instrument of joy, will clasp hands with it and mingle -itself with it,--the while I, with my wooden heart, my woman's-body, -my mind, my soul, shall be in transports. I shall be filled with -pleasure so deep and pain so intense that my being's minutest -nerve will reel and stagger in intoxication, will go drunk with -the fullness of Life. - -When my Happiness is given me I shall live centuries in the hours. -And we shall all grow old rapidly,--I and my wooden heart, and my -woman's-body, and my mind, and my soul. Sorrow may age one in some -degree. But Happiness--the real Happiness--rolls countless years -off from one's finger-tips in a single moment, and each year leaves -its impress. - -It is true that life is a tragedy to those who feel. When my Happiness -is given me life will be an ineffable, a nameless thing. - -It will seethe and roar; it will plunge and whirl; it will leap -and shriek in convulsion; it will guiver in delicate fantasy; it -will writhe and twist; it will glitter and flash and shine; it -will sing gently; it will shout in exquisite excitement; it will -vibrate to the roots like a great oak in a storm; it will dance; it -will glide; it will gallop; it will rush; it will swell and surge; -it will fly; it will soar high--high; it will go down into depths -unexplored; it will rage and rave; it will yell in utter joy; it -will melt; it will blaze; it will ride triumphant; it will grovel -in the dust of entire pleasure; it will sound out like a terrific -blare of trumpets; it will chime faintly, faintly like the remote -tinkling notes of a harp; it will sob and grieve and weep; it will -revel and carouse; it will shrink; it will go in pride; it will -lie prone like the dead; it will float buoyantly on air; it will -moan, shiver, burst--oh, it will reek with Love and Light! - -The words of the English language are futile. There are no words in -it, or in any other, to express an idea of that thing which would -be my life in its Happiness. - -The words I have written describe it, it is true,--but confusedly -and inadequately. - -But words are for everyday use. - -When it comes my turn to meet face to face the unspeakable vision -of the Happy Life I shall be rendered dumb. - -But the rains of my feeling will come in torrents! - - - - - January 28. - -I am an artist of the most artistic, the highest type. I have -uncovered for myself the art that lies in obscure shadows. I have -discovered the art of the day of small things. - -And that surely is art with a capital "A." - -I have acquired the art of Good Eating. Usually it is in the gray -and elderly forties and fifties that people cultivate this art--if -they ever do; it is indeed a rare art. - -But I know it in all its rare exquisiteness at the young slim age -of nineteen--which is one more mark of my genius, do you see? - -The art of Good Eating has two essential points: one must eat only -when one is hungry, and one must take small bites. - -There are persons who eat for the sake of eating. They are gourmands, -and partake of the natures of the pig and the buzzard. There are -persons who take bites that are not small. These also are gourmands -and partake of the natures of the pig and the buzzard. There are -persons who can enjoy nothing in the way of eating except a luxurious, -well-appointed meal. These, it is safe to say, have not acquired -the art of anything. - -But I--I have acquired the art of eating an olive. - -Now listen, and I will tell you the art of eating an olive: - -I take the olive in my fingers, and I contemplate its green oval -richness. It makes me think at once of the land where the green -citron grows--where the cypress and myrtle are emblems; of the -land of the Sun where human beings are delightfully, enchantingly -wicked,--where the men are eager and passionate, and the women -gracefully developed in mind and in body--and their two breasts -show round and full and delicately veined beneath thin drapery. - -The mere sight of the olive conjures up this charming picture in -my mind. - -I set my teeth and my tongue upon the olive, and bite it. It is -bitter, salt, delicious. The saliva rushes to meet it, and my tongue -is a happy tongue. As the morsel of olive rests in my mouth and is -crunched and squeezed lusciously among my teeth, a quick, temporary -change takes place in my character. I think of some adorable lines -of the Persian poet: "Give thyself up to Joy, for thy Grief will be -infinite. The stars shall again meet together at the same point in -the firmament, but of thy body shall bricks be made for a palace -wall." - -"Oh, dear, sweet, bitter olive!" I say to myself. - -The bit of olive slips down my red gullet, and so into my stomach. -There it meets with a joyous welcome. Gastric juices leap out from -the walls and swathe it in loving embrace. My stomach is fond of -something bitter and salt. It lavishes flattery and endearment galore -upon the olive. It laughs in silent delight. It feels that the day -it has long waited for has come. The philosophy of my stomach is -wholly epicurean. Let it receive but a tiny bit of olive and it will -reck not of the morrow, nor of the past. It lives, voluptuously, -in the present. It is content. It is in paradise. - -I bite the olive again. Again the bitter salt crisp ravishes my -tongue. "If this be vanity,--vanity let it be." The golden moments -flit by and I heed them not. For am I not comfortably seated and -eating an olive? Go hang yourself, you who have never been comfortably -seated and eating an olive! My character evolves farther in its -change. I am now bent on reckless sensuality, let happen what will. -The fair earth seems to resolve itself into a thing oval and crisp -and good and green and deliciously salt. I experience a feeling of -fervent gladness that I am a female thing living, and that I have -a tongue and some teeth, and salivary glands. - -Also this bit slips down my red gullet, and again the festive -Stomach lifts up a silent voice in psalms and rejoicing. It is -now an absolute monarchy with the green olive at its head. The -kisses of the gastric juice become hot and sensual and convulsive -and ecstatic. "Avaunt, pale, shadowy ghosts of dyspepsia!" says -my Stomach. "I know you not. I am of a brilliant, shining world. -I dwell in Elysian fields." - -Once more I bite the olive. Once more is my tongue electrified. -And the third stage in my temporary transformation takes place. I -am now a gross but supremely contented sensualist. An exquisite -symphony of sensualism and pleasure seems to play somewhere within -me. My heart purrs. My brain folds its arms and lounges. I put -my feet up on the seat of another chair. The entire world is now -surely one delicious green olive. My mind is capable of conceiving -but one idea--that of a green olive. Therefore the green olive is -a perfect thing--absolutely a perfect thing. - -Disgust and disapproval are excited only by imperfections. When a -thing is perfect, no matter how hard one may look at it, one can -see only itself--itself, and nothing beyond. - -And so I have made my olive and my art perfect. - -Well, then, this third bit of olive slides down the willing gullet -into my stomach. "And then my heart with pleasure fills." The play -of the gastric secretions is now marvelous. It is the meeting of -the waters! It were well, ah, how well, if the hearts of the world -could mingle in peace, as the gastric juices mingle at the coming -of a green olive into my stomach! "Paradise! Paradise!" says my -Stomach. - -Every drop of blood in my passionate veins is resting. Through -my stomach--my _stomach_, do you hear--my soul seems to feel the -infinite. The minutes are flying. Shortly it will be over. But just -now I am safe. I am entirely satisfied. I want nothing, nothing. - -My inner quiet is infinite. I am conscious that it is but momentary, -and it matters not. On the contrary, the knowledge of this fact -renders the present quiet--the repose, more limitless, more intense. - -Where now, Devil, is your damnation? If this be damnation, damnation -let it be! If this be the human fall, then how good it is to be -fallen! At this moment I would fain my fall were like yours, Lucifer, -"never to hope again." - -And so, bite by bite, the olive enters into my body and soul. Each -bite brings with it a recurring wave of sensation and charm. - -No. We will not dispute with the brilliant mind that declared life -a tragedy to those who feel. We will let that stand. However, there -are parts of the tragedy that are not tragic. There are parts that -admit of a turning aside. - -As the years pass, one after another, I shall continue to eat. And -as I eat I shall have my quiet, my brief period of aberration. - -This is the art of Eating. - -I have acquired it by means of self-examination, analyzing--analyzing-- -analyzing. Truly my genius is analytical. And it enables me to -endure--if also to feel bitterly--the heavy, heavy weight of life. - -What a worm of misery I should be were it not for these bursts of -philosophy, these turnings aside! - -If it please the Devil, one day I may have Happiness. That will be -all-sufficient. I shall then analyze no more. I shall be a different -being. - -But meanwhile I shall eat. - -When the last of the olive vanishes into the stomach, when it is -there reduced to animated chyme, when I play with the olive-seed -in my fingers, when I lean back in my chair and straighten out my -spinal column,--oh, then do you not envy me, you fine, brave world, -who are not a philosopher, who have not discovered the art of the -small things, who have not conscious chyme in your stomach, who -have not acquired the art of Good Eating! - - - - - January 29. - -As I read over now and then what I have written of my Portrayal I -have alternate periods of hope and despair. At times I think I am -succeeding admirably--and again, what I have written compared to -what I have felt seems vapid and tame. Who has not felt the futility -of words when one would express feelings? - -I take this hope and despair as another mark of genius. Genius, -apart from natural sensitiveness, is prone equally to unreasoning -joy and to bitterest morbidness. - -I am more than fond of writing, though I have hours when I can not -write any more than I could paint a picture, or play Wagner as it -should be played. - -I think my style of writing has a wonderful intensity in it, and -it is admirably suited to the creature it portrays. What sort -of Portrayal of myself would I produce if I wrote with the long, -elaborate periods of Henry James, or with the pleasant, ladylike -phrasing of Howells? It would be rather like a little tin phonograph -trolling out flowery poetry at breakneck speed, or like a deep-toned -church organ pouring forth "Goo-Goo Eyes" with ponderous feeling. - -When I read a book I study it carefully to find whether the author -_knows things_, and whether I could, with the same subject, write -a better one myself. - -The latter question I usually decide in the affirmative. - -The highest thing one can do in literature is to succeed in saying -that thing which one meant to say. There is nothing better than -that--to make the world see your thoughts as you see them. Eugene -Field and Edgar Allan Poe and Robert Louis Stevenson and Charles -Dickens, among others, have succeeded in doing this. They impress -the world with a sense of their courage and realness. - -There are people who have written books which did not impress the -world in this way, but which nevertheless came out of the feeling -and fullness of zealous hearts. Always I think of that pathetic, -artless little old-fashioned thing, "Jane Eyre," as a picture shown -to a world seeing with distorted vision. Charlotte Bronté meant one -thing when she wrote the book, and the world after a time suddenly -understood a quite different thing, and heaped praise and applause -upon her therefor. When I read the book I was not quite able to see -just what the message was that the Bronté intended to send out. But -I saw that there was a message--of bravery, perhaps, or of that -good which may come out of Nazareth. But the world that praised -and applauded and gave her money seems totally to have missed it. - -It takes centuries of tears and piety and mourning to move this -world a tiny bit. - -But still it will give you praise and applause and money if you will -prostitute your sensibilities and emotions for the gratification -of it. - -I have no message to hide in a book and send out. I am writing a -Portrayal. - -But a Portrayal is also a thing that may be misunderstood. - - - - - January 30. - -An idle brain is the Devil's workshop, they say. It is an absurdly -incongruous statement. If the Devil is at work in a brain it certainly -is not idle. And when one considers how brilliant a personage the -Devil is, and what very fine work he turns out, it becomes an open -question whether he would have the slightest use for most of the -idle brains that cumber the earth. But, after all, the Devil is so -clever that he could produce unexcelled workmanship with even the -poorest tools. - -My brain is one kind of devil's workshop, and it is as incessantly -hard-worked and always-busy a one as you could imagine. - -It is a devil's workshop, indeed, only I do the work myself. But -there is a mental telegraphy between the Devil and me, which accounts -for the fact that many of my ideas are so wonderfully groomed and -perfumed and colored. I take no credit to myself for this, though, -as I say, I do the work myself. - -I try always to give the Devil his due--and particularly in this -Portrayal. - -There are very few who give the Devil his due in this world of -hypocrites. - -I never think of the Devil as that atrocious creature in red tights, -with cloven hoofs and a tail and a two-tined fork. I think of him -rather as an extremely fascinating, strong, steel-willed person in -conventional clothes--a man with whom to fall completely, madly in -love. I rather think, I believe, that he is incarnate at times. -Why not? - -Periodically I fall completely, madly in love with the Devil. He -is so fascinating, so strong--so strong, exactly the sort of man -whom my wooden heart awaits. I would like to throw myself at his -head. I would make him a dear little wife. He would love me--he -would love me. I would be in raptures. And I would love him, oh, -madly, madly! - -"What would you have me do, little MacLane?" the Devil would say. - -"I would have you conquer me, crush me, know me," I would answer. - -"What shall I say to you?" the Devil would ask. - -"Say to me, 'I love you, I love you, I love you,' in your strong, -steel, fascinating voice. Say it to me often, always--a million -times." - -"What would you have me do, little MacLane?" he would say again. - -I would answer: "Hurt me, burn me, consume me with hot love, shake -me violently, embrace me hard, _hard_ in your strong, steel arms, -kiss me with wonderful burning kisses--press your lips to mine with -passion, and your soul and mine would meet then in an anguish of -joy for me!" - -"How shall I treat you, little MacLane?" - -"Treat me cruelly, brutally." - -"How long shall I stay with you?" - -"Through the life everlasting--it will be as one day; or for one -day--it will be as the life everlasting." - -"And what kind of children will you bear me, little MacLane?" he -would say. - -"I will bear wonderful, beautiful children--with great pain." - -"But you hate pain," the Devil will say, "and when you are in your -pain you will hate me." - -"But no," I will answer, "pain that comes of you whom I love will -be ineffable exaltation." - -"And how will you treat me, little MacLane?" - -"I will cast myself at your feet; or I will minister to you with -divine tenderness; or I will charm you with fantastic deviltry; -when you weep, I will melt into tears; when you rejoice, I will go -wild with delight; when you go deaf I will stop my ears; when you -go blind I will put out my eyes; when you go lame I will cut off -my legs. Oh, I will be divinely dear, unutterably sweet!" - -"Indeed you are rarely sweet," the Devil will say. And I will be -in transports. - -Oh, Devil, Devil, Devil! - -Oh, misery, _misery_ of Nothingness! - -The days are long--long and very weary as I await the Devil's coming. - - - - - January 31. - -To-day as I walked out I was impressed deeply with the wonderful -beautifulness of Nature even in her barrenness. The far-distant -mountains had that high, pure, transparent look, and the nearer ones -were transformed completely with a wistful, beseeching attitude -that reminded me of my life. It was late in the afternoon. As the -sun lowered, the pure lavender of the far-away hills was tinted -with faint-rose, and the gray of the nearer ones with sun-color. -And the sand--my sand and barrenness--almost flushed consciously in -its wide, mysterious magnitude. In the sky there was a white cloud. -The sky was blue--blue almost as when I was a child. The air was -very gentle. The earth seemed softened. There was an indefinite, -caressing something over all that went into my soul and stirred -it, and hurt it. There was that in the air which is there when -something is going to happen. Only nothing ever happens. It is -rare, I thought, that my sand and barrenness looks like this. I -crouched on the ground, and the wondrous calm and beauty of the -natural things awed and moved me with strange, still emotions. - -I felt, and gazed about me, and felt again. And everything was very -still. - -Presently my eyes filled quietly with tears. - -I bent my head into the breast of a great gray rock. Oh, my soul, my -soul, I said over and over, not with passion. It is so divine--the -earth is so beautiful, so untainted--and I, what am I? It was so -beautiful that now as I write, and it comes over me again, I can -not restrain the tears. - -Tears are not common. - -I felt my wooden heart, my soul, quivering and sobbing with their -unknown wanting. This is my soul's awakening. Ah, the pain of my -soul's awakening! Is there nothing, _nothing_ to help this pain? I am -so lonely, so lonely--Fannie Corbin, my one friend, my dearly-loved -anemone lady, I want you so much--why aren't you here! I want to -feel your hand with mine as I felt it sometimes before you went -away. You are the only one among a worldful of people to care a -little--and I love you with all the strength and worship I can give -to the things that are beautiful and true. You are the only one, -the only one--and my soul is full of pain, and I am sitting alone -on the ground, and my head lies on a rock's breast.-- - -Strange, sweet passions stirred and waked somewhere deep within me -as I sat shivering on the ground. And I felt them singing far away, -as if their faint voices came out of that limitless deep, deep blue -above me; and it was like a choir of spirit-voices, and they sang -of love and of light and of dear tender dreams, and of my soul's -awakening. Why is this--and what is it that is hurting so? Is it -because I am young, or is it because I am alone, or because I am -a woman? - -Oh, it is a hard and bitter thing to be a woman! And why--why? Is -woman so foul a creature that she must needs be purged by this -infinite pain? - -The choir of faint, sweet voices comes to me incessantly out of the -blue. My wooden heart and my soul are listening to them intently. -The voices are trying hard to tell me, to help me, but I can not -understand. I know only that it is about pure, exalted things, and -about the all-abiding love that is somewhere; and it is about the -earth-love, and about Truth,--but I can not understand. And the -voices sing of me the child--a song of the unloved, starved little -being; and a song of the unloved, half-grown creature; and a song -of me, a woman and all alone--awaiting the Devil's coming. - -Oh, my soul--my soul! - -A female snake is born out of its mother's white egg, and lives -awhile in content among weeds and grass, and dies. - -A female dog lives some years, and has bones thrown at her, and -sometimes she receives a kick or a blow, and a dog-house to sleep -in, and dies. - -A female bird has a nest, and worms to eat, and goes south in the -winter, and presently she dies. - -A female toad has a swamp or a garden, some bugs and flies, -contentment--and then she dies. - -And each of these has a male thing with her for a time, and soon -there are little snakes or little dogs for her to love as much as -it is given her to love--she can do no more. - -And they are fortunate with their little snakes and little dogs. - -A female human being is born out of her mother's fair body, branded -with a strange, plague-tainted name, and let go; and lives awhile, -and dies. But before she dies she awakes. There is a pain that goes -with it. - -And the male thing that is with her for a time is unlike a snake or -a dog. It is more like a man, and there is another pain for this. - -And when a little human being comes with a soul of its own there must -be another awakening, for she has then reached the best and highest -state that any human being can reach, though she is a female human -being, and plague-tainted. And here also there is heavy soul-pain. - -The name--the plague-tainted name branded upon her--means woman. - -I lifted my head from the breast of the gray rock. The tears had -been falling, falling. Tears are so strange! Tears from the dried-up -fountain of nineteen years are like drops of water wrung out of -stone. Suddenly I got up from the ground and ran quickly over the -sand for several minutes. I did not dare look again at the hilltops -and the deep blue, nor listen again to the voices. - -Oh, with it all, I am a coward! I shrink and cringe before the pain -of the dazzling lights. Yet I am waiting--longing for the most -dazzling light of all: the coming of the Devil. - - - - - February 1. - -Oh, the wretched bitter loneliness of me! - -In all the deep darkness, and the silence, there is never a faint -human light, never a voice! - -How can I bear it--how can I bear it! - - - - - February 2. - -I have been looking over the confessions of the Bashkirtseff. -They are indeed rather like my Portrayal, but they are not so -interesting, nor so intense. I have a stronger individuality than -Marie Bashkirtseff, though her mind was probably in a higher state -of development than mine, even when she was younger than I. - -Most of her emotions are vacillating and inconsistent. She worships -a God one day and blasphemes him the next. She never loves her God. -And why, then, does she have a God? Why does she not abandon him -altogether? He seems to be of no use to her--except as a convenient -thing on which to fasten the blame for her misfortunes.--And, after -all, that is something very useful indeed.--And she loves the people -about her one day, and the next day she hates them. - -But in her great passion--her ambition, Marie Bashkirtseff was -beautifully consistent. And what terrific storms of woe and despair -must have enveloped her when she knew that within a certain period -she would be dead--removed from the world, and her work left undone! -The time kept creeping nearer--she must have tasted the bitterness of -death indeed. She was sure of success, sure that her high-strained -ambition would be gratified to its last vestige--and then, to die! -It was certainly hard lines for the little Bashkirtseff. - -My own despair is of an opposite nature. - -There is one thing in the world that is more bitter than death--and -that is life. - -Suppose that I learned I was to die on the twenty-seventh of June, -1903, for instance. It would give me a soft warm wave of pleasure, -I think. I might be in the depths of woe at the time; my despair -might be the despair of despair; my misery utterly unceasing,--and -I could say, Never mind, on the twenty-seventh of June, 1903, all -will be over--dull misery, rage, Nothingness, obscurity, the unknown -longing, every desire of my soul, all the pain--ended inevitably, -completely on the twenty-seventh of June, 1903. I might come upon -a new pain, but this, my long old torture, would cease. - -You may say that I might end my life on that day, that I might do -so now. I certainly shall if the pain becomes greater than I can -bear--for what else is there to do? But I shall be far from satisfied -in doing so. What if I were to end everything now--when perhaps -the Devil may be coming to me in two years' time with Happiness? - -Upon dying it might be that I should go to some wondrous fair country -where there would be trees and running water, and a resting-place. -Well--oh, well! But I want the earthly Happiness. I am not -high-minded and spiritual. I am earthly, human--sensitive, sensuous, -sensual, and, ah, dear, my soul wants its earthly Happiness! - -I can not bring myself to the point of suicide while there is a -possibility of Happiness remaining. But if I knew that irrevocable, -inevitable death awaited me on June twenty-seventh, 1903, I should -be satisfied. My Happiness might come before that time, or it might -not. I should be satisfied. I should know that my life was out of -my hands. I should know, above all, that my long, long, old, old -pain of loneliness would stop, June twenty-seventh, 1903. - -I shall die naturally some day--probably after I have grown old -and sour. If I have had my Happiness for a year or a day, well and -good. I shall be content to grow as old and as sour as the Devil -wills. But having had no Happiness--if I find myself growing old -and still no Happiness--oh, then I vow I will not live another -hour, even if dying were rushing headlong to damnation! - -I am, do you see, a philosopher and a coward--with the philosophy -of cowardice. I squeeze juice also from this fact sometimes--but -the juice is not sweet juice. - -The Devil--the fascinating man-devil--it may be, is coming, coming, -coming. - -And meanwhile I go on and on, in the midst of sand and barrenness. - - - - - February 3. - -The town of Butte presents a wonderful field to a student of humanity -and human nature. There are not a great many people--seventy thousand -perhaps--but those seventy thousand are in their way unparalleled. -For mixture, for miscellany--variedness, Bohemianism--where is -Butte's rival? - -The population is not only of all nationalities and stations, but -the nationalities and stations mix and mingle promiscuously with -each other, and are partly concealed and partly revealed in the -mazes of a veneer that belongs neither to nation nor to station, -but to Butte. - -The nationalities are many, it is true, but Irish and Cornish -predominate. My acquaintance extends widely among the inhabitants -of Butte. Sometimes when I feel in the mood for it I spend an -afternoon in visiting about among divers curious people. - -At some Fourth of July demonstration, or on a Miners' Union day, the -heterogeneous herd turns out--and I turn out, with the herd and of -it, and meditate and look on. There are Irishmen--Kelleys, Caseys, -Calahans, staggering under the weight of much whiskey, shouting -out their green-isle maxims; there is the festive Cornishman, -ogling and leering, greeting his fellow-countrymen with alcoholic -heartiness, and gazing after every feminine creature with lustful -eyes; there are Irish women swearing genially at each other in shrill -pleasantry, and five or six loudly-vociferous children for each; -there are round-faced Cornish women likewise, each with her train -of children; there are suave, sleek sporting men just out of the -bath-tub; insignificant lawyers, dentists, messengerboys; "plungers" -without number; greasy Italians from Meaderville; greasier French -people from the Boulevarde Addition; ancient miners--each of whom -was the first to stake a claim in Butte; starved-looking Chinamen -here and there; a contingent of Finns and Swedes and Germans; -musty, stuffy old Jew pawn-brokers who have crawled out of their -holes for a brief recreation; dirt-encrusted Indians and squaws in -dirty, gay blankets, from their flea-haunted camp below the town; -"box-rustlers"--who are as common in Butte as bar-maids in Ireland; -swell, flashy-looking Africans; respectable women with white aprons -tied around their waists and sailor-hats on their heads, who have -left the children at home and stepped out to see what was going on; -innumerable stray youngsters from the dark haunts of Dublin Gulch; -heavy restaurant-keepers with toothpicks in their mouths; a vast -army of dry-goods clerks--the "paper-collared" gentry; miners of -every description; representatives from Dog Town, Chicken Flats, -Busterville, Butchertown, and Seldom Seen--suburbs of Butte; pale, -thin individuals who sing and dance in beer-halls; smart society -people in high traps and tally-hos; impossible women--so-called -(though in Butte no one is more possible), in vast hats and extremely -plaid stockings; persons who take things seriously and play the -races for a living; "beer-jerkers"; "biscuit-shooters"; soft-voiced -Mexicans and Arabians;--the dregs, the élite, the humbly respectable, -the off-scouring--all thrown together, and shaken up, and mixed -well. - -One may notice many odd bits of irony as one walks among these. One -may notice that the Irishmen are singularly carefree and strong and -comfortable--and so jolly! while the Irish women are frumpish and -careworn and borne earthward with children. The Cornishman who has -consumed the greatest amount of whiskey is the most agreeable, -and less and less inclined to leer and ogle. The Cornish woman -whose profanity is the shrillest and most genial and voluble, is -she whose life seems the most weighted and downtrodden. The young -women whose bodies are encased in the tightest and stiffest corsets -are in the most wildly hilarious spirits of all. The filthy little -Irish youngsters from Dublin Gulch are much brighter and more -clever in every way than the ordinary American children who are -less filthy. A delicate aroma of cocktails and whiskey-and-soda -hangs over even the four-in-hands and automobiles of the upper -crust. Gamblers, newsboys, and Chinamen are the most chivalrously -courteous among them. And the modest-looking "plunger" who has drunk -the greatest number of high-balls is the most gravely, quietly -polite of all. The rolling, rollicking, musical profanity of the -"ould sod"--Bantry Bay, Donegal, Tyrone, Tipperary--falls much less -limpidly from the cigaretted lips of the ten-year-old lad than -from those of his mother, who taught it to him. One may notice that -the husband and wife who smile the sweetest at each other in the -sight of the multitudes are they whose countenances bear various -scars and scratches commemorating late evening orgies at home; that -the peculiar solid, block-shaped appearance of some of the miners' -wives is due quite as much to the quantity of beer they drink as -to their annual maternity; that the one grand ruling passion of -some men's lives is curiosity;--that the entire herd is warped, -distorted, barren, having lived its life in smoke-cured Butte. - -A single street in Butte contains people in nearly every walk of -life--living side by side resignedly, if not in peace. - -In a row of five or six houses there will be living miners and -their families, the children of which prevent life from stagnating -in the street while their mothers talk to each other--with the -inevitable profanity--over the back-fences. On the corner above -there will be a mysterious widow with one child, who has suddenly -alighted upon the neighborhood, stealthily in the night, and is -to be seen at rare intervals emerging from her door--the target -for dozens of pairs of eager eyes and half as many eager tongues. -And when the mysterious widow, with her one child, disappears some -night as suddenly and as stealthily as she appeared, an outburst of -highly-colored rumors is tossed with astonishing glibness over the -various back-fences--all relating to the mysterious widow's shady -antecedents and past history, to those of her child, and to the -cause of her sudden departure,--no two of which rumors agree in any -particular. Across on the opposite corner there will be a company -of strange people who also descended suddenly, and upon whom the -eyes of the entire block are turned with absorbing interest. They -consist of half-a-dozen men and women seemingly bound together only -by ties of conviviality. The house is kept closely-blinded and quiet -all day, only to burst forth in a blaze of revel in the evening, -which revel lasts all night. This goes on until some momentous -night, at the request of certain proper ones, a police officer -glides quietly into the midst of a scene of unusual gaiety--and the -festive company melts into oblivion, never to return. They also -are then discussed with rapturous relish and in tones properly -lowered, over the back-fences. Farther down the street there will -live an interesting being of feminine persuasion who has had five -divorces and is in course of obtaining another. These divorces, -the causes therefor, the justice thereof, and the future prospects -of the multi-grass widow, are gone over, in all their bearings, by -the indefatigable tongues. Every incident in the history of the -street is put through a course of sprouts by these same tireless -members. The Jewish family that lives in the poorest house in the -neighborhood, and that is said to count its money by the hundred -thousands; the aristocratic family with the Irish-point curtains -in the windows--that lives on the county; the family whose husband -and father gains for it a comfortable livelihood--forging checks; -the miner's family whose wife and mother wastes its substance in -diamonds and sealskin coats and other riotous living; the family in -extremely straitened circumstances into which new babies arrive in -great and distressing numbers; the strange lady with an apoplectic -complexion and a wonderfully foul and violent flow of invective--all -are discussed over and over and over again. No one is omitted. - -And so this is Butte, the promiscuous--the Bohemian. And all these -are the Devil's playthings. They amuse him, doubtless. - -Butte is a place of sand and barrenness. - -The souls of these people are dumb. - - - - - February 4. - -Always I wonder, when I die will there be any one to remember me -with love? - -I know I am not lovable. - -That I want it so much only makes me less lovable, it seems. But--who -knows?--it may be there will be some one. - -My anemone lady does not love me. How can she--since she does not -understand me? But she allows me to love her--and that carries me -a long way. There are many--oh, a great many--who will not allow -you to love them if you would. - -There is no one to love me now. - -Always I wonder how it will be after some long years when I find -myself about to die. - - - - - February 7. - -In this house where I drag out my accursed, devilish, weary -existence, upstairs in the bathroom, on the little ledge at the -top of the wainscoting, there are six tooth-brushes: an ordinary -white bone-handled one that is my younger brother's; a white -twisted-handled one that is my sister's; a flat-handled one that is -my older brother's; a celluloid-handled one that is my stepfather's; -a silver-handled one that is mine; and another ordinary one that is -my mother's. The sight of these tooth-brushes day after day, week -after week, and always, is one of the most crushingly maddening -circumstances in my fool's life. - -Every Friday I wash up the bathroom. Usually I like to do this. I -like the feeling of the water squeezing through my fingers, and -always it leaves my nails beautifully neat. But the obviousness of -those six tooth-brushes signifying me and the five other members of -this family and the aimless emptiness of my existence here--Friday -after Friday--makes my soul weary and my heart sick. - -Never does the pitiable, barren, contemptible, damnable, narrow -Nothingness of my life in this house come upon me with so intense -a force as when my eyes happen upon those six tooth-brushes. - -Among the horrors of the Inquisition, a minute refinement of cruelty -was reached when the victim's head was placed beneath a never-ceasing -falling of water, drop by drop. - -A convict sentenced to solitary confinement, spending his endless -days staring at four blank walls, feels that had he committed every -known crime he could not possibly deserve his punishment. - -I am not undergoing an Inquisition, nor am I a convict in solitary -confinement. But I live in a house with people who affect me mostly -through their tooth-brushes--and those I should like, above all -things, to gather up and pitch out of the bathroom window--and oh, -damn them, _damn_ them! - -You who read this, can you understand the depth of bitterness and -hatred that is contained in this for me? Perhaps you can a little -if you are a woman and have felt yourself alone. - -When I look at the six tooth-brushes a fierce, lurid storm of rage -and passion comes over me. Two heavy leaden hands lay hold of my -life and press, press, press. They strike the sick, sick weariness -to my inmost soul. - -Oh, to leave this house and these people, and this intense -Nothingness--oh, to pass out from them, forever! But where can I go, -what can I do? I feel with mad fury that I am helpless. The grasp -of the stepfather and the mother is contemptible and absurd--but -with the persistence and tenacity of narrow minds. It is like the -two heavy leaden hands. It is not seen--it is not tangible. It is -felt. - -Once I took away my own silver-handled tooth-brush from the bathroom -ledge, and kept it in my bedroom for a day or two. I thought to -lessen the effect of the six. - -I put it back in the bathroom. - -The absence of one accentuated the significant damnation of the -others. There was something more forcibly maddening in the five -than in the six tooth-brushes. The damnation was not worse, but it -developed my feeling about them more vividly. - -And so I put my tooth-brush back in the bathroom. - -This house is comfortably furnished. My mother spends her life in -the adornment of it. The small square rooms are distinctly pretty. - -But when I look at them seeingly I think of the proverb about the -dinner of stalled ox. - -Yet there is no hatred here, except mine and my bitterness. I am -the only one of them whose bitter spirit cries out against things. - -But there is that which is subtler and strikes deeper. There is -the lack of sympathy--the lack of everything that counts: there is -the great, deep Nothing. - -How much better were there hatred here than Nothing! - -I long hopelessly for will-power, resolution to take my life into -my own hands, to walk away from this house some day and never -return. I have nowhere to go--no money, and I know the world quite -too well to put the slightest faith in its voluntary kindness of -heart. But how much better and wider, less damned, less maddening, -to go out into it and be beaten and cheated and fooled with, than -_this_!--this thing that gathers itself easily into a circle made -of six tooth-brushes with a sufficiency of surplus damnation. - -I have read about a woman who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho -and fell among thieves. Perhaps she had a house at Jerusalem with -six tooth-brushes and Nothingness. In that case she might have -rushed gladly into the arms of thieves. - -I think of crimes that strike horror and revulsion to my maid-senses. -And I think of my Nothingness, and I ask myself were it not better -to walk the earth an outcast, a solitary woman, and meet and face -even these, than that each and every one of my woman-senses should -wear slowly, painfully to shreds, and strain and break--in this -unnameable Nothing? - -Oh, the dreariness--the hopelessness of Nothing! - -There are no words to tell it. And things are always hardest to -bear when there are no words for them. - -However great one's gift of language may be, there is always -something that one can not tell. - -I am weary of self--always self. But it must be so. - -My life is filled with _self_. - -If my soul could awaken fully perhaps I might be lifted out of -myself--surely I should be. But my soul is not awake. It is -awakening, trying to open its eyes; and it is crying out blindly -after something, but it can not _know_. I have a dreadful feeling -that it will stay always like this. - -Oh, I feel everything--everything! I feel what might be. And there -is Nothing. There are six tooth-brushes. - -Would I stop for a few fine distinctions, a theory, a natural law -even, to escape from this into Happiness--or into something greatly -less? - -Misery--misery! If only I could feel it less! - -Oh, the weariness, the weariness--as I await the Devil's coming. - - - - - February 8. - -Often I walk out to a place on the flat valley below the town, to -flirt with Death. There is within me a latent spirit of coquetry, -it appears. - -Down on the flat there is a certain deep, dark hole with several -feet of water at the bottom. - -This hole completely fascinates me. Sometimes when I start out -to walk in a quite different direction, I feel impelled almost -irresistibly to turn and go down on the flat in the direction of -the fascinating, deep black hole. - -And here I flirt with Death. The hole is so narrow--only about four -feet across--and so dark, and so deep! I don't know whether it was -intended to be a well, or whether it is an abandoned shaft of some -miner. At any rate it is isolated and deserted, and it has a rare -loving charm for me. - -I go there sometimes in the early evening, and kneel on the edge -of it and lean over the dark pit, with my hand grasping a wooden -stake that is driven into the ground near by. And I drop little -stones down and hear them splash hollowly, and it sounds a long -way off. - -There is something wonderfully soothing, wonderfully comforting -to my unrestful, aching wooden heart in the dark mystery of this -fascinating hole. Here is the End for me, if I want it--here is -the Ceasing, when I want it. And I lean over and smile quietly. - -"No flowers," I say softly to myself, "no weeping idiots, no -senseless funeral, no oily undertaker fussing over my woman's-body, -no useless Christian prayers. Nothing but this deep dark restful -grave." - -No one would ever find it. It is a mile and a half from any house. - -The water--the dark still water at the bottom--would gurgle over -me and make an end quickly. Or if I feared there was not enough -water, I would bring with me a syringe and some morphine and -inject an immense quantity into one white arm, and kneel over the -tender darkness until my youth-weary, waiting-worn senses should -be overcome, and my slim, light body should fall. It would splash -into the water at the bottom--it would follow the little stones -at last. And the black, muddy water would soak in and begin the -destroying of my body, and murky bubbles would rise so long as my -lungs continued to breathe. Or perhaps my body would fall against -the side of the hole, and the head would lie against it out of the -water. Or perhaps only the face would be out of the water, turned -upward to the light above--or turned half-down, and the hair would -be darkly wet and heavy, and the face would be blue-white below -it, and the eyes would sink inward. - -"The End, the End!" I say softly and ecstatically. Yet I do not -lean farther out. My hand does not loosen its tight grasp on the -wooden stake. I am only flirting with Death now. - -Death is fascinating--almost like the Devil. Death makes use of -all his arts and wiles, powerful and alluring, and flirts with -deadly temptation for me. And I make use of my arts and wiles--and -tempt him. - -Death would like dearly to have me, and I would like dearly to have -him. It is a flirtation that has its source in mutual desire. We -do not love each other, Death and I,--we are not friends. But we -desire each other sensually, lustfully. - -Sometime I suppose I shall yield to the desire. I merely play at -it now--but in an unmistakable manner. Death knows it is only a -question of time. - -But first the Devil must come. First the Devil, then Death: a deep -dark soothing grave--and the early evening, "and a little folding -of the hands to sleep." - - - - - February 12. - -I am in no small degree, I find, a sham--a player to the gallery. -Possibly this may be felt as you read these analyses. - -While all of these emotions are written in the utmost seriousness -and sincerity, and are exactly as I feel them, day after day--so far -as I have the power to express what I feel--still I aim to convey -through them all the idea that I am lacking in the grand element -of Truth--that there is in the warp and woof of my life a thread -that is false--false. - -I don't know how to say this without the fear of being misunderstood. -When I say I am in a way a sham, I have no reference to the truths -as I have given them in this Portrayal, but to a very light and -subtle thing that runs through them. - -Oh, do not think for an instant that this analysis of my emotions -is not perfectly sincere and real, and that I have not felt all -of them more than I can put into words. They are my tears--my -life-blood! - -But in my life, in my personality, there is an essence of falseness -and insincerity. A thin, fine vapor of fraud hangs always over me -and dampens and injures some things in me that I value. - -I have not succeeded thoroughly in analyzing this--it is so thin, -so elusive, so faint--and yet not little. It is a natural thing -enough viewed in the light of my other traits. - -I have lived my nineteen years buried in an environment at utter -variance with my natural instincts, where my inner life is never -touched, and my sympathies very rarely, if ever, appealed to. I never -disclose my real desires or the texture of my soul. Never, that is -to say, to any one except my one friend, the anemone lady.--And so -every day of my life I am playing a part; I am keeping an immense -bundle of things hidden under my cloak. When one has played a part--a -false part--all one's life, for I was a sly, artful little liar -even in the days of five and six; then one is marked. One may never -rid oneself of the mantle of falseness, charlatanry--particularly -if one is innately a liar. - -A year ago when the friendship of my anemone lady was given me, and -she would sometimes hear sympathetically some long-silent bit of -pain, I felt a snapping of tense-drawn cords, a breaking away of -flood-gates--and a strange, new pain. I felt as if I must clasp her -gentle hand tightly and give way to the pent-up, surging tears of -eighteen years. I had wanted this tender thing more than anything -else all my life, and it was given me suddenly. - -I felt a convulsion and a melting, within. - -But I could not tell my one friend exactly what I felt. There was -no doubt in my own mind as to my own perfect sincerity of feeling, -but there was with it and around it this vapor of fraud, a spirit -of falseness that rose and confronted me and said, "hypocrite," -"fool." - -It may be that the spirit of falseness is itself a false thing--yet -true or false, it is with me always. I have tried, in writing out my -emotions, to convey an idea of this sham element while still telling -everything faithfully true. Sometimes I think I have succeeded, -and at other times I seem to have signally failed. This element of -falseness is absolutely the very thinnest, the very finest, the -rarest of all the things in my many-sided character. - -It is not the most unimportant. - -I have seen visions of myself walking in various pathways. I have -seen myself trying one pathway and another. And always it is the -same: I see before me in the path, darkening the way and filling me -with dread and discouragement, a great black shadow--the shadow -of my own element of falseness. - -I can not rid myself of it. - -I am an innate liar. - -This is a hard thing to write about. Of all things it is the most -liable to be misunderstood. You will probably misunderstand it, -for I have not succeeded in giving the right idea of it. I aimed -at it and missed it. It eluded me completely. - -You must take the idea as I have just now presented it for what -it may be worth. This is as near as I can come to it. But it is -something infinitely finer and rarer. - -It is a difficult task to show to others a thing which, though -I feel and recognize it thoroughly, I have not yet analyzed for -myself. - -But this is a complete Portrayal of me--as I await the Devil's -coming--and I must tell everything--everything. - - - - - February 13. - -So then, yes. As I have said, I find that I am quite, quite odd. My -various acquaintances say that I am _funny_. They say, "Oh, it's -that May MacLane, Dolly's younger sister. She's funny." But I call -it oddity. I bear the hall-mark of oddity. - -There was a time, a year or two since, when I was an exceedingly -sensitive little fool--sensitive in that it used to strike very -deep when my young acquaintances would call me funny and find in -me a vent for their distinctly unfriendly ridicule. My years in -the high school were not years of joy. Two years ago I had not yet -risen above these things. I was a sensitive little fool. - -But that sensitiveness, I rejoice to say, has gone from me. The -opinion of these young people, or of these old people, is now a -thing that is quite unable to affect me. - -The more I see of conventionality, it seems, the more I am odd. - -Though I am young and feminine--very feminine--yet I am not that -quaint conceit, a _girl_: the sort of person that Laura E. Richards -writes about, and Nora Perry, and Louisa M. Alcott,--girls with -bright eyes, and with charming faces (they always have charming -faces), standing with reluctant feet where the brook and river -meet,--and all that sort of thing. - -I missed all that. - -I have read some girl-books, a few years ago--"Hildegarde Grahame," -and "What Katy Did," and all,--but I read them from afar. I looked -at those creatures from behind a high board fence. I felt as if -I had more tastes in common with the Jews wandering through the -wilderness, or with a band of fighting Amazons. I am not a girl. I -am a woman, of a kind. I began to be a woman at twelve, or more -properly, a genius. - -And then, usually, if one is not a girl one is a heroine--of the -kind you read about. But I am not a heroine, either. A heroine -is beautiful--eyes like the sea shoot opaque glances from under -drooping lids--walks with undulating movements, her bright smile -haunts one still, falls methodically in love with a man--always -with a man, eats things (they are always called "viands") with a -delicate appetite, and on special occasions her voice is full of -tears. I do none of these things. I am not beautiful. I do not walk -with undulating movements--indeed, I have never seen any one walk -so, except, perhaps, a cow that has been overfed. My bright smile -haunts no one. I shoot no opaque glances from my eyes, which are -not like the sea by any means. I have never eaten any viands, and -my appetite for what I do eat is most excellent. And my voice has -never yet, to my knowledge, been full of tears. - -No, I am not a heroine. - -There never seem to be any plain heroines, except Jane Eyre, and -she was very unsatisfactory. She should have entered into marriage -with her beloved Rochester in the first place. I should have, let -there be a dozen mad wives upstairs. But I suppose the author -thought she must give her heroine some desirable thing--high moral -principles, since she was not beautiful. Some people say that beauty -is a curse. It may be true, but I'm sure I should not have at all -minded being cursed a little. And I know several persons who might -well say the same. But, anyway, I wish some one would write a book -about a plain, bad heroine so that I might feel in real sympathy -with her. - -So far from being a girl or a heroine, I am a thief--as I have -before suggested. - -I mind me of how, not long since, I stole three dollars. A woman -whom I know rather well, and lives near, called me into her house -as I was passing and asked me to do an errand for her. She was -having an ornate gown made, and she needed some more appliqué with -which to festoon it. The appliqué cost nine dollars a yard. My -trusting neighbor gave me a bit of the braid for a sample and two -twenty-dollar bills. I was to get four yards. I did so, and came -back and gave her the braid and a single dollar. The other three -dollars I kept myself. I wanted three dollars very much, to put -with a few that I already had in my purse. My trusting neighbor is -of the kind that throws money about carelessly. I knew she would -not pay any attention to a little detail like that,--she was deeply -interested in her new frock; or perhaps she would think I had got -thirty-nine dollars' worth of appliqué. At any rate, she did not -need the money, and I wanted three dollars, and so I stole it. - -I am a thief. - -It has been suggested to me that I am a kleptomaniac. But I am sure -my mind is perfectly sane. I have no such excuse. I am a plain, -downright thief. - -This is only one of my many peculations. I steal money, or anything -that I want, whenever I can, nearly always. It amuses me--and one -must be amused. - -I have only two stipulations: that the person to whom it belongs -does not need it pressingly, and that there is not the smallest -chance of being found out. (And of course I could not think of -stealing from my one friend.) - -It would be extremely inconvenient to be known as a thief, merely. - -When the world knows you are a thief it blinds itself completely -to your other attributes. It calls you a thief, and there's an -end. I am a genius as well as a thief--but the world would quite -overlook that fact. "A thief's a thief," says the world. That is -very true. But the mere fact of being a thief should not exclude -the consideration of one's other traits. When the world knows you -are a Methodist minister, for instance, it will admit that you may -also be a violinist, or a chemist, or a poet, and will credit you -therefor. And so if it condemns you for being a thief, it should at -the same time admire you for being a genius. If it does not admire -you for being a genius, then it has no right to condemn you for -being a thief. - ---And why the world should condemn any one for being a thief--when -there is not within its confines any one who is not a thief in -some way--is a bit of irony upon which I have wasted much futile -logic.-- - -I am not trying to justify myself for stealing. I do not consider -it a thing that needs to be justified, any more than walking or -eating or going to bed. But, as I say, if the world knew that I -am a thief without being first made aware with emphasis that I am -some other things also, then the world would be a shade cooler for -me than it already is--which would be very cool indeed. - -And so in writing my Portrayal I have dwelt upon other things at -some length before touching on my thieving propensities. - -None of my acquaintances would suspect that I am a thief. I look -so respectable, so refined, so "nice," so inoffensive, so sweet, -even! - -But, for that matter, I am a great many things that I do not appear -to be. - -The woman from whom I stole the three dollars, if she reads this, -will recognize it. This will be inconvenient. I fervently hope she -may not read it. It is true she is not of the kind that reads. - -But, after all, it's of no consequence. This Portrayal is Mary -MacLane: her wooden heart, her young woman's-body, her mind, her -soul. - -The world may run and read. - -I will tell you what I did with the three dollars. In Dublin Gulch, -which is a rough quarter of Butte inhabited by poor Irish people, -there lives an old world-soured, wrinkled-faced woman. She lives -alone in a small, untidy house. She swears frightfully like a -parrot, and her reputation is bad--so bad, indeed, that even the -old woman's compatriots in Dublin Gulch do not visit her lest they -damage their own. It is true that the profane old woman's morals are -not good--have never been good--judged by the world's standards. -She bears various marks of cold, rough handling on her mind and -body. Her life has all but run its course. She is worn out. - -Once in a while I go to visit this old woman--my reputation must -be sadly damaged by now. - -I sit with her for an hour or two and listen to her. She is -extremely glad to have me there. Except me she has no one to talk -to but the milkman, the groceryman, and the butcher. So always she -is glad to see me. There is a certain bond of sympathy between her -and me. We are fond of each other. When she sees me picking my way -towards her house, her hard, sour face softens wonderfully and a -light of distinct friendliness comes into her green eyes. - -Don't you know, there are few people enough in the world whose hard, -sour faces will soften at sight of you and a distinctly friendly -light come into their green eyes. For myself, I find such people -few indeed. - -So the profane old woman and I are fond of each other. No question -of morals, or of immorals, comes between us. We are equals. - -I talk to her a little--but mostly she talks. She tells me of the -time when she lived in County Galway, when she was young--and of -her several husbands, and of some who were not husbands, and of her -children scattered over the earth. And she shows me old tin-types of -these people. She has told me the varied tale of her life a great -many times. I like to hear her tell it. It is like nothing else I -have heard. The story in its unblushing simplicity, the sour-faced -old woman sitting telling it, and the tin-types,--contain a thing -that is absurdly, grotesquely, tearlessly sad. - -Once when I went to her house I brought with me six immense, heavy, -fragrant chrysanthemums. - -They had been bought with the three dollars I had stolen. - -It pleased me to buy them for the profane old woman. They pleased -her also--not because she cares much for flowers, but because I -brought them to her. I knew they would please her, but that was -not the reason I gave her them. - -I did it purely and simply to please myself. - -I knew the profane old woman would not be at all concerned as to -whether they had been bought with stolen money or not, and my only -regret was that I had not had an opportunity to steal a larger sum so -that I might have bought more chrysanthemums without inconveniencing -my purse. - -But as it was they filled her dirty little dwelling with perfume -and color. - -Long ago, when I was six, I was a thief--only I was not then, as -now, a graceful, light-fingered thief--I had not the philosophy of -stealing. - -When I would steal a copper cent out of my mother's pocketbook I -would feel a dreadful, suffocating sinking in my bad heart, and for -days and nights afterwards--long after I had eaten the chocolate -mouse--the copper cent would haunt me and haunt me, and oh, how I -wished it back in that pocketbook with the clasp shut tight and -the bureau drawer locked! - -And so, is it not finer to be nineteen and a thief, with the -philosophy of stealing--than to be six and haunted day and night -by a copper cent? - -For now always my only regret is, when I have stolen five dollars, -that I did not steal ten while I was about it. - -It is a long time ago since I was six. - - - - - February 17. - -To-day I walked over the hill where the sun vanishes down in the -afternoon. - -I followed the sun so far as I could, but two even very good legs -can do no more than carry one into the midst of the sunshine--and -then one may stand and take leave, lovingly, of it. - -I stood in the valley below the hill and looked away at the -gold-yellow mountains that rise into the cloudy blue, and at the -long gray stretches of rolling sand. It all reminded me of the -Devil and the Happiness he will bring me. - -Some day the Devil will come to me and say: "Come with me." - -And I will answer: "Yes." - -And he will take me away with him to a place where it is wet and -green--where the yellow, yellow sunshine falls on heaven-kissing -hills, and misty, cloudy masses float over the valleys. - -And for days I shall be happy--happy--happy! - -For _days_! The Devil and I will love each other intensely, -perfectly--for days! He will be incarnate, but he will not be a man. -He will be the man-devil, and his soul will take mine to itself -and they will be one--for days. - -Imagine me raised out of my misery and obscurity, dullness and -Nothingness, into the full, brilliant life of the Devil--for days! - -The love of the man-devil will enter into my barren, barren life -and melt all the cold, hard things, and water the barrenness, and -a million little green growing plants will start out of it; and -a clear, sparkling spring will flow over it--through the dreary, -sandy stretches of my bitterness, among the false stony roadways -of my pain and hatred. And a great rushing, flashing cataract of -melting love will flow over my weariness and unrest and wash it -away forever. My soul will be fully awakened and there will be a -million little sweet new souls in the green growing things. And they -will fill my life with everything that is beautiful--tenderness, and -divineness, and compassion, and exaltation, and uplifting grace, -and light, and rest, and gentleness, and triumph, and truth, and -peace. My life will be borne far out of self, and self will sink -quietly out of sight--and I shall see it farther and farther away, -until it disappears. - -"It is the last--the _last_--of that Mary MacLane," I will say, -and I will feel a long, sighing, quivering farewell. - -A thousand years of misery--and now a million years of Happiness. - -When the sun is setting in the valley and the crests of those -heaven-kissing hills are painted violet and purple, and the -valley itself is reeking and swimming in yellow-gold light, the -man-devil--whom I love more than all--and I will go out into it. - -We will be saturated in the yellow light of the sun and the gold -light of Love. - -The man-devil will say to me: "Look, you little creature, at this -beautiful picture of Joy and Happiness. It is the picture of your -life as it will be while I am with you--and I am with you for days." - -Ah, yes, I will take a last, long farewell of this Mary MacLane. -Not one faint shadow of her weary wretched Nothingness will remain. - -There will be instead a brilliant, buoyant, joyous creature--transformed, -adorned, garlanded by the love of the Devil. - -My mind will be a treasure-house of art, swept and garnished and -strong and at its best. - -My barren, hungry heart will come at last to its own. The red -flames of the man-devil's love will burn out forever its pitiable, -distorted, wooden quality, and he will take it and cherish it--and -give me his. - -My young woman's-body likewise will be metamorphosed, and I shall -feel it developing and filled with myriads of little contentments -and pleasures. Always my young woman's-body is a great and important -part of me, and when I am married to the Devil its finely-organized -nerve-power and intricate sensibility will be culminated to marvelous -completeness. My soul--upon my soul will descend consciously the -light that never was on land or sea. - -This will be for days--for days. - -No matter what came before, I will say; no matter what comes -afterward. Just now it is the man-devil, my best-beloved, and I, -living in the yellow light. - -Think of living with the Devil in a bare little house, in the midst -of green wetness and sweetness and yellow light--for days! - -In the gray dawn it will be ineffably sweet and beautiful, with -shining leaves and the gray, unfathomable air, and the wet grass, -and all. - -"Be happy now, my weary little wife," the Devil will say. - -And the long, long yellow-gold day will be filled with the music -of Real Life. - -My grandest possibility will be realized. The world contains a -great many things--and this is my grandest possibility realized! - -I will weep rapturous tears. - -When I think of all this and write it there is in me a feeling that -is more than pain. - -Perhaps the very sweetest, the tenderest, the most pitiful and benign -human voice in the world could sing these things and this feeling -set to their own wondrous music,--and it would echo far--far,--and -you would understand. - - - - - February 20. - -At times when I walk among the natural things--the barren, natural -things--I know that I believe in Something. Why can I not call it -God and pray to it? - -There is Something--I do not know it intellectually, but I feel -it--I _feel_ it--with my soul. It does not seem to reach down to -me. It does not pity me. It does not look at me tenderly in my -unhappiness. - -My soul feels only that it is there. - -No. It is not all-loving, all-gracious, all-pitying. It hurts -me--it hurts me always as I walk over the sand. But even while it -hurts me it seems to promise--ah, those beautiful things that it -promises me! - -And then the hurting is anguish--for I know that the promises will -never be fulfilled. - -There is within me a thing that is aching, aching, aching always -as the days pass. - -It is not my pain of wanting, nor my pain of unrest, nor my pain of -bitterness, nor of hatred. I know those in all their own anguish. - -This aching is another pain. It is a pain that I do not know--that -I feel ignorantly but sharply, and, oh, it is torture, torture! - -My soul is worn and weary with pain. There is no compassion--no -mercy upon me. There is no one to help me bear it. It is just I -alone out on the sand and barrenness. It is cruel anguish to be -always alone--and so long--oh, so long! - -Nineteen years are as ages to you when you are nineteen. - -When you are nineteen there is no experience to tell you that all -things have an end. - -This aching pain has no end. - -I feel no tears now, but I feel heavy sobs that shake my life to -its center. - -My soul is wandering in a wilderness. - -There is a great light sometimes that draws my soul toward it. When -my soul turns toward it, it shines out brilliant and dazzling and -awful--and the worn, sensitive thing shrinks away, and shivers, -and is faint. - -Shall my soul have to know this Light, inevitably? Must it, some -day, plunge into this? - -Oh, it may be--it may be. But I know that I shall die with the pain. - -There are times when the great Light is dim and beautiful as the -starlight--the utter agony of it--the cruel, ineffable loveliness! - -Do you understand this? I am telling you my young, passionate -life-agony? Do you listen to it indifferently? Has it no meaning -for any one? For me it means everything. For me it makes life old, -long, weariness. - -It may be that you know. And perhaps you would even weep a little -with me if you had time. - -It is as if this Light were the light of the Christian religion--and -the Christian religion is full of hatred. It says, "Come unto me, -you that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." But when you -would go, when you reach up with your weary hands, it sends you a -too-brilliant Light--it makes you fair, wondrous promises--it puts -you off. You beseech it in your suffering-- - - "While the waters near me roll, - While the tempest still is high--" - -but it does not listen--it does not care. Worship me, worship me, it -says, but after that let me alone. There is a bookful of promises. -Take it and thank me and worship me. - -It does not care. - -If I obey it, it looks on indifferently. If I disobey it, it looks -on indifferently. If I am in woe, it looks on indifferently. If I -am in a brief joy, it looks on indifferently. - -I am left all alone--all alone. - -The Light is shown me and I reach after it, but it is placed high -out of my reach. - -I see the promises in the Light. Oh, why--_why_ does it promise -these things! Is not the burden of life already greater than I can -bear? And there is the story of the Christ. It is beautiful. It is -damningly beautiful. It draws the tears of pain and soft anguish -from me at the sense of beauty. And when every nerve in me is -melted and overflowing, then suddenly I am conscious that it is a -lie--a _lie_. - -Everywhere I turn there is Nothing--Nothing. - -My soul wails out its grief in loneliness. - -My soul wanders hither and thither in the dark wilderness and asks, -asks always in blind, dull agony, How long?--how long? - - - - - February 22. - -Life is a pitiful thing. - - - - - February 23. - -I stand in the midst of my sand and barrenness and gaze hard at -everything that is within my range of vision--and ruin my eyes -trying to see into the darkness beyond. - -And nearly always I feel a vague contempt for you, fine, brave -world--for you and all the things that I see from my barrenness. -But I promise you, if some one comes from among you over the sunset -hill one day with love for me, I will fall at your feet. - -I am a selfish, conceited, impudent little animal, it is true, but, -after all, I am only one grand conglomeration of Wanting--and when -some one comes over the barren hill to satisfy the wanting, I will -be humble, humble in my triumph. - -It is a difficult thing--a most difficult thing--to live on as one -year follows another, from childhood slowly to womanhood, without -one single sharer of your life--to be alone, always alone, when -your one friend is gone. Oh, yes, it is hard! Particularly when one -is not high-minded and spiritual, when one's near longing is not a -God and a religion, when one wants above all things the love of a -human being--when one is a woman, young and all alone. Doubtless you -know this. After all, fine brave world, there are some things that -you know very well. Whether or not you care is a quite different -matter. - -You have the power to take this wooden heart in a tight, suffocating -grasp. You have the power to do this with pain for me, and you have -the power to do it with ravishing gentleness. But whether or not -you will is another matter. - -You may think evil of me before you have finished reading this. -You will be very right to think so--according to your standards. -But sometimes you see evil where there is no evil, and think evil -when the only evil is in your own brains. - -My life is a dry and barren life. You can change it. - - "Oh, the little more, and how much it is! - And the little less, and what worlds away." - -Yes, you can change it. Stranger things have happened. Again, -whether you will--that is a quite different thing. - -No doubt you are the people and wisdom will die with you. I do not -question that. I will admit and believe anything you may assert -about yourselves. I do not want your wisdom, your judgment. I want -some one to come up over the barren sunset hill. My thoughts are -the thoughts of youth, which are said to be long, long thoughts. - -Your life is multi-colored and filled with people. My life is of -the gray of sand and barrenness, and consists of Mary MacLane, the -longing for Happiness, and the memory of the anemone lady. - -This Portrayal is my deepest sincerity, my tears, my drops of red -blood. Some of it is wrung from me--wrung by my ambition to tell -_everything_. It is not altogether good that I should give you all -this, since I do not give it for love of you. I am giving it in -exchange for a few gayly-colored things. I want you to know all -these passions and emotions. I give them with the utmost freedom. I -shall be furious indeed if you do not take them. At the same time, -the fact that I am exchanging my tears and my drops of red blood -for your gayly-colored trifles is not a thing that thrills me with -delight. - -But it's of little moment. When the Devil comes over the hill with -Happiness I will rush at him frantically headlong--and nothing else -will matter. - - - - - February 25. - -Mary MacLane--what are you, you forlorn, desolate little creature? -Why are you not of and in the galloping herd? Why is it that you -stand out separate against the background of a gloomy sky? Why can -you not enter into the lives and sympathies of other young creatures? -There have been times when you strained every despairing nerve to -do so--before you realized that these things were not for you, that -the only sympathy for you was that of Mary MacLane, and the only -things for you were those you could take yourself--not which were -given you. And your things are few, few, you starved, lean little -mud-cat--you worn, youth-weary, obscure little genius! - -Oh, it is a wearisome waiting--for the Devil. - - - - - February 28. - -To-day when I walked over my sand and barrenness I felt Infinite -Grief. - -Everything is beyond me. - -Nothing is mine. - -My single friendship shines brightly before me, and is fascinating--and -always just out of my reach. - -I want the love and sympathy of human beings, and I repel human -beings. - -Yes, I repel human beings. - -There is something about me that faintly and finely and unmistakably -repels. - -When my Happiness comes, shall I be able to have it? Shall I ever -have anything? - -This repellent power is not an outward quality. It is something -that comes from deeply, deeply within. It is something that was -there in the Beginning. It is a thing from the Original. - -There is no ridding myself of it. There is no ridding myself of -it. There is no ridding myself of it. - -Oh, I am damned--damned! - -There is not one soul in the world to feel for me and with me--not -one out of all the millions. No one can understand--_no one_. - -You are saying to yourself that I imagine this. - -What right have you to say so? You don't know anything about me. I -know all about me. I have studied all the elements and phases in -my life for years and years. I do not imagine anything. I am even -fool enough to shut my eyes to some things until, inevitably, I -know I must meet them. I am racked with the passions of youth, and -I am young in years. Beyond that I am mature--old. I am not a child -in anything but my passions and my years. I feel and recognize -everything thoroughly. I have not to imagine anything. My inner -life is before my eyes. - -There is something about me that no one can understand. Can there -ever be any one to understand? Shall I not always walk my barren -road alone? - -This follows me incessantly. It is burning like a smouldering fire -every hour of my life. - -Oh, deep black Despair! - -How I suffer, how I suffer--just in being alive. - -I feel Infinite Grief. - -Oh, Infinite Grief---- - - - - - March 2. - -Often in the early morning I leave my bed and get me dressed and -go out into the Gray Dawn. There is something about the Gray Dawn -that makes me wish the world would stop, that the sun would never -more come up over the edge, that my life would go on and on and -rest in the Gray Dawn. - -In the Gray Dawn every hard thing is hidden by a gray mantle of -charity, and only the light, vague, caressing fancies are left. - -Sometimes I think I am a strange, strange creature--something not -of earth, nor yet of heaven, nor of hell. I think at times I am a -little thing fallen on the earth by mistake: a thing thrown among -foreign, unfitting elements, where there is nothing in touch with -it, where life is a continual struggle, where every little door -is closed--every Why unanswered, and itself knows not where to -lay its head. I feel a deadly certainty in some moments that the -wild world contains not one moment of rest for me, that there will -never be any rest, that my woman's-soul will go on asking long, -long centuries after my woman's-body is laid in its grave. - -I felt this in the Gray Dawn this morning, but the gray charitable -mantle softened it. Always I feel most acutely in the Gray Dawn, -but always there is the thing to soften it. - -The gray atmosphere was charged. There was a tense electrical thrill -in the cold, soft air. My nerves were keenly alive. But the gray -curtain was mercifully there. I did not feel too much. - -How I wished the yellow, beautiful sun would never more come up -over the edge to show me my nearer anguish! - -"Stay with me, stay with me, soft Gray Dawn," implored every one -of my tiny lives. "Let me forget. Let the vanity, the pain, the -longing sink deep and vanish--all of it, all of it! And let me rest -in the midst of the Gray Dawn." - -I heard music--the silent music of myriad voices that you hear when -all is still. One of them came and whispered to me softly: "Don't -suffer any more just now, little Mary MacLane. You suffer enough -in the brightness of the sun and the blackness of the night. This -is the Gray Dawn. Take a little rest." - -"Yes," I said, "I will take a little rest." - -And then a wild, swelling chorus of voices whispered in the -stillness: "Rest, rest, rest, little Mary MacLane. Suffer in the -brightness, suffer in the blackness--your soul, your wooden heart, -your woman's-body. But now a little rest--a little rest." - -"A little rest," I said again. - -And straightway I began resting lest the sun should come too quickly -over the edge. - -When I have heard in summer the wind in a forest of pines, blowing -a wondrous symphony of purity and truth, my varied nature felt -itself abashed and there was a sinking in my wooden heart. The -beauty of it ravished my senses, but it savored crushingly of the -virtue that is far above and beyond me, and I felt a certain sore, -despairing grief. - -But the Gray Dawn is in perfect sympathy. It is quite as beautiful -as the wind in the pines, and its truth and purity are extremely -gentle, and partly hidden under the gray curtain. - -Almost I can be a different Mary MacLane out in the Gray Dawn. Let -me forget all the mingled agonies of my life. Let me walk in the -midst of this soft grayness and drink of the waters of Lethe. - -The Gray Dawn is not Paradise; it is not a Happy Valley; it is not -a Garden of Eden; it is not a Vale of Cashmere. It is the Gray -Dawn--soft, charitable, tender. "The brilliant celestial yellow -will come soon," it says; "you will suffer then to your greatest -extent. But now I am here--and so, rest." - -And so in the Gray Dawn I was forgetting for a brief period. I was -submerged for a little in Lethe, river of oblivion. If I had seen -some one coming over the near horizon with Happiness I should have -protested: Wait, wait until the Gray Dawn has passed. - -The deep, deep blue of the summer sky stirs me to a half-painful -joy. The cool green of a swiftly-flowing river fills my heart with -unquiet longings. The red, red of the sunset sky convulses my entire -being with passion. But the dear Gray Dawn brings me Rest. - -Oh, the Gray Dawn is sweet--sweet! - -Could I not die for very love of it! - -The Gray Dawn can do no wrong. If those myriad voices suddenly had -begun to sing a voluptuous evil song of the so great evil that I -could not understand, but that I could feel instantly, still the -Gray Dawn would have been fine and sweet and beautiful. - -Always I admire Mary MacLane greatly--though sometimes in my -admiration I feel a complete contempt for her. But in the Gray Dawn -I love Mary MacLane tenderly and passionately. - -I seem to take on a strange, calm indifference to everything in the -world but just Mary MacLane and the Gray Dawn. We two are identified -with each other and joined together in shadowy vagueness from the -rest of the world. - -As I walked over my sand and barrenness in the Gray Dawn a poem -ran continuously through my mind. It expressed to me in my gray -condition an ideal life and death and ending. Every desire of my -life melted away in the Gray Dawn except one good wish that my own -life and death might be short and obscure and complete like them. -The poem was this beautiful one of Charles Kingsley's: - - "'Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - Across the sands of Dee!' - The western wind was wild and dank with foam, - And all alone went she. - - "The creeping tide came up along the sand, - And o'er and o'er the sand, - And round and round the sand, - As far as eye could see; - The blinding mist came up and hid the land-- - And never home came she. - - "Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair?-- - A tress of golden hair, - Of drowned maiden's hair, - Above the nets at sea. - Was never salmon yet that shone so fair - Among the stakes on Dee. - - "They rowed her in across the rolling foam, - The cruel, crawling foam, - The cruel, hungry foam, - To her grave beside the sea; - But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home - Across the sands of Dee." - -This is a poem perfect. And in the Gray Dawn it expresses to me a -most desirable thing--a short, eventless life, a sudden ceasing, and -a forgotten voice sometimes calling. This Mary, in the Gray Dawn, -would wish nothing else. If the waters rolled over me now--over my -short, eventless life--there would be the sudden ceasing,--and the -anemone lady would hear my voice sometimes, and remember me--the -anemone lady and one or two others. And after a short time even my -pathetic, passionate voice would sound faint and be forgotten, and -my world of sand and barrenness would know me and my weary little -life-tragedy no more. - -And well for me, I say,--in the Gray Dawn. - -It is different--oh, very different--when the yellow bursts through -the gray. And the yellow is with me all day long, and at sunset--the -red, red line! - -Yet--oh, sweet Gray Dawn! - - - - - March 5. - -Sometimes I am seized with nearer, vivider sensations of love for -my one friend, the anemone lady. - -She is so dear--so beautiful! - -My love for her is a peculiar thing. It is not the ordinary -woman-love. It is something that burns with a vivid fire of its -own. The anemone lady is enshrined in a temple on the inside of my -heart that shall always only be hers. - -She is my first love--my only dear one. - -The thought of her fills me with a multitude of feelings, passionate -yet wonderfully tender,--with delight, with rare, undefined emotions, -with a suggestion of tears. - -Oh, dearest anemone lady, shall I ever be able to forget your -beautiful face! There may be some long, crowded years before -me; it may be there will be people and people entering and -departing--but, oh, no--no, I shall never forget! There will be in -my life always--always the faint sweet perfume of the blue anemone: -the memory of my one friend. - -Before she went away, to see her, to be near her, was an event in -my life--a coloring of the dullness. Always when I used to look -at her there would rush a train of things over my mind, a vaguely -glittering pageant that came only with her, and that held an -always-vivid interest for me. - -There were manifold and varied treasures in this train. There were -skies of spangled sapphire, and there were lilies, and violets wet -with dew. There was the music of violins, and wonderful weeds from -the deep sea, and songs of troubadours, and gleaming white statues. -There were ancient forests of oak and clematis vines; there were -lemon-trees, and fretted palaces, and moss-covered old castles with -moats and draw-bridges and tiny mullioned windows with diamond -panes. There was a cold, glittering cataract of white foam, and -a little green boat far off down the river, drifting along under -drooping willows. There was a tree of golden apples, and a banquet -in a beautiful house with the melting music of lutes and harps, -and mulled orange-wine in tall, thin glasses. There was a field -of long, fine grass, soft as bat's-wool, and there were birds of -brilliant plumage--scarlet and indigo with gold-tipped wings. - -All these and a thousand fancies alike vaguely glittering would -rush over me when I was with the anemone lady. Always my brain was -in a gentle delirium. My nerves were unquiet. - -It was because I love her. - -Oh, there is not--there can never be--another anemone lady! - -My life is a desert--a desert, but the thin, clinging perfume of -the blue anemone reaches to its utter confines. And nothing in the -desert is the same because of that perfume. Years will not fade -the blue of the anemone, nor a thousand bitter winds blow away the -rare fragrance. - -I feel in the anemone lady a strange attraction of sex. There is -in me a masculine element that, when I am thinking of her, arises -and overshadows all the others. - -"Why am I not a man," I say to the sand and barrenness with a certain -strained, tense passion, "that I might give this wonderful, dear, -delicious woman an absolutely perfect love!" - -And this is my predominating feeling for her. - -So, then, it is not the woman-love, but the man-love, set in the -mysterious sensibilities of my woman-nature. It brings me pain and -pleasure mingled in that odd, odd fashion. - -Do you think a man is the only creature with whom one may fall in -love? - -Often I see coming across the desert a long line of light. My -soul turns toward it and shrinks away from it as it does from all -the lights. Some day, perhaps, all the lights will roll into one -terrible white effervescence and rush over my soul and kill it. -But this light does not bring so much of pain, for it is soft and -silvery, and always with it is the Soul of Anemone. - - - - - March 8. - -There are several things in the world for which I, of womankind and -nineteen years, have conceived a forcible repugnance--or rather, -the feeling was born in me; I did not have to conceive it. - -Often my mind chants a fervent litany of its own that runs somewhat -like this: - -From women and men who dispense odors of musk; from little boys -with long curls; from the kind of people who call a woman's figure -her "shape": Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From all sweet girls; from "gentlemen"; from feminine men: Kind -Devil, deliver me. - -From black under-clothing--and any color but white; from hips that -wobble as one walks; from persons with fishy eyes; from the books -of Archibald C. Gunter and Albert Ross: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From the soft persistent, maddening glances of water-cart drivers: -Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From lisle-thread stockings; from round, tight garters; from -brilliant brass belts: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From insipid sweet wine; from men who wear moustaches; from the sort -of people that call legs "limbs"; from bedraggled white petticoats: -Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From unripe bananas; from bathless people; from a waist-line that -slopes up in the front: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From an ordinary man; from a bad stomach, bad eyes, and bad feet: -Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From red note-paper; from a rhinestone-studded comb in my hair; -from weddings: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From cod-fish balls; from fried egg plant, fried beef-steak, fried -pork-chops, and fried French toast: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From wax flowers off a wedding-cake, under glass; from thin-soled -shoes; from tape-worms; from photographs perched up all over my -house: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From soft old bachelors and soft old widowers; from any masculine -thing that wears a pale blue necktie; from agonizing elocutionists -who recite "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-Night," and "The Lips That -Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine"; from a Salvation Army singing -hymns in slang: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From people who persist in calling my good body "mere vile clay"; -from idiots who appear to know all about me and enjoin me not to -bathe my eyes in hot water since it hurts their own; from fools -who tell me what I "want" to do: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From a nice young man; from tin spoons; from popular songs: Kind -Devil, deliver me. - -From pleasant old ladies who tell a great many uninteresting, obvious -lies; from men with watch-chains draped across their middles; from -some paintings of the old masters which I am unable to appreciate; -from side-saddles: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From the kind of man who sings, "Oh, Promise Me!"--who sings _at_ -it; from constipated dressmakers; from people who don't wash their -hair often enough: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From a servant girl with false teeth; from persons who make a -regular practice of rubbing oily mixtures into their faces; from -a bed that sinks in the middle: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -And so on and on and on. And in each petition I am deeply sincere. -But, kind Devil, only bring me Happiness and I will more than -willingly be annoyed by all these things. Happiness for two days, kind -Devil, and then, if you will, languishing widowers, lisle-thread -stockings--anything, for the rest of my life. - -And hurry, kind Devil, pray--for I am weary. - - - - - March 9. - -It is astonishing to me how very many contemptible, petty vanities -are lodged in the crevices of my genius. My genius itself is one -grand good vanity--but it is not contemptible. And even those -little vanities--though they are contemptible, I do not hold them -in contempt by any means. I smile involuntarily at their absurdness -sometimes, but I know well that they have their function. - -They are peculiarly of my mind, my humanness, and they are useful -therein. When this mind stretches out its hand for things and finds -only wilderness and Nothingness all about it, and draws the hand -back empty, then it can only turn back--like my soul--to itself. -And it finds these innumerable little vanities to quiet it and help -it. My soul has no vanity, and it has nothing, nothing to quiet it. -My soul is wearing itself out, eating itself away. These vanities -are a miserable substitute for the rose-colored treasures that it -sees a great way off and even imagines in its folly that it may -have, if it continues to reach after them. Yet the vanities are -something. They prevent my erratic, analytical mind from finding -a great Nothing when it turns back upon itself. - -If I were not so unceasingly engrossed with my sense of misery and -loneliness my mind would produce beautiful, wonderful logic. I am a -genius--a genius--a genius. Even after all this you may not realize -that I am a genius. It is a hard thing to show. But, for myself, -I feel it. It is enough for me that I feel it. - -I am not a genius because I am foreign to everything in the world, -nor because I am intense, nor because I suffer. One may be all of -these and yet not have this marvelous perceptive sense. My genius is -because of nothing. It was born in me as germs of evil were born -in me. And mine is a genius that has been given to no one else. -The genius itself enables me to be thoroughly convinced of this. - -It is hopeless, never-ending loneliness! - -My ancestors in their Highlands--some of them--were endowed with -second sight. My genius is not in the least like second sight. That -savors of the supernatural, the mysterious. My genius is a sound, -sure, earthly sense, with no suggestion of mystery or occultism. -It is an inner sense that enables me to feel and know things that -I could not possibly put into thought, much less into words. It -makes me know and analyze with deadly minuteness every keen, tiny -damnation in my terrible lonely life. It is a mirror that shows -me myself and something in myself in a merciless brilliant light, -and the sight at once sickens and maddens me and fills me with an -unnamed woe. It is something unspeakably dreadful. The sight for -the time deadens all thought in my mind. It freezes my reason and -intellect. Logic can not come to my aid. I can only feel and know -the thing and it analyzes itself before my eyes. - -I am alone with this--alone, alone, alone! There is no pitiful hand -extended from the heights--there is no human being--ah, there is -Nothing. - -How can I bear it! Oh, I ask you--how can I bear it! - - - - - March 10. - -My genius is an element by itself, and it is not a thing that I can -tell in so many words. But it makes itself felt in every point of -my life. This book would be a very different thing if I were not a -genius--though I am not a literary genius. Often people who come in -contact with me and hear me utter a few commonplace remarks feel -at once that I am extraordinary. - -I am extraordinary. - -I have tried longingly, passionately, to think that even this sand -and barrenness is mine. But I can not. I know beyond the shadow -of a doubt that it, like all good things, is beyond me. It has -something that I also have. In that is our bond of sympathy. - -But the sand and barrenness itself is not mine. - -Always I think there is but one picture in the world more perfect -in its art than the picture of me in my sand and barrenness. It -is the picture of the Christ crucified with two thieves. Nothing -could be more divinely appropriate. The art in it is ravishingly -perfect. It is one of the few perfect pictures set before the world -for all time. As I see it before my mind I can think only of its -utter perfectness. I can summon no feeling of grief at the deed. The -deed and the art are perfect. Its perfectness ravishes my senses. - -And within me I feel that the picture of me in my sand and -barrenness--knowing that even the sand and barrenness is not mine--is -only second to it. - - - - - March 11. - -Sometimes when I go out on the barrenness my mind wanders afar. - -To-day it went to Greece. - -Oh, it was very beautiful in Greece! - -There was a wide, long sky that was vividly, wonderfully blue. And -there was a limitless sea that was gray and green. And it went far to -the south. The sky and the sea spread out into the vast world--two -beautiful elements, and they fell in love with each other. And the -farther away they were the nearer they moved together until at last -they met and clasped each other in the far distance. There were -tall, dark-green trees of kinds that are seen only in Greece. They -murmured and whispered in the stillness. The wind came off from the -sea and went over them and around them. They quivered and trembled -in shy, ecstatic joy--for the wind was their best-beloved. There -were banks of moss of a deep emerald color, and golden flowers that -drooped their heavy sensual heads over to the damp black earth. -And they also loved each other, and were with each other, and were -glad. Clouds hung low over the sea and were dark-gray and heavy with -rain. But the sun shone from behind them at intervals with beams of -bronze-and-copper. Three white rocks rose up out of the sea, and -the bronze-and-copper beams fell upon them, and straightway they -were of gold. - -Oh, how beautiful were those three gold rocks that came up out of -the sea! - -Aphrodite once came up out of this same sea. She came gleaming, -with golden hair and beautiful eyes. Her skin glowed with tints of -carmine and wild rose. Her white feet touched the smooth, yellow -sand on the shore. The white feet of Aphrodite on the yellow sand -made a picture of marvelous beauty. She was flushed in the joy of -new life. - -But the bronze-and-copper sunshine on the three white rocks was -more beautiful than Aphrodite. - -I stood on the shore and looked at the rocks. My heart contracted -with the pain that beautiful things bring. - -The bronze-and-copper in the wide gray and green sea! - -"This is the gateway of Heaven," I said to myself. "Behind those -three gold rocks there is music and the high notes of happy voices." -My soul grew faint. "And there is no sand and barrenness there, -and no Nothingness, and no bitterness, and no hot, blinding tears. -And there are no little heart-weary children, and no lonely young -women--oh, there is no loneliness at all!" My soul grew more and -more faint with thinking of it. "And there is no heart there but -that is pure and joyous and in Peace--in long, still, eternal -Peace. And every life comes there to its own; and every earth-cry -is answered, and every earth-pain is ended; and the dark spirit of -Sorrow that hangs always over the earth is gone--gone,--beyond the -gateway of Heaven. And more than all, Love is there and walks among -the dwellers. Love is a shining figure with radiant hands, and it -touches them all with its hands so that never-dying love enters into -their hearts. And the love of each for another is like the love of -each for self. And here at last is Truth. There is searching and -searching over the earth after Truth--and who has found it? But -here is it beyond the gateway of Heaven. Those who enter in know -that it is Truth at last." - -And so Peace and Love and Truth are there behind the three gold -rocks. - -And then my soul could no longer endure the thought of it. - -Suddenly the sun passed behind a heavy, dark-gray cloud, and -the bronze-and-copper faded from the three rocks and left them -white--very white in the wide water. - -The yellow flowers laid their heads drowsily down on the emerald -moss. The wind from off the sea played very gently among the -motionless branches of the tall trees. The blue, blue sky and the -wide, gray-green sea clasped each other more closely and mingled -with each other and became one vague, shadowy element--and from -it all I brought my eyes back thousands of leagues to my sand and -barrenness. - -The sand and barrenness is itself an element, and I have known it -a long, long time. - - - - - March 12. - -Everything is so dreary--so dreary. - -I feel as if I would like to die to-day. I should not be the tiniest -bit less unhappy afterward--but this life is unutterably weary. I -am not strong. I can not bear things. I do not want to bear things. -I do not long for strength. I want to be happy. - -When I was very little, it was cold and dreary also, but I was -certain it would be different when I should grow and be ten years -old. It must be very nice to be ten, I thought,--and one would not -be nearly so lonesome. But when the years passed and I was ten it -was just exactly as lonesome. And when I was ten everything was -very hard to understand. - -But it will surely be different when I am seventeen, I said. I will -know so much when I am seventeen. But when I was seventeen it was -even more lonely, and everything was still harder to understand. - -And again I said--faintly--everything will become clearer in a few -years more, and I will wonder to think how stupid I have always been. -But now the few years more have gone and here I am in loneliness that -is more hopeless and harder to bear than when I was very little. -Still, I wonder indeed to think how stupid I have been--and now I -am not so stupid. I do not tell myself that it will be different -when I am five-and-twenty. - -For I know that it will not be different. - -I know that it will be the same dreariness, the same Nothingness, -the same loneliness. - -It is very, very lonely. - -It is hope deferred and maketh the heart sick. - -It is more than I can bear. - -Why--_why_ was I ever born! - -I can not live, and I can not die--for what is there after I am -dead? I can see myself wandering in dark and lonely places. - -Yet I feel as if I would like to die to-day. - - - - - March 13. - -If it were pain alone that one must bear, one could bear it. One -could lose one's sense of everything but pain. - -But it is pain with other things. It is the sense of pain with the -sense of beauty and the sense of the anemone. And there is that -mysterious pain. - -Who knows the name of that mysterious pain? - -It is these mingled senses that torture me. - - - - - March 14. - -I have been placed in this world with eyes to see and ears to hear, -and I ask for Life. Is it to be wondered at? Is it so strange? -Should I be content merely to see and to hear? There are other -things for other people. Is it atrocious that I should ask for some -other things also? - -Is thy servant a dog? - - - - - March 15. - -In these days of approaching emotional Nature even the sand and -barrenness begins to stir and rub its eyes. - -My sand and barrenness is clothed in the awful majesty of countless -ages. It stands always through the never-ending march of the living -and the dead. It may have been green once--green and fertile, and -birds and snakes and everything that loves green growing things may -have lived in it. It may have sometime been rolling prairie. It -may have been submerged in floods. It changed and changed in the -centuries. Now it is sand and barrenness, and there are no birds and -no snakes; only me. But whatever change came to it, whatever its -transfiguration, the spirit of it never moved. Flood, or fertility, -or rolling prairie, or barrenness--it is only itself. It has a -great self, a wonderful self. - -I shall never forget you, my sand and barrenness. - -Some day, shall my thirsty life be watered, my starved heart fed, -my asking voice answered, my tired soul taken into the warmth of -another with the intoxicating sweetness of love? - -It may be. - -But I shall remember the sand and barrenness that is with me in my -Nothingness. The sand and barrenness and the memory of the anemone -lady are all that are in any degree mine. - -And so then I shall remember it. - -As I stand among the barren gulches in these days and look away at -the slow-awakening hills of Montana, I hear the high, swelling, -half-tired, half-hopeful song of the world. As I listen I know that -there are things, other than the Virtue and the Truth and the Love, -that are not for me. There is beyond me, like these, the unbreaking, -undying bond of human fellowship--a thing that is earth-old. - -It is beyond me, and it is nothing to me. - -In my intensest desires--in my widest longings--I never go beyond -_self_. The ego is the all. - -Limitless legions of women and men in weariness and in joy are one. -They are killing each other and torturing each other, and going -down in sorrow to the dust. But they are one. Their right hands -are joined in unseen sympathy and kinship. - -But my two hands are apart, and clasped together in an agony of -loneliness. - -I have read of women who have been strongly, grandly brave. Sometimes -I have dreamed that I might be brave. The possibilities of this -life are magnificent. - -To be saturated with this agony, I say at times, and to bear with -it all; not to sink beneath it, but to vanquish it, and to make -it the grace and comeliness of my entire life from the Beginning -to the End! - -Perhaps a woman--a real woman--could do this. - -But I?--No. I am not real--I do not seem _real_ to myself. In such -things as these my life is a blank. - -There was Charlotte Corday--a heroine whom I admire above all the -heroines. And more than she was a heroine she was a woman. And she -had her agony. It was for love of her fair country. - -To suffer and do and die for love of something! It is glorious! -What must be the exalted ecstasy of Charlotte Corday's soul now! - -And I--with all my manifold passions--I am a coward. - -I have had moments when, vaguely and from far off, it seemed as if -there might be bravery and exaltation for me,--when I could rise -far over myself. I have felt unspeakable possibilities. While they -lasted--what wonderful emotion was it that I felt? - -But they are not real. - -They fade away--they fade away. - -And again come the varied phenomena of my life to bewilder and -terrify me. - -Confusion! Chaos! Damnation! They are not moments of exaltation -now. Poor little Mary MacLane! - -"If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels -had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces." - -I do not know what to do. - -I do not know what were good to do. - -I would do nothing if I knew. - -I might add to my litany this: Most kind Devil, deliver me--from -myself. - - - - - March 16. - -To-day I walked over the sand, and it was almost beautiful. The -sun was sinking and the sky was filled with roses and gold. - -Then came my soul and confronted me. My soul is wondrous fair. It -is like a young woman. The beauty of it is too great for human eyes -to look upon. It is too great for mine. Yet I look. - -My soul said to me: "I am sick." - -I answered: "And I am sick." - -"We may be well," said my soul. "Why are we not well?" - -"How may we be well?" I asked. - -"We may throw away all our vanity and false pride," said my soul. -"We way take on a new life. We may learn to wait and to possess -ourselves in patience. We may labor and overcome." - -"We can do none of these things," I cried. "Have I not tried all -of them some time in my short life? And have I not waited and -wanted until you have become faint with pain? Have I not looked -and longed? Dear soul, why do you not resign yourself? Why can you -not stay quiet and trouble yourself and me no more? Why are you -always straining and reaching? There isn't anything for you. You -are wearing yourself out." - -My soul made answer: "I may strain and reach until only one worn -nerve of me is left. And that one nerve may be scourged with whips -and burned with fire. But I will keep one atom of faith. I may go -bad, but I will keep one atom of faith in Love and in the Truth -that is Love. You are a genius, but I am no genius. The years--a -million of years--may do their utmost to destroy the single nerve. -They may lash and beat it. I will keep my one atom of faith." - -"You are not wise," I said. "You have been wandering and longing -for a time that seems a thousand years--through my cold, dark -childhood to my cold, dark womanhood. Is that not enough to quiet -you? Is that not enough to teach you the lesson of Nothing? You -are not a genius, but you are not a fool." - -"I will keep my one atom of faith," said my soul. - -"But lie and sleep now," I said. "Don't reach after that Light any -more. Let us both sleep a few years." - -"No," said my soul. - -"Oh, my soul," I wailed, "look away at that glowing copper -horizon--and beyond it. Let us go there now and take an infinite -rest. Now! We can bear this no longer." - -"No," said my soul; "we will stay here and bear more. There would -be no rest yet beyond the copper horizon. And there is no need of -going anywhere. I have my one atom of faith." - -I gazed at my soul as it stood plainly before me, weak and worn and -faint, in the fading light. It had one atom of faith, it said, -and tried to hold its head high and to look strong and triumphant. -Oh, the irony--the pathos of it! - -My soul, with its one pitiful atom of faith, looked only what it -was--a weeping, hunted thing. - - - - - March 17. - -In some rare between-whiles it is as if nothing mattered. My heart -aches, I say; my soul wanders; this person or that person was -repelled to-day; but nothing matters. - -A great inner languor comes like a giant and lays hold of me. I -lie fallow beneath it. - -Some one forgot me in the giving of things. But it does not matter. -I feel nothing. - -Persons say to me, don't analyze any more and you will not be -unhappy. - -When Something throws heavy clubs at you and you are hit by them, -don't be hurt. When Something stronger than you holds your hands -in the fire, don't let it burn you. When Something pushes you into -a river of ice, don't be cold. When something draws a cutting lash -across your naked shoulders, don't let it concern you--don't be -conscious that it is there. - -This is great wisdom and fine, clear logic. - -It is a pity that no one has ever yet been able to live by it. - -But after all it's no matter. Nothing is any one's affair. It is -all of no consequence. - -And have I not had all my anguish for nothing? I am a fool--a fool. - -A handful of rich black mud in a pig's yard--does it wonder why it -is there? Does it torture itself about the other mud around it, and -about the earth and water of which it is made, and about the pig? -Only fool's mud would do so. And so, then, I am fool's mud. - -Nothing counts. Nothing can possibly count. - -Regret, passion, cowardice, hope, bravery, unrest, pain, the -love-sense, the soul-sense, the beauty-sense--all for nothing! What -can a handful of rich black mud in a pig's yard have to do with -these? I am a handful of rich black mud--a fool-woman, fool's mud. - -All on earth that I need to do is to lie still in the hot sun and -feel the pig rolling and floundering and slushing about. It were -folly to waste my mud nerves in wondering. Be quiet, fool-woman, -let things be. Your soul is a fool's-mud soul and is governed by -the pig; your heart is a fool's-mud heart, and wants nothing beyond -the pig; your life is a fool's-mud life, and is the pig's life. - -Something within me shrieks now, but I do not know what it is--nor -why it shrieks. - -It groans and moans. - -There is no satisfaction in being a fool--no satisfaction at all. - - - - - March 18. - -But yes. It all matters, whether or no. Nature is one long battle, -and the never-ending perishing of the weak. I must grind and grind -away. I have no choice. And I must know that I grind. - -Fool, genius, young lonely woman--I must go round and round in the -life within, for how many years the Devil knows. After that my soul -must go round and round, for how many centuries the Devil knows. - -What a master-mind is that of the Devil! The world is a wondrous -scheme. For me it is a scheme that is black with woe. But there -may be in the world some one who finds it beautiful Real Life. - -I wonder as I write this Portrayal if there will be one person to -read it and see a thing that is mingled with every word. It is -something that you must feel, that must fascinate you, the like of -which you have never before met with. - -It is the unparalleled individuality of me. - -I wish I might write it in so many words of English. But that is -not possible. If I have put it in every word and if you feel it -and are fascinated, then I have done very well. - -I am marvelously clever if I have done so. - -I know that I am marvelously clever. But I have need of all my -peculiar genius to show you my individuality--my aloneness. - -I am alone out on my sand and barrenness. I should be alone if my -sand and barrenness were crowded with a thousand people each filled -with melting sympathy for me--though it would be unspeakably sweet. - -People say of me, "She's peculiar." They do not understand me. If -they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis. - -And so I try to put my individuality in the quality of my diction, -in my method of handling words. - -My conversation plainly shows this individuality--more than shows -it, indeed. My conversation hurls it violently at people's heads. -My conversation--when I choose--makes people turn around in their -chairs and stare and give me all of their attention. They admire -me, though their admiration is mixed decidedly with other feelings. - -I like to be admired. - -It soothes my vanity. - -When you read this Portrayal you will admire me. You will surely -have to admire me. - -And so this is life, and everything matters. - -But just now I will stop writing and go downstairs to my dinner. -There is a porterhouse steak, broiled rare, and some green young -onions. Oh, they are good! And when one is to have a porterhouse -steak for one's dinner--and some green young onions, one doesn't -give a tupenny dam whether anything else matters or not. - - - - - March 19. - -On a day when the sky is like lead and a dull, tempestuous wilderness -of gray clouds adds a dreariness to the sand, there is added to -the loneliness of my life a deep bitterness of gall and wormwood. - -Out of my bitterness it is easy for bad to come. - -Surely Badness is a deep black pool wherein one may drown dullness -and Nothingness. - -I do not know Badness well. It is something material that seems -a great way off now, but that might creep nearer and nearer as I -became less and less young. - -But now when the day is of the leaden dullness I look at Badness -and long for it. I am young and all alone, and everything that is -good is beyond my reach. But all that is bad--surely that is within -the reach of every one. - -I wish for a long pageant of bad things to come and whirl and rage -through this strange leaden life of mine and break the spell. - -Why should it not be Badness instead of Death? Death, it seems, -will bring me but a change of agony. Badness would perhaps so crowd -my life with its vivid phenomena that they would act as a neurotic -to the racked nerves of my Nothingness. It would be an outlet--and -possibly I could forget some things. - -I think just now of a woman who lived long ago and in whom the -world at large seems not to have found anything admirable. I mean -Messalina Valeria, the wife of the stupid emperor Claudius. I have -conceived a profound admiration for this historic wanton. She may -not indeed have had anything to forget; she may not have suffered. -But she had the strength of will to take what she wanted, to do as -she liked, to live as she chose to live. - -It is admirable and beautiful beyond expression to sacrifice and -give up and wait for love of that good that gives in itself a just -reward. And only next to this is the throwing to the winds of all -restraint when the good holds itself aloof and gives nothing. We -are weak, contemptible fools who do not grasp the resources within -our reach when there is no just reward for our restraint. Why do we -not take what we want of the various temptations? It is not that -we are virtuous. It is that we are cowards. - -And it is worth while to remain true to an ideal that offers only -the vaguest hopes of realization? It is not philosophy. When one has -made up one's mind that one wants a dish of hot stewed mushrooms, and -set one's heart on it, should one scorn a handful of raw evaporated -apples, if one were starving, for the sake of the phantom dish of -hot stewed mushrooms? Should one say, Let me starve, but I will -never descend to evaporated apples; I will have nothing but a dish -of hot stewed mushrooms? If one is sure one will have the stewed -mushrooms finally, before one dies of starvation, then very well. -One should wait for them and take nothing else. - -But it is not in my good peripatetic philosophy to pass by the Badness -that the gods provide for the sake of a far-away, always-unrealized -ideal, however brilliant, however beautiful, however golden. - -When the lead is in the sky and in my life, a vision of Badness looms -up on the horizon and looks at me and beckons with a fascinating -finger. Then I say to myself, What is the use of this unsullied, -struggling soul; this unbesmirched, empty heart; this treasureless, -innocent mind; this insipid maid's-body? There are no good things -for them. But here, to be sure, are fascinating, glittering bad -things--the goods that the gods provide, the compensation of the -Devil. - -Comes Death, some day, I said--but to die, in the sight of glittering -bad things--and I only nineteen! These glittering things appear -fair. - -There is really nothing evil in the world. Some things appear -distorted and unnatural because they have been badly done. Had -they been perfect in conception and execution they would strike -one only with admiration at their fine, iridescent lights. You -remember Don Juan and Haidee. That, to be sure, was not evil in any -event--they loved each other. But if they had had only a passing, if -intense, fancy for one another, who would call it evil? Who would -call it anything but wonderful, charming, enchanting? The Devil's -bad things--like the Devil's good things--may gleam and glisten, -oh, how they may gleam and glisten! I have seen them do so, not -only in a poem of Byron's, but in the life that is. - -Always when the lead is in the sky I would like to cultivate -thoroughly this branch of the vineyard. Now doesn't it make you -shiver to think of this dear little Mary MacLane wandering unloved -through dark by-ways and deadly labyrinths? It makes me shiver. -But it needn't. If I am to wander unloved, why not as well wander -there as through Nothingness? - -I fancy it must be wonderfully easy to become used to the many-sided -Badness. I have lived my nineteen years in the midst of Nothingness, -and I have not yet become used to it. It has sharp knives in it, -has Nothingness. Badness may have some sharp knives also--but there -are other things. Yes, there are other things. - -Kind Devil, if you are not to fetch me Happiness, then slip off -from your great steel key-ring a bright little key to the door of -the glittering, gleaming bad things, and give it me, and show me -the way, and wish me joy. - -I would like to live about seven years of judicious Badness, and then -Death, if you will. Nineteen years of damnable Nothingness, seven -years of judicious Badness--and then Death. A noble ambition! But -might it not be worse? If not that, then nineteen years of damnable -Nothingness, and then Death. No; when the lead is in the sky that -does not appeal to me. My versatile mind turns to the seven years -of judicious Badness. - -There is nothing in the world without its element of Badness. It is -in literature; it is in every art--in pictures, sculpture, even in -music. There are certain fine, deep, minute passages in Beethoven -and in Chopin that tell of things wonderfully, sublimely bad. Chopin -one can not understand. Is there any one in the world who can -understand him? But we know at once that there is the Badness--and -it is music! - -There is the element of Badness in me. - -I long to cultivate my element of Badness. Badness compared to -Nothingness is beautiful. And so, then, I wait also for some one to -come over the hill with things other than Happiness. But whatever -I wait for, nothing comes. - - - - - March 20. - -There were pictures in the red sunset sky to-day. I looked at them -and was racked with passions of desire. I fancied to myself that I -could have any of the good things in the pictures for the asking -and the waiting. The while I knew that when the sunset should fade -from the sky I would be overwhelmed by my heaviest woe. - -There was a picture of intense peace. There were stretches of flat, -green country, and oak-trees and aspens, and a still, still lake. -In the dim distance you could see fields of wheat and timothy-grass -that moved a little as if in the wind. You could fancy the cows -feeding just below the brow of the near hills, and a hawk floating -and wheeling among the clouds. A rainbow arched over the lake. -There is nothing lacking here, I thought. "Life and health and -peace possessing." Give me this, kind Devil. - -There was a picture of endless, limitless strength. There were the -oak-trees again but bereft now of every leaf, and the bristling, -jagged rocks back of them were not more coldly staunch. The sun -poured brilliantly bright upon them. A river flowed unmoved and quiet -between yellow clay banks. A tornado might sweep over this and not -one twig would be displaced, not one ripple would come to the river. -Is it not fine! I said to myself. No feeling, no self-analysis, -no aching, no pain--and the strength of the Philistines. Oh, kind -Devil, I entreat you, let me have that! - -There was a picture of untrammeled revel and forgetfulness. There -were fields of swaying daffodils and red lilies. The young shrubs -tossed their heads and were joyous. Lambs gamboled and the happy -meadow-lark knew whereof she sang. - - "The winds with wonder whist - Smoothly the waters kissed." - -Be carefree, be light-hearted, be wicked--above all, forget. The -deeds are what you will; the time is now; the aftermath is nothing; -the day of reckoning is never. Love things lightly, take all that -you see, and to the winds with regret! Gracious Devil, I whispered -intensely, give me this and no other! - -There was a picture of raging elements. "The winds blew, and the -rains descended and the floods came." The sky was overcast with -rolling clouds. The air was heavy with unrest. There was a gray -stone house set upon a rocky point, and I had momentary glimpses of -an unquiet sea below it. Back on the surface of the land slender -trees were waving wildly in the gale. The wind and the rain were -saying, "Damn you, little earth, I have you now,--I will rend and -ruin you." They whipped and raged in frenzied joy. The little earth -liked it. The elements whirled and whistled round the gray stone -house. A lurid light came from a ghastly moon between clouds. The -entire scene was desolately savage and forlorn, but attractive. -As I listened in fancy to that shrieking, wailing wind, and saw -green branches jerked and twisted asunder in the storm, my barren, -defrauded heart leaped and exulted. If I could live in the midst -of this and be beaten and shaken roughly, would not that deep -sense forget to ache? Kind Devil, pray send me some storms. It is -Nothingness that bears down heavy. - -There was a picture of an exalted spiritual life. There was that -strange bright light. And the things in the picture were those things -alone in this world that are real, and the only things that count. -The old, soft green of the old, old rolling hills was the green of -love--the earth-love and the love that comes from beyond the earth. -The air and the blue water and the sunshine were so beautifully -real and true that except for their deep-reaching, passionate -tenderness human strength could not endure them. There were lanes -of climbing vines and white violets. Was it my fancy that brought -their thin fragrance to me over piles of billowy clouds? There was -something there that was old--old as the race. Those green valleys -were the same as when the mists first lifted from the earth. As I -looked my life stood still. My soul shivered faintly. As I looked I -felt nearer, my God, to thee--though I have no God and everything -is away from me, nothing tender comes to me. - -Still it was nearer, my God, to thee. - -A voice came out of the far, far distant ages and said very gently: -"All these shadows are falling in vain. You are blinded and bewildered -in the darkness--the darkness is deep--deep. There is not one dim -ray of light. Your feet falter and stumble. You can not see. But -the shadows are falling in vain." - -I ask you, Why is this life not mine? - -I implore and wring my hands in agonized entreaty, and almost it -seems sometimes my fingers can grasp these things--but there is -something cold and strong between them and me. Oh, what is it! - -There was a picture of various castles in Spain. They were most -beautiful, were those castles. The lights that shone on the -battlements were soft, bright lights. For one thing, I fancied I -saw myself and Fame with me. Fame is very fine. The sun and moon -and stars may go dark in the Heavens. Bitter rain may fall out of -the clouds. But never mind. Fame has a sun and moon and gently -brilliant stars of her own, and these, shining once, shine always. -The green river may run dry in the land. But Fame has a green river -that never runs dry. One may wander over the face of the earth. -But Fame is herself a refuge. One may be a target for stones and -mud. Yes--but Fame stands near with her arm laid across one's -shoulders--as no other arm can be laid across one's shoulders. Fame -would fill several empty places. Fame would continue to fill them -for some years. - -Fame, if you please, Devil. - -There was a picture of Death. I saw a figure lying in the midst -of a desert that was rather like my sand and barrenness. Not far -off a wolf sat on his haunches and waited for the end. A buzzard -perched near and waited also. They both appeared hungry. It seemed -as though the end might come quickly. - -Let it come, kind Devil. - -And a wolf and a buzzard are better than an undertaker and some -worms. Although that doesn't much matter. - -And oh, there again was the dearest picture of all--the red, red -picture of Happiness for me, Happiness with the sunshine falling -on the Heaven-kissing hills! There was I, and I loved and was -loved. I--out of loneliness into perfect Happiness! The yellow-gold -of the glorious hot sun melted and poured over the earth and over -everything that was there. The river ran and rippled and sang the -most sweetly glad song that ever river sang. Winged things sparkled -in the gold light and flew down the sky. "The wonderful air was over -me; the wonderful wind was shaking the tree." The silent voices in -the air rang out like flutes and clarionets. And the love of the -man-devil for me was everywhere--above me, around me, within me. -It would last for a number of beautiful yellow-gold days. I--out -of the anguish of loneliness into this! - -My heart is filled with desire. - -My soul is filled with passion. - -My life is a life of longing. - -All pictures fade before this picture. They fade completely. When -the sun itself faded I gazed over my sand and barrenness with -blurred, unseeing eyes and wished only with a heavy, desolate spirit -for the coming of the Devil. - - - - - March 21. - -Some people think, absurdly enough, that to be Scotch or descended -from the Scottish clans is to be rather strong, rather conservative, -firm in faith, and all that. The idea is one that should be completely -exploded by this time. I think that the Scotch as a nation are the -most difficult of all to characterize. Their traits and tendencies -cover a wider field than those of any other. To be Scotch is to -be anything. There is no man so narrow as a Scotchman. There is -no man so broad as a Scotchman. There is no mind so versatile as -a Scotch mind. At the same time only a Scotch mind is capable of -clinging with bull-dog tenacity to one idea. A Scotch heart out of -all, and through all, can be true as death. A Scotch heart--the -same one--can be cunning and treacherous as false human hearts are -made. To be English is to have limits; the Germans, the French, -the Russians--they have all some inevitable attributes to modify -their genius. - -But one may be anything--anything, if one is Scotch. - -Always I think of the cruel, hardened, ferocious, weather-beaten, -kilted Clan MacLean wandering over bleak winter hills, fighting the -powerful MacDonalds and MacGregors--and generally wiping them from -the earth,--marching away with merrily shrieking pipes from fields -of withered, blood-soaked heather--and all this merely to gather -intensified life for me. I feel that the causes of my tragedy began -long, long ago from remote germs. - -My Scotch blood added to my genius sense has made me into a dangerous -chemical compound. By analyzing I have brought an almost clear -portrait of myself up before my mind's eyes. - -When I was a child I did not analyze knowingly, but the child was -this same genius, though I am one of the kind that changes widely -and decidedly in the years. This weary unhappiness is not a matter -of development. - -When I was a child I felt dumbly what I feel now less dumbly. At -the age of five I used sometimes to weep silently in the night--I -did not know why. It was that I felt my aloneness, my foreignness -to all things. I felt the heavy, heavy weight of life--and I was -only five. - -I was only five, and it seems a thousand years ago. But sometimes -back through the long, winding, unused passages of my mind I hear -that silent sobbing of the child and the unarmed wailing of a tiny, -tired soul. - -It mingles with the bitter Nothingness of the grown young woman, -and oh, with it all--with it all I am so unhappy! - -There is something subtly _Scotch_ in all this. - -But Scotch or Indian or Japanese, there is no stopping of the pain. - - - - - March 22. - -I fear, do you know, fine world, that you do not yet know me really -well--particularly me of the flesh. Me of the peculiar philosophy -and the unhappy spirit you know rather well by now, unless you -are stupider than I think you are. But you might pass me in the -street--you might spend the day with me--and never suspect that I -am I. Though for the matter of that, even if I had set before you a -most graphic and minutely drawn portrait of myself, I am certainly -clever enough to act a quite different rôle if I chose--when you -came to spend the day. Still, if the world at large is to know me -as I desire it to know me without ever seeing me, I shall have to -bring myself into closer personal range with it--and you may rise -in your seats and focus your opera-glasses, stare with open mouths, -stand on your hind-legs and gape--I will myself turn on glaring -green and orange lights from the wings. - -I believe that it's the trivial little facts about anything that -describe it the most effectively. In "Vanity Fair," when Beckey -Sharpe was describing young Crawley in a letter to her friend Amelia, -she stated that he had hay-colored whiskers and straw-colored hair. -And knowing this you feel that you know much more about the Crawley -than you would if Miss Sharpe had not mentioned those things. And -yet it is but a mere matter of color! - -When you think that Dickens was extremely fond of cats you feel at -once that nothing could be more fitting. Somehow that marvelously -mingled humor and pathos and gentle irony seem to go exceedingly -well with a fondness for soft, green-eyed, purring things. If you -had not read the pathetic humor, but knew about Dickens and his -warm feline friends you might easily expect such things from him. - -When you read somewhere that Dr. Johnson is said never to have -washed his neck and his ears, and then go and read some of his -powerful, original philosophy, you say to yourself, "Yes, I can -readily believe that this man never troubled himself to wash his -neck and his ears." I, for my part, having read some of the things -he has written, can not reconcile myself to the fact that he ever -washed any part of his anatomy. I admire Dr. Johnson--though I wash -my own neck occasionally. - -When you think of Napoleon amusing himself by taking a child on his -knee and pinching it to hear it cry, you feel an ecstatic little -wave of pleasure at the perfect fitness of things. You think of his -hard, brilliant, continuous victories, and you suspect that Napoleon -Bonaparte lived but to gratify Napoleon Bonaparte. When you think -of the heavy, muscular man smilingly pinching the child, you are -quite sure of it. Such a method of amusement for that king among -men is so exquisitely appropriate that you wonder why you had not -thought of it yourself. - -So, then, yes. I believe strenuously in the efficacy of seemingly -trivial facts as portrayers of one's character--one's individual -humanness. - -Now I will set down for your benefit divers and varied observations -relative to me--an interesting one of womankind and nineteen years, -and curious and fascinating withal. - -Well, then. - -Nearly every day I make me a plate of hot, rich fudge, with brown -sugar (I should be an entirely different person if I made it with -white sugar--and the fudge would not be nearly so good), and take -it upstairs to my room, with a book or a newspaper. My mind then -takes in a part of what is contained in the book or the newspaper, -and the stomach of the MacLane takes in all of what is contained -in the plate. I sit by my window in a miserable, uncomfortable, -stiff-backed chair, but I relieve the strain by resting my feet on -the edge of the low bureau. Usually the book that I read is an old -dilapidated bound volume of that erstwhile periodical, "Our Young -Folks." It is a thing that possesses a charm for me. I never grow -tired of it. As I eat my nice brown little squares of fudge I read -about a boy whose name is Jack Hazard and who, J. T. Trowbridge -informs the reader, is doing his best, and who seems to find it -somewhat difficult. I believe I could repeat pages of J. T. Trowbridge -from memory, and that ancient bound volume has become a part of my -life. I stop reading after a few minutes, but I continue to eat--and -gaze at the toes of my shoes which need polishing badly, or at the -conglomeration of brilliant pictures on my bedroom wall, or out -of the window at the children playing in the street. But mostly -I gaze without seeing, and my versatile mind is engaged either in -nothing or in repeating something over and over, such as, "But the -sweet face of Lucy Gray will never more be seen." Only I am not -aware that I have been repeating it until I happen to remember it -afterward. - -Always the fudge is very good, and I eat and eat with unabated relish -until all the little squares are gone. A very little of my fudge has -been known to give some people a most terrific stomach-ache--but my -own digestive organs seem to like nothing better. It's so brown--so -rich! - -I amuse myself with this for an hour or two in the afternoon. Then -I go downstairs and work awhile. - -There are few things that annoy me so much as to be called a young -lady. I am no lady--as any one could see by close inspection, and -the phrase has an odious sound. I would rather be called a sweet -little thing, or a fallen woman, or a sensible girl--though they -would each be equally a lie. - -Always I am glad when night comes and I can sleep. My mind works -busily repeating things while I divest myself of my various dusty -garments. As I remove a dozen or two of hairpins from my head I -say within me: - - "You are old, father William, one would hardly suppose - That your eye is as steady as ever; - Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- - What made you so awfully clever?" - -Always I take a little clock to bed with me and hang it by a cord -at the head of my bed for company. I have named the clock Little -Fido, because it is so constant and ticks always. It is beginning -to stand in the same relation to me as J. T. Trowbridge's magazine. -If I were to go away from here I should take Little Fido and the -magazine with me. - -Every morning, being beautifully hungry after my walk, I eat three -boiled eggs out of the shell for my breakfast. The while I mentally -thank the kind Providence that invented hens. Also I eat bits of -toast. I have my breakfast alone--because the rest of the family -are still sleeping,--sitting at a corner of the kitchen table. I -enjoy those three eggs and those bits of toast. Usually when I am -eating my breakfast I am thinking of three things: the varying -price of any eggs that are fit to eat; of what to do after I've -finished my housework and before lunch; and of my one friend. And -I meditatively and gently kick the leg of the table with the heel -of my right foot. - -I have beautiful hair. - -In the front of my shirt-waist there are nine cambric handkerchiefs -cunningly distributed. My figure is very pretty, to be sure, but not -so well developed as it will be in five years--if I live so long. -And so I help it out materially with nine cambric handkerchiefs. -You can see by my picture that my waist curves gracefully out. Only -it is not all flesh--some of it is handkerchief. It amuses me to -do this. It is one of my petty vanities. - -Likewise by an ingenious arrangement of my striped moreen petticoat -I contrive to display a more evident pair of hips than Nature seems -to have intended for me at this stage. Doubtless they also will -take on fuller proportions when some years have passed. Still I -am not dissatisfied with them as they are. It is not as if they -were too well developed--in which case I should have need of all -my skill in arranging my moreen petticoat so as to lessen their -effect. It is easy enough to add on to these things, but one would -experience serious difficulty in attempting to take from them. I -hate that heavy, aggressive kind of hips. Moreover, small, graceful -ones are desirable when one is nineteen. The world at large judges -you more leniently on that account--usually. Narrow, shapely -hips may give one an effect of youth and harmlessness which is a -distinct advantage, when, for instance, one is writing a Portrayal -and so will be at the world's mercy. I believe I should not think -of attempting to write a Portrayal if I had hips like a pair of -saddle-bags. Certainly it would avail me nothing. - -Sometimes I look at my face in a mirror and find it not plain but -ugly. And there are other times when I look and find it not pretty -but beautiful with a Madonna-like sweetness. - -I told you I might say more about the liver that is within me -before I have done. Well, then, I will say this: that the world, -if it had a liver like mine, would be very different from what it -is. The world would be many-colored and mobile and passionate and -nervous and high-strung and intensely alive and poetic and romantic -and philosophical and egotistic and pathetic, and, oh, racked to -the verge of madness with the spirit of unrest--if the world had a -liver like mine. It is not all of these now. It is rather stupid. -Gods and little fishes! would not the world be wonderful if all -in it were like me? And it would be if it had a liver like mine. -For it is my liver mostly that makes me what I am--apart from my -genius. My liver is fine and perfect, but sensitive, and, well--it's -a dangerous thing to have within you. - -It is the liver of the MacLanes. - -It is the foundation of the curious castle of my existence. - -And after all, fine, brave, stupid world, you may be grateful to -the Devil that yours is not like it. - -I have seventeen little engraved portraits of Napoleon that I keep -in one of my bureau-drawers. Often late in the evening, between -nine and ten o'clock, when I come in from a walk over the sand and -barrenness, I take these pictures from the drawer and gaze at them -carefully a long time and think of that man until I am stirred to -the depths. - -And then easily and naturally I fall in love with Napoleon. - -If only he were living now, I think to myself, I would make my -way to him by whatever means and cast myself at his feet. I would -entreat him with the most passionate humbleness of spirit to take -me into his life for three days. To be the wife of Napoleon for -three days--that would be enough for a lifetime! I would be much -more than satisfied if I could get three such days out of life. - -I suppose a man is either a villain or a fool, though some of them -seem to be a judicious mingling of both. The type of the distinct -villain is preferable to a mixture of the two, and to a plain fool. -I like a villain anyway--a villain that can be rather tender at -times. And so, then, as I look at the pictures I fall in love with -the incomparable Napoleon. The seventeen pictures are all different -and all alike. I fall in love with each picture separately. - -In one he is ugly and unattractive--and strong. I fall in love -with him. - -In another he is cruel and heartless and utterly selfish--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In a third he has a fat, pudgy look, and is quite insignificant--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In a fourth he is grandly sad and full of despair--and strong. I -fall in love with him. - -In the fifth he is greasy and greedy and common-looking--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the sixth he is masterly and superior and exalted--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the seventh he is romantic and beautiful--and strong. I fall in -love with him. - -In the eighth he is obviously sensual and reeking with uncleanness--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the ninth he is unearthly and mysterious and unreal--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the tenth he is black and sullen-browed, and ill-humored--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the eleventh he is inferior and trifling and inane--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the twelfth he is rough and ruffianly and uncouth--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the thirteenth he is little and wolfish and vile--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the fourteenth he is calm and confident and intellectual--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the fifteenth he is vacillating and fretful and his mouth is -like a woman's--and still he is strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the sixteenth he is slow and heavy and brutal--and strong. I -fall in love with him. - -In the seventeenth he is rather tender--and strong. I fall vividly -in love with him. - -Napoleon was rather like the Devil, I think as I sit in the -straight-backed chair with my feet on the bureau and gaze long and -intently at the seventeen pictures, late in the evening. - -Then I wearily put them away, maddened with the sense of Nothingness, -and take Little Fido and go to bed. - -Sometimes, early in the evening just before dinner, I sit in the -stiff-backed chair with my elbows on the window-sill and my head -resting on one hand, and I look out of the window at a Pile of -Stones and a Barrel of Lime. These are in the vacant lot next to -this house. - -I fix my eyes intently on the Pile of Stones and the Barrel of -Lime. And I fix my thoughts on them also. And some of my widest -thoughts come to me then. - -I feel an overwhelming wave of a kind of pantheism which, at the -moment I feel it, begins slowly to grow less and less and continues -in this until finally it dwindles to a Pile of Stones and a Barrel -of Lime. - -I feel at the moment that the universe is a Pile of Stones and a -Barrel of Lime. They alone are the Real Things. - -Take anything at any point and deceive yourself into thinking that -you are happy with it. But look at it heavily; dig down underneath -the layers and layers of rose-colored mists and you will find that -your Thing is a Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime. - -A struggle or two, a fight, an agony, a passing--and then the only -Real Things: a Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime. - -Damn everything! Afterward you will find that you have done all -your damning for naught. For there is nothing worthy of damnation -except a Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime--and they are not -damnable. They have never harmed you, and moreover they alone are -the Real Things. - -Julius Caesar made many wars. Sir Francis Drake went sailing over -the seas. It was all child's play and counts for nothing. Here are -the Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime. - -And so this is how it is early in the evening just before dinner, when -I sit in the uncomfortable chair with my elbows on the window-sill -and my head resting on one hand. - -I have two pictures of Marie Bashkirtseff high upon my wall. -Often I lean my head on the back of the chair with my feet on -the bureau--always with my feet on the bureau--and look at these -pictures. - -In one of them she is eighteen years old and wears a green frock -which is extremely becoming--of which fact the person inside of -it seems fully aware. The other picture is taken from her last -photograph, when she was twenty-four. - -Marie Bashkirtseff is a very beautiful creature. And evidently _she_ -is not obliged to arrange a moreen petticoat over her plumpness. She -has a wonderfully voluptuous look for a woman of eighteen years. In -the later picture vanity is written in every line of her graceful -form and in every feature of that charming face. The picture fairly -yells: "I am Marie Bashkirtseff--and, oh, I am splendid!" - -And as I look at the pictures I am glad. For though she was admirable -and splendid, and all, she was no such genius as I. She had a genius -of her own, it is true. But the Bashkirtseff, with her voluptuous -body and her attractive personality, is after all a bit ordinary. -My genius, though not powerful, is rare and deep, and no one has -ever had or ever will have a genius like it. - -Mary MacLane, if you live--if you live, my darling, the world -will one day recognize your genius. And when once the world has -recognized such genius as this--oh, then no one will ever think of -profaning it by comparing it with any Bashkirtseff! - -But I would give up this genius eagerly, gladly--at once and -forever--for one dear, bright day free from loneliness. - -The portraits of the Bashkirtseff are certainly beautiful, but there -is something about them that is--well, not common, but bourgeois -at least, as if she were a German waitress of unusual appearance, -or an aristocratic shop-girl, or a nurse with good taste who would -walk out on pleasant forenoons wheeling a go-cart--something of -that sort. Perhaps it is because her neck is too short, or because -her wrists are too muscular-looking. I thank a gracious Devil as -I look up at the pictures that I have not those particular points -and that particular bourgeois air. I am bound to confess that I -have one of my own, but mine is Highland Scotch--and anyway, I am -Mary MacLane. - -Marie Bashkirtseff is beautiful enough, however, that she can easily -afford to look rather second-rate. - -I like to look at my two pictures of her. - -I value money literally for its own sake. I like the feeling of -dollars and quarters rubbing softly together in my hand. Always -it reminds me of those lovely chestfuls of gold that Captain Kidd -buried--no one seems to know just where. Usually I keep some -fairly-clean dollars and quarters to handle. "Money is so nice!" -I say to myself. - -If you think, fine world, that I am always interesting and striking -and admirable, always original, showing up to good advantage in a -company of persons, and all--why, then you are beautifully mistaken. -There are times, to be sure, when I can rivet the attention of the -crowd heavily upon myself. But mostly I am the very least among all -the idiots and fools. I show up to the poorest possible advantage. - -Of several ways that are mine there is one that gives me a distinct -and hopeless air of insignificance. I have seen people, having met -me for the first time, glance carelessly at me as if they were quite -sure I had not an idea in my brain--if I had a brain; as if they -wondered why I had been asked there; as if they were fully aware -that they had but to fiddle and "It" would dance. Sometimes before -this highly intellectual gathering breaks up I manage to make them -change their minds with astonishing suddenness. But nearly always I -don't bother about it at all. I go among people occasionally because -it amuses me. It may be a literary club where they talk theosophy, -or it may be a Cornish dance where they have pasty and saffron -cake and the chief amusement is sending beer-bottles at various -heads, or it may be a lady-like circle of married women with cerise -silk drop-skirts and white kid gloves, drinking chocolate in the -afternoon and talking about something "shocking!" - -And often, as I say, I am the least of them. - -Genius is an odd thing. - -When certain of my skirts need sewing, they don't get sewed. I simply -pin the rents in them together and it lasts as long or longer than -if I had seated myself in my stiff-backed chair with a needle and -thread and mended them--like a sensible girl. (I hate a sensible -girl.) - -Though I have never yet hurriedly pinned up a torn flounce or -several inches of skirt-binding without saying softly to myself, -using a trite, expressive phrase, "Certainly, it's a hell of a -way to do." Still I never take a needle and mend my garments. I -couldn't, anyway. I never learned to sew, and I don't intend ever -to learn. It reminds me too much of a constipated dressmaker. - -And so I pin up the torn places--though, as I say, I never fail to -make use of the quaint, expressive phrase. - -All of which a reasonably astute reader will recognize as an -important point in the portraying of any character--whether mine -or the queen of Spain's. - -I had for my dinner to-day some whole-wheat bread, some -liver-and-bacon, and some green, green early asparagus. While I -was eating these the world seemed a very nice place indeed. - -I never see people walking along on the opposite side of the street, -as I sit by my window, without wondering who they are, and how -they live, and how ugly they would look if their bodies were not -adorned with clothes. Always I feel certain that some of them are -bow-legged. - -And sometimes I see a woman in a fearful state of deshabille walk -across the vacant lot next to this. "A plague on me," I say then -to myself, "if I ever become middle-aged and if my entire being -seems to tip up in the front, and if I go about with no stays so -that when I tie an apron around my waist my upper fatness hangs -over the band like a natural blouse." - -And so--I could go on writing all night these seemingly trivial but -really significant details relating to the outer genius. But these -will answer. These to any one who knows things will be a revelation. - -Sometimes you know things, fine brave world. - -You must know likewise that though I do ordinary things, when _I_ -do them they cease to be ordinary. I make fudge--and a sweet girl -makes fudge, but there are ways and ways of doing things. This -entire affair of the fudge is one of my uniquest points. - -No sweet girl makes fudge and eats it, as I make fudge and eat it. - -So it is. - -But, oh--who is to understand all this? Who will understand any -of this Portrayal? My unhappy soul has delved in shadows far, far -beyond and below. - - - - - March 23. - -My philosophy, I find after very little analysis, approaches -precariously near to sensualism. - -It is wonderful how many sides there can be to just one character. - -Nature, with all those suns, and all those hilltops, and all those -rivers, and all those stars, is inscrutable--intangible--maddening. -It affects one with unutterable joy and anguish, but no one can -ever begin to understand what it means. - -Human nature is yet more inscrutable--and nothing appears on the -surface. One can have no idea of the things buried in the minds of -one's acquaintances. And mostly they are fools and have no idea -themselves of what germs are in themselves--of what they are capable. -And in most minds it is true the dormant devils never awaken and -never are known. - -It is another sign of my analytical genius, that I, aged nineteen, -recognize the devils in my character. I have not the slightest wish, -since things are as they are with me, to rid myself of them. There -is in me much more of evil than of good. Genius like mine must -needs have with it manifold bad. "I have in me the germ of every -crime." I have no desire to destroy these germs. I should be glad -indeed to have them develop into a ravaging disease. Something in -this dreadful confusion would then give way. My wooden heart and -my soul would cry out in the darkness less heavily, less bitterly. - -They want something--they know not what. - -I give them poison. - -They snatch it and eat it hungrily. - -Then they are not so hungry. They become quieter. - -The ravaging disease soothes them to sleep--it descends on them -like rain in the autumn. - -When I hurry over my sand and barrenness my vivid passions come -to me--or when I sit and look at the horizon. When I walk slowly I -consider calmly the question of how much evil I should need to kill -off my finer feelings, to poison thoroughly this soul of unrest and -this wooden heart so that they would never more be conscious of -too-brilliant lights, and to make myself over into a quite different -creature. - -A little evil would do--a little of a fine, good quality. - -I should like a man to come (it is always a man, have you ever -noticed?--whatever one contemplates when one is of womankind and -young). I should like a man to come, I said calmly to myself to-day -as I walked slowly over my barrenness--a perfect villain to come -and fascinate me and lead me with strong, gentle allurements to -what would be technically termed my ruin. And as the world views -such things it would be my ruin. But as I view such things it -would not be ruin. It would be a new lease on life. - -Yes, I should like a man to come--any man so that he is strong and -thoroughly a villain, and so that he fascinates me. Particularly -he must fascinate me. There must be no falling in love about it. I -doubt if I could fascinate him, but I should ask him quite humbly -to lead me to my ruin. - -I have never yet seen the man who would not readily respond to such -an appeal. - -This villain would be no exception. - -I would then jerk my life out of this Nothingness by the roots. -Farewell, a long farewell, I would say. Then I would go forth with -the man to my ruin. The man would be bad to his heart's core. And -after living but a short time with him my shy, sensitive soul would -be irretrievably poisoned and polluted. The defilement of so sacred -and beautiful a thing as marriage is surely the darkest evil that -can come to a life. And so everything within me that had turned -toward that too-bright light would then drink deep of the lees of -death. - -The thirst of this incessant unrest and longing, this weariness of -_self_, would be quenched completely. - -My life would be like fertile soil planted thickly with rank wild -mustard. On every square inch of soil there would be a dozen sprouts -of wild mustard. There would be no room--no room at all--for an -anemone to grow. If one should start up, instantly it would be choked -and overrun with wild mustard. But no anemone would start up. - -My life now is a life of pain and revolt. - -My life darkened and partly killed would be more than content to -drift along with the current. - -Oh, it would be a rest! - -The Christians sing, there is rest for the weary, on the other side -of Jordan, where the tree of life is blooming. But that rest, of -course, is for the Christians. My rest will have to come on this -side of Jordan. Let the impress of a thoroughly evil and strong -man be stamped upon my inner life, and I am convinced there would -come a wonderful settled quiet over it. Its spirit would be broken. -It would rest. Why not? I have no virtue-sense. Nothing to me is -of any consequence except to be rid of this unrest and pain. Yes, -surely I might rest. - -The coming of the man-devil would bring rest. But I am fool enough -to think that marriage--the real marriage--is possible for me! - -This other thing is within the reach of every one--of fools and -geniuses alike--and of all that come between. - -And so I want a fascinating wicked man to come and make me positively, -rather than negatively, wicked. I feel a terrific wave of utter -weariness. My life lies fallow. I am tired of sitting here. The -sand and barrenness is gray with age. And I am gray with age. - -Happiness--the red of the sunset sky--is the intensest desire of -my life. - -But I will grasp eagerly anything else that is offered me--_anything_. - -The poisoning of my soul--the passing of my unrest--would rouse -my mental power. My genius would receive a wonderful impetus from -it. You would marvel, good world, at the things I should write. -Not that they would be exalted--not that they would surge upward. -Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles? But they would -be marvels of fire and intensity. I should no longer exhaust much -of my energy in grinding, grinding within. The things that would -come of the thorns and thistles would excite your astonishment and -admiration, though they be not grapes and figs. - -And as for me--the real me--the creature imbued with a spirit of -intense femininity, with a spirit of an intense sense of Love--with -a spirit like that of the Magdalene who loved too much, with the -very soul of unrest and Nothingness--this thing would vanish swiftly -into oblivion, and I should go down a dark world and feel not. - - - - - March 25. - -One of the remarkable points about my life is that it is so -completely, hopelessly alone--a lonely, lonely life. This book of -mine contains but one character--myself. - -There is also the Devil--as a possibility. - -And there is also the anemone lady--my dearest beloved--as a memory. - -I have read books that were written to portray but one character, -and there were various people brought in to help in the portraying. -But my one friend is gone, and there is no person who enters into -my inner life in the very least. I am always alone. I might mingle -with people intimately every hour of my life--still I should be -alone. - -Always alone--alone. - -Not even a God to worship. - -How do I bear this? How do I get through the days and days? - -And, oh, when it all comes over me, what frightful rage--what long -agony of my breaking heart--what utter woe! - -When the stars shine down upon me with cold hatred; when miles -and miles of barrenness stretch out around me and envelop me in -their weary, weary Nothingness; when the wind blows over me like -the breath of a vicious giant; when the ugly, ugly sun radiates -centuries of hard, heavy bitterness around me from its stinging -rays; when the sky maddens me with its cold, careless blue; when the -rivers that are flowing over the earth send echoes to me of their -hateful voices; when I hear wild geese honking in bitter wailing -melody; when bristling edges of jagged rocks cut sharply into my -tired life; when drops of rain fall on me and pierce me like steel -points; when the voices in the air shriek little-minded malice in -my ears; when the green of Nature is the green of spitefulness and -cruelty; when the red, red of the setting sun burns and consumes me -with its horrid feverish effervescence; when I feel the all-hatred -of the Universe for its poor little earth-bugs: then it is that I -approach nearest to Rest. - -The softnesses are my Unrest. - -I do not want those bitter things. - -But I must have them if I would rest. - -I want the softnesses and I want Rest! - -Oh, dear faint soul, it is hard--hard for us. - -We are sick with loneliness. - - - - - March 26. - -Now and again I have torturing glimpses of a Paradise. And I feel -my soul in its pain every moment of my life. Otherwise, how gladly -would I deny the existence of a soul and a life to come! - -For my soul is beset with Nothingness, and the Paradise that shows -itself is not for me. - - - - - March 28. - -Hatred, after all, is the easiest thing of all to bear. - -If you have been forgotten by the one who must have made you, and -if you have been left alone of human beings all your life--all your -nineteen years--then, when at last you see some one looking toward -you with beautiful eyes, and extending to you a beautiful hand, and -showing you a beautiful heart wherein is just a little of beautiful -sympathy for you--for you--oh, that is harder than anything to -bear. Harder than the loneliness and the bitterness--and the tears -are nearer and nearer. - -But one would be hurt often, often for the sake of the beautiful -things. Yes, one would gladly be hurt long and often. - -I shall never forget how it was with me when I first saw the -beautiful eyes of my dearest anemone lady when they were looking -gently--at me--and the beautiful hand, and the beautiful heart. - -The awakening of my racked soul is hardly more heavily laden with -passion and pain. I shall never forget. - -Though I feel away from her also, she is the only one out of all -to look gently at me. - -Let me writhe and falter with pain; let me go mad--but oh, worldful -of people--for the love of your God--give me out of this seething -darkness only one beautiful human hand to touch mine with _love_, -one beautiful human heart to know the aching sad loneliness of mine, -one beautiful, human soul to mingle with mine in long, long Rest. - -Oh, for a human being, my soul wails--a human being to love me! - -Oh, to know--just once--what it is to be loved! - -Nineteen years without one faint shadow of love is mouldy, crumbling -age--is gray with the dust of centuries. - -How long have I lived? - -How long must I live? - -I am shrieking at you, cold, stupid world. - -Oh, the long, long waiting! - -The millions of human beings! - -I am a human being and there is no one--no one--no one. - -Who can know this that has not felt it? You do not know--you can -not know. - -Surely I do not ask too much. But whether or not it is too much I -can not go through the years without it--oh, I can not! - -You have lived your nineteen years, fine world, and you have lived -through some after years. - -But in your nineteen years there was some one to love you. - -It is that that counts. - -Since you have had that some one, in your nineteen years, can you -understand what life is to me--me--in my loneliness? - -My wailing, waiting soul burns with but one desire: _to be loved--oh, -to be loved_. - - - - - March 29. - -I am making the world my confessor in this Portrayal. My mind is -fairly bursting with egotism and pain, and in writing this I find -a merciful outlet. I have become fond of my Portrayal. Often I lay -my forehead and my lips caressingly upon the pages. - -And I wish to let you know that there is in existence a genius--an -unhappy genius, a genius starving in Montana in the barrenness--but -still a genius. I am a creature the like of which you have never -before happened upon. You have never suspected that there is such -a person. I know that there is not such another. As I said in the -beginning, the world contains not my parallel. - -I am a fantasy--an absurdity--a genius! - -Had I been one of the beasts that perish I had been likewise a -fantasy. I think I should have been a small animal composite of a -pig, a leopard, and a skunk: an animal that I fancy would be uncanny -to look upon but admirable for a pet. - -However, I am not one of the beasts that perish. - -I am human. - -That is another remarkable point. - -I have heard persons say they can hardly believe I am quite human. - -I am the most human creature that ever was placed on the earth. The -geniuses are always more human than the herd. Almost a perfection of -humanness is reached in me. This by itself makes me extraordinary. -The rarest thing in the world, I find, is the quality of humanness. - -Humanity and humaneness are much less rare. - -"It is a brave thing to understand something of what we see." Indeed -it is. An exceeding brave thing. The one who said that had surely -gone out on the highways and byways and found how little he could -understand. - -To understand oneself is not so brave a thing. To go in among the -hidden gray shadows of the deep things is a fool's errand. It is -not from choice that I do it. No one carries a mill-stone around -her neck from choice. When I see what is among the hidden gray -shadows--when I see a vision of _Myself_--I am seized with a strange, -sick terror. - -A fool's errand--but one that I must need go--and for that matter -I myself am a fool. - -Yet to know oneself well is a rare fine art. - -I analyze myself now. I analyzed myself when I was three years old. - -The only difference is that at the age of three I was not aware -that I analyzed. It is true, that is a great difference. Now I know -that I am analyzing at nineteen, and now I know that I analyzed -at three. - -And at the age of nineteen I know that I am a genius. - -A genius who does not know that he is a genius is no genius. A -drunken man might stagger up to a piano and accidentally play music -that vibrates to the soul--that touches upon the mysteries. But he -does not know his power, and he is no genius, though men awaken -and go mad therefrom. - -I know that I am a genius more than any genius that has lived. - -I have a feeling that the world will never know this. - -And as I think of it I wonder if angels are not weeping somewhere -because of it. - - - - - March 31. - - "She only said: 'My life is dreary, - He cometh not,' she said; - She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, - I would that I were dead!'" - -All day long this heart-sickening song of Mariana has been reeling -and swimming in my brain. I awoke with it early in the morning, and -it is still with me now in the lateness. I wondered at times during -the day why that very gentle and devilishly persistent refrain did -not drive me insane or send me into convulsions. I tried vainly to -fix my mind on a book. I began reading "Mill on the Floss," but that -weird poem was not to be foiled. It bewitched my brain. Now, as I -write, I hear twenty voices chanting in a sad minor key--twenty -voices that fill my brain with sound to the bursting point. "He -cometh not--he cometh not--he cometh not." "That I were dead"--"I -am aweary, aweary,--that I were dead--that I were dead." "He cometh -not--that I were dead." - -It is maddening in that it is set sublimely to the music of my own -life. - -Now that I have written it I can hope that it may leave me. If it -follows me through the night, and if I awake to another day of it -the cords of my overworked mind will surely break. - -But let me thank the kind Devil. - -It is leaving me now! - -It is as if tons were lifted from my brain. - - - - - April 2. - -How can any one bring a child into the world and not wrap it round -with a certain wondrous tenderness that will stay with it always! - -There are persons whose souls have never entered into them. - -My mother has some fondness for me--for my body because it came of -hers. That is nothing--nothing. - -A hen loves its egg. - -A hen! - - - - - April 3. - -This evening in the slow-deepening dusk I sat by my window and -spent an hour in passionate conversation with the Devil. I fancied -I sat, with my hands folded and my feet crossed, on an ugly but -comfortable red velvet sofa in some nondescript room. - -And the fascinating man-devil was seated near in a frail willow -chair. - -He had willingly come to pass the time of day with me. He was in a -good-humored mood, and I amused and interested him. And for myself, -I was extremely glad to see the Devil sitting there and felt vividly -as always. But I sat quietly enough. - -The fascinating man-devil has fascinating steel-gray eyes, and -they looked at me with every variety of glance--from quizzical to -tender. - -It were easy--oh, how easy--to follow those eyes to the earth's -ends. - -The Devil leaned back in the frail willow chair and looked at me. - -"And now that I am here, Mary MacLane," he said, "what would you?" - -"I want you to marry me," I replied at once. "And I want it more -than ever anything was wanted since the world began." - -"So? I am flattered," said the Devil, and smiled gently, enchantingly. - -At that smile I was ravished and transported, and a spasm of some -rare emotion thrilled all the little nerves in me from my heels to -my forehead. And yet the smile was not for me but rather somewhat -at my expense. - -"But," he went on, "you must know it is not my custom to marry -women." - -"I am sure it is not," I agreed, "and I do not ask to be peculiarly -favored. Anything that you may give me, however little, will -constitute marriage for me." - -"And would marriage itself be so small a thing?" asked the Devil. - -"Marriage," I said, "would be a great, oh, a wonderful thing, and the -most beautiful of all. I want what is good according to my lights, -and because I am a genius my lights are many and far-reaching." - -"What do your lights tell you?" the man-devil inquired. - -"They tell me this: that nothing in the world matters unless love -is with it, and if love is with it and it seems to the virtuous a -barren and infamous thing, still--because of the love--it partakes -of the very highest." - -"And have you the courage of your convictions?" he said. - -"If you offered me," I replied, "that which to the blindly virtuous -seems the worst possible thing, it would yet be for me the red, -red line on the sky, my heart's desire, my life, my rest. You are -the Devil. I have fallen in love with you." - -"I believe you have," said the Devil. "And how does it feel to be -in love?" - -Sitting composedly on the ugly red velvet sofa, with my hands -folded and my feet crossed, I attempted to define that wonderful -feeling. - -"It feels," I said, "as if sparks of fire and ice crystals ran riot -in my veins with my blood; as if a thousand pin-points pierced my -flesh, and every other point a point of pleasure, and every other -point a point of pain; as if my heart were laid to rest in a bed -of velvet and cotton-wool but kept awake by sweet violin arias; as -if milk and honey and the blossoms of the cherry flowed into my -stomach and then vanished utterly; as if strange, beautiful worlds -lay spread out before my eyes, alternately in dazzling light and -complete darkness with chaotic rapidity; as if orris-root were -sprinkled in the folds of my brain; as if sprigs of dripping-wet -sweet-fern were stuck inside my hot linen collar; as if--well, you -know," I ended suddenly. - -"Very good," said the Devil. "You are in love. And you say you -are in love with me." - -"Oh, with you!" I exclaimed with suppressed violence. The effort to -suppress this violence cost me pounds of nerve-power. But I kept my -hands still quietly folded and my feet crossed, and it was a triumph -of self-control. "I want you to marry me," I added despairingly. - -"And you think," he inquired, "that apart from the opinion of the -wise world, it would be a suitable marriage?" - -"A suitable marriage!" I exclaimed. "I hate a suitable marriage! -No, it would not be suitable. It would be Bohemian, outlandish, -adorable!" - -The Devil smiled. - -This time the smile was for me. And, oh, the long, old, overpowering -enchantment of the smile of steel-gray eyes!--the steel-gray eyes -of the Devil! - -It is one of those things that one remembers. - -"You are a beautifully frank, little feminine creature," he said. -"Frankness is in these days a lost art." - -"Yes, I am beautifully frank," I replied. "Out of countless millions -of the Devil's anointed I am one to acknowledge myself." - -"But withal you are not true," said the man-devil. - -"I am a liar," I answered. - -"You are a liar, surely," he said, "but you stay with your lies. -To stay with anything is Truth." - -"It is so," I replied. "Nevertheless I am false as woman can be." - -"But you know what you want." - -"Oh, yes," I said, "I know what I want. I want you to marry me." - -"And why?" - -"Because I love you." - -"That seems an excellent reason, certainly," said the Devil. - -"I want to be happy for once in my life," I said. "I have never -been happy. And if I could be happy once for one gold day, I should -be satisfied, and I should have that to remember in the long years." - -"And you are a strangely pathetic little animal," said the Devil. - -"I am pathetic," I said. I clasped my hands very tightly. "I know -that I am pathetic: and for this reason I am the most terribly -pathetic of all in the world." - -"Poor little Mary MacLane!" said the Devil. He leaned toward me. -He looked at me with those strange, wonderfully tender, divine -steel-gray eyes. "Poor little Mary MacLane!" he said again in a -voice that was like the Gray Dawn. And the eyes--the glance of -the steel-gray eyes entered into me and thrilled me through and -through. It frightened and soothed me. It racked and comforted me. -It ravished me with inconceivable gentleness so that I bent my head -down and sobbed as I breathed. - -"Don't you know, you little thing," said the man-devil, -softly-compassionate, "your life will be very hard for you -always--harder when you are happy than when you go in Nothingness?" - -"I know--I know. Nevertheless I want to be happy," I sobbed. I -felt a rush of an old thick, heavy anguish. "It is day after day. -It is week after week. It is month after month. It is year after -year. It is only time going and going. There is no joy. There is -no lightness of heart. It is only the passing of days. I am young -and all alone. Always I have been alone: when I was five and lay in -the damp grass and tortured myself to keep back tears; and through -the long, cold, lonely years till now--and now all the torture does -not keep back the tears. There is no one--nothing--to help me bear -it. It is more than pathetic when one is nineteen in all young, -new feeling and sees Nothing anywhere--except long, dark, lonely -years behind her and before her. No one that loves me and long, -long years." - -I stopped. The gray eyes were fixed on me. Oh, they were the -steel-gray eyes!--and they had a look in them. The long, bitter -pageant of my Nothingness mingled with this look and the coming -together of these was like the joining of two halves. - -I do not know which brings me the deeper pain--the loneliness and -weariness of my sand and barrenness, or the look in the steel-gray -eyes. But as always I would gladly leave all and follow the eyes -to the world's end. They are like the sun's setting. And they are -like the pale, beautiful stars. And they are like the shadows of -earth and sky that come together in the dark. - -"Why," asked the Devil, "are you in love with me?" - -"You know so much--so much," I answered. "I think it must be that. -The wisdom of the spheres is in your brain. And so, then, you must -understand me. Because no one understands all these smouldering -feelings my greatest agony is. You must need know the very finest -of them. And your eyes! Oh, it's no matter why I'm in love with -you. It's enough that I am. And if you married me I would make you -happier than you are." - -"I am not happy at all," said the man-devil. "I am merely contented." - -"Contentment," I said, "in place of Happiness, is a horrid feeling. -Not one of your countless advocates loves you. They all serve you -faithfully and well, but with it all they hate you. Always people -hate their tyrant. You are my tyrant, but I love you absorbingly, -madly. Happiness for me would be to live with you and see you made -happy by the overwhelming flood of my love." - -"It interests me," he said. "You are a most interesting feminine -philosopher--and your philosophy is after my own heart, in its lack -of _virtue_. It is to be hoped you are not 'intellectual,' which -is an unpardonable trait." - -"Indeed, I am not," I replied. "Intellectual people are detestable. -They have pale faces and bad stomachs and bad livers, and if they -are women their corsets are sure to be too tight, and probably -black, and if they are men they are _soft_, which is worse. And -they never by any chance know what it means to walk all day in the -rain, or to roll around on the ground in the dirt. And, above all, -they never fall in love with the Devil." - -"They are tiresome," the Devil agreed. "If I were to marry you how -long would you be happy?" - -"For three days." - -"You are wise," he said. "You are wonderfully wise in some things, -though you are still very young." - -"I am wise," I answered. "Being of womankind and nineteen years, -I am more than ready to give up absolutely everything that is good -in the world's sight, though they are contemptible things enough -in my own, for love. All for love. Therefore I am wise. Also I am -a fool." - -"Why are you a fool?" - -"Because I am a genius." - -"Your logic is good logic," said the Devil. - -"My logic--oh, I don't care anything about logic," I said with sudden -complete weariness. I felt buried and wrapped round and round in -weariness. Everything lost its color. Everything turned cold. - -"At this moment," said the Devil, "you feel as if you cared for -nothing at all. But if I chose I could bring about a transfiguration. -I could kiss your soul into Paradise." - -I answered, "Yes," without emotion. - -"An hour," said the Devil, "is not very long. But we know it is -long enough to suffer in, and go mad in, and live in, and be happy -in. And the world contains a great many hours. Now I am leaving -you. It is likely that I may never come again, and it is likely -that I may come again." - -It all vanished. I still sat by my window in the gloom. "It is -dreary," I said. - -But yes. The world contains a great many hours. - - - - - April 4. - -I have asked for bread, sometimes, and I have been given a stone. - -Oh, it is a bitter thing--oh, it is piteous, piteous! - -I find that I am not far apart from human beings. I can still be -crushed, wounded, stunned, by the attitude of human beings. - -To-day I looked for human-kindness, and I was given coldness. I -repelled human beings. - -I asked for bread and I was given a stone. - -Oh, it is bitter--bitter. - -Oh, is there a thing in the wide world more bitter? - -_God_, where are you! I am crushed, wounded, stunned--and, oh--I -am alone! - - - - - April 10. - -I have a sense of humor that partakes of the divine in life--for -there are things even in this chaotic irony that are divine. My -genius is not divine. My patheticness is not divine. My philosophy -is not divine, nor my originality, nor my audacity of thought. -These are peculiarly of the earth. But my sense of humor-- - -It is humor that is far too deep to admit of laughter. It is humor -that makes my heart melt with a high, unequaled sense of pleasure -and ripple down through my body like old yellow wine. - -A rare tone in a person's voice, a densely wrathful expression in -a pair of slate-colored eyes, a fine, fine shade of comparison and -contrast between a word in a conversation and an angleworm pattern -in a calico dressing-jacket--these are things that make me conscious -of divine emotion. - -One day last summer an Italian peddler-woman stopped at the back door -and rested herself. I stood in the doorway, and the peddler-woman -and I talked. She had a dirty white handkerchief tied over her -head--as all Italian peddler-women do--and she had a telescope -valise filled with garters, and hairpins, and soap, and combs, and -pencils, and china buttons on blue cards, and bean-shooters, and -tacks, and dream-books, and mouth-organs, and green glass beads, and -jews-harps. There is something fascinating about a peddler-woman's -telescope valise. This peddler-woman wore a black satine wrapper -and an ancient cape. She said that she would like to stop and rest -a while, and I told her she might. I had always wanted to talk to -a peddler-woman, and my mother never would allow one in the house. - -"Is it nice to be a peddler?" I asked her. - -"It ain't bad," replied the peddler-woman. - -"Do you make a great deal of money?" I next inquired. - -"Sometime I do, and sometime I don't," said the woman. She spoke with -an accent that, while it sounded Italian, still showed unmistakably -that she had lived in Butte. - -"Well, do you make just enough to live on, or have you saved some -money?" I asked. - -"I got four hundred dollar in the bank," she replied. "I been -peddlin' eight year." - -"Eight years of tramping around in all kinds of weather," I said. -"Your philosophy must be peripatetic, too. Haven't you ever had -rheumatism in your knees?" - -"I got rheumatism in every joint in my body," said the woman. "I -have to lay off, sometime." - -"Have you a husband?" I wished to know. - -"I had a man--oh, yes," said the peddler-woman. - -"And where is he?" - -"Back home--in Italy." - -"Why doesn't he come out here and work for you?" I asked. - -"Yes, w'y don't he?" said the woman. "Dat-a man, he's dem lucky -w'en he can get enough to eat--he is." - -"Why don't you send him some money to pay his way out, since you've -saved so much?" I inquired. - -"Holy God!" said the peddler-woman. "I work hard for dat-a money. I -save ev'ry cent. I ain't go'n now to t'row it away--I ain't. Dat-a -man, he's all right w'ere he is--he is." - -"What did you marry him for?" I asked. - -The peddler-woman looked at me with that look which seems to convey -the information that curiosity once killed a cat. - -"What for?" I persisted--"for love?" - -"I marry him w'en I was young girl. And he was young, too." - -"Yes--but what did you do it for? Was he awfully nice, and did he -say awfully sweet things to you?" - -"He was dem sweet--oh, yes," said the peddler-woman. She grinned. -"And I was young." - -"And you liked it when you were young and he was sweet, didn't you?" - -"Yes, I guess so. I was young," she answered. - -The fact that one is young seems to imply--in the Italian peddler -mind--a lacking in some essential points. - -"And don't you like your man now?" I asked. - -"Dat-a man, he's all right, in Italy--he is," replied the woman. - -"Well," I observed, "if I had a man who had been dem sweet once, -when I had been young, but who was not sweet any more, I think I -should leave him in Italy, too." - -"You'll git a man some day soon," said the peddler-woman. - -I was interested to know that. - -"They all do--oh, yes," she said. "But you likely to be better -off peddlin', I tell you." - -"Yes, I think it would be amusing to be a peddler for a while," I -said. "But I should want the man, too, as long as he was dem sweet." - -The peddler-woman picked up the telescope valise. - -"Yes," she remarked, "a man, he's sweet two days, t'ree days, -then--holy God! he never work, he git-a drunk, he make-a rough-house, -he raise hell." - -The peddler-woman nodded at me and limped out of the yard. The -telescope valise was heavy. When she walked every muscle in her -body seemed to be pressed into the service. She had a heavy, solid -look. She seemed as though she might weigh three hundred pounds, -though she was not large. The afternoon sun shone down brightly on -her dirty white handkerchief, on her brown comely face, on her brown -brass-ringed hands, on her black satine wrapper, on her ancient -cape. - -As I watched her out of sight I thought to myself: "Two days, t'ree -days, then--holy God! he never work, he git-a drunk, he make-a -rough-house, he raise hell." - -I was conscious of an intense humor that was so far beyond laughter -that it was too deep even for tears. But I felt tears vaguely as -I watched the peddler-woman limping up the road. - -It was not pathos. It was humor--humor. My emotion was one of vivid -pleasure--pleasure at the sight of the woman, and at the telescope -valise, and at her conversation supplemented by my own. - -This emotion is divine, and I can not grasp it. - -As I looked after the Italian peddler-woman it came to me with sudden -force that the earth is only the earth, but that it is touched here -and there brilliantly with divine fingers. - -Long and often as I've sat in intense silent passion and gazed at -the red, red sunset sky, I have never then felt this sense of the -divine. - -It comes only through humor. - -It comes only with things like an Italian peddler-woman in a black -satine wrapper and an ancient cape. - -My soul--how heavily it goes. - -Life is a journeying up a spring-time hill. And at the top we wonder -why we are there. Have mercy on me, I implore in a dull idea that -the journey is so long--so long, and a human being is less than an -atom. - -The solid, heavy figure of an Italian peddler-woman with a telescope -valise, limping away in the afternoon sunshine, is more convincing -of the Things that Are than would be the sound of the wailing of -legions of lost souls, could it be heard. - -For the world must be amused. - -And the world's wind listeth as it bloweth. - - - - - April 11. - -I write a great many letters to the dear anemone lady. I send some -of them to her and others I keep to read myself. I like to read -letters that I have written--particularly that I have written to her. - -This is a letter that I wrote two days ago to my one friend: - -"To you:-- - -"And don't you know, my dearest, my friendship with you contains -other things? It contains infatuation, and worship, and bewitchment, -and idolatry, and a tiny altar in my soul-chamber whereon is burning -sweet incense in a little dish of blue and gold. - -"Yes, all of these. - -"My life is made up of many outpourings. All the outpourings have -one point of coming-together. You are the point of coming-together. -There is no other. - -"You are the anemone lady. - -"You are the one whom I may love. - -"To think that the world contains one beautiful human being for me -to love! - -"It is wonderful. - -"My life is longing for the sight of you. My senses are aching for -lack of an anemone to diffuse itself among them. - -"A year ago, when you were in the high school, often I used to go -over there when you would be going home, so that my life could be -made momentarily replete by the sight of you. You didn't know I -was there--only a few times when I spoke to you. - -"And now it is that I remember you. - -"Oh, my dearest--you are the only one in the world! - -"We are two women. You do not love me, but I love you. - -"You have been wonderfully, beautifully kind to me. - -"You are the only one who has ever been kind to me. - -"There is something delirious in this--something of the nameless -quantity. - -"It is old grief and woe to live nineteen years and to remember no -person ever to have been kind. But what is it--do you think?--at the -end of nineteen years, to come at last upon one who is wonderfully, -beautifully kind! - -"Those persons who have had some one always to be kind to them can -never remotely imagine how this feels. - -"Sometimes in these spring days when I walk miles down into the -country to the little wet gulch of the sweet-flags, I wonder why -it is that this thing does not make me happy. 'She is wonderfully, -beautifully kind,' I say to myself--'and she is the anemone lady. -She is _wondrously_ kind, and though she's gone, nothing can ever -change that.' - -"But I am not happy. - -"Oh, my one friend--what is the matter with me? What is this feeling? -Why am I not happy? - -"But how can you know? - -"You are beautiful. - -"I am a small, vile creature. - -"Always I awake to this fact when I think of the anemone lady. - -"I am not good. - -"But you are kind to me--you are kind to me--you are kind to me. - -"You have written me two letters. - -"The anemone lady came down from her high places and wrote me two -letters. - -"It is said that God is somewhere. It may be so. - -"But God has never come down from his high places to write me two -letters. - -"Dear--do you see?--you are the only one in the world. - - "=Mary MacLane.=" - - - - - April 12. - -Oh, the dreariness, the Nothingness! - -Day after day--week after week,--it is dull and gray and weary. It -is _dull_, =DULL=, DULL! - -No one loves me the least in the world. - -"My life is dreary--he cometh not." - -I am unhappy--unhappy. - -It rains. The blue sky is weeping. But it is not weeping because -I am unhappy. - -I hate the blue sky, and the rain, and the wet ground, and everything. -This morning I walked far away over the sand, and these things made -me think they loved me--and that I loved them. But they fooled me. -Everything fools me. I am a fool. - -No one loves me. There are people here. But no one loves me--no -one understands--no one cares. - -It is I and the barrenness. It is I--young and all alone. - -Pitiful Heaven!--but no, Heaven is not pitiful. - -Heaven also has fooled me, more than once. - -There is something for every one that I have ever known--some tender -thing. But what is there for me? What have I to remember out of -the long years? - -The blue sky is weeping, but not for me. The rain is persistent and -heavy as damnation. It falls on my mind and it maddens my mind. -It falls on my soul and it hurts my soul.--Everything hurts my -soul.--It falls on my heart and it warps the wood in my heart. - -Of womankind and nineteen years, a philosopher of the peripatetic -school, a thief, a genius, a liar, and a fool--and unhappy, and -filled with anguish and hopeless despair. What is my life? Oh, what -is there for me! - -There has always been Nothing. There will always be Nothing. - -There was a miserable, damnable, wretched, lonely childhood. Itself -has passed, but the pain of it has not passed. The pain of it is -with me and is added to the pain of now. It is pain that never lets -itself be forgotten. The pain of the childhood was the pain of -Nothing. The pain of now is the pain of Nothing. Oh, the pathetic -burlesque-tragedy of Nothing! - -It is burlesque, but it is none the less tragedy. It is tragedy -that eats its way inward. - -It is only I and the sand and barrenness. - -I have never a tender thing in my life. The sand and barrenness -has never a grass-blade. - -I want a human being to love me. I have need of it. I am starving -to death for lack of it. - -Bitterest salt tears surge upward--sobs are shaking themselves out -from the depths. Oh, the salt is bitter. I might lay me down and -weep all day and all night--and the salt would grow more bitter -and more bitter. - -But life in its Nothingness is more bitter still. - -It is burlesque-tragedy that is the most tragic of all. - -It is an inward dying that never ends. It is the bitterness of -death added to the bitterness of life. - -What hell is there like that of one weak little human being placed -on the earth--and left _alone_? - -There are people who live and enjoy. But my soul and I--we find -life too bitter, and too heavy to carry alone. Too bitter, and too -heavy. - -Oh, that I and my soul might perish at this moment, forever! - - - - - April 13. - -I am sitting writing out on my sand and barrenness. The sky is pale -and faded now in the west, but a few minutes ago there was the same -old-time, always-new miracle of roses and gold, and glints and gleams -of silver and green, and a river in vermilions and purples--and -lastly the dear, the beautiful: the red, red line. - -There also are heavy black shadows. - -I have given my heart into the keeping of this. - -And still, as always, I look at it--and feel it all with thrilling -passion--and await the Devil's coming. - - - - -L'ENVOI: - - - October 28, 1901. - -And so there you have my Portrayal. It is the record of three -months of Nothingness. Those three months are very like the three -months that preceded them, to be sure, and the three that followed -them--and like all the months that have come and gone with me, since -time was. There is never anything different; nothing ever happens. - -Now I will send my Portrayal into the wise wide world. It may stop -short at the publisher; or it may fall still-born from the press; -or it may go farther, indeed, and be its own undoing. - -That's as may be. - -I will send it. - -What else is there for me, if not this book? - -And, oh, that some one may understand it! - ---I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not -generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate -_feeling_. I feel--everything. It is my genius. It burns me like -fire.-- - -My Portrayal in its analysis and egotism and bitterness will -surely be of interest to some. Whether to that one alone who may -understand it; or to some who have themselves been left alone; or -to those three whom I, on three dreary days, asked for bread, and -who each gave me a stone--and whom I do not forgive (for that is -the bitterest thing of all): it may be to all of these. - -But none of them, nor any one, can know the feeling made of relief -and pain and despair that comes over me at the thought of sending -all this to the wise wide world. It is bits of my wooden heart -broken off and given away. It is strings of amber beads taken from -the fair neck of my soul. It is shining little gold coins from out -of my mind's red leather purse. It is my little old life-tragedy. - -It means everything to me. - -Do you see?--it means _everything_ to me. - -It will amuse you. It will arouse your interest. It will stir your -curiosity. Some sorts of persons will find it ridiculous. It will -puzzle you. - -But am I to suppose that it will also awaken compassion in cool, -indifferent hearts? And will the sand and barrenness look so -unspeakably gray and dreary to coldly critical eyes as to mine? -And shall my bitter little story fall easily and comfortably upon -undisturbed ears, and linger for an hour, and be forgotten? - -Will the wise wide world itself give me in my outstretched hand a -stone? - - -THE END - - - - -[Transcriber's Notes: - - Errors in punctuation were repaired. - Except for the following change, spelling has been preserved as - printed in the original. - On page 79, "buoyantly" was changed from "bouyantly" (float buoyantly - on air).] - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - -***** This file should be named 43696-8.txt or 43696-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/6/9/43696/ - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/43696-8.zip b/43696-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a6329eb..0000000 --- a/43696-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/43696-h.zip b/43696-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 51b6717..0000000 --- a/43696-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/43696-h/43696-h.htm b/43696-h/43696-h.htm index 218d293..b16aa52 100644 --- a/43696-h/43696-h.htm +++ b/43696-h/43696-h.htm @@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> <html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> <title> The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane: A Project Gutenberg eBook @@ -262,43 +262,7 @@ div.poem {margin-left: 2em;} </head> <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Story of Mary MacLane - -Author: Mary MacLane - -Release Date: September 11, 2013 [EBook #43696] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - - - - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - - - - - -</pre> - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43696 ***</div> <div class="bookcover"> <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" style="max-width: 450px;" alt="Book cover" /> @@ -6911,380 +6875,6 @@ printed in the original.</p> on air).</p> </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - -***** This file should be named 43696-h.htm or 43696-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/6/9/43696/ - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43696 ***</div> </body> </html> diff --git a/43696.txt b/43696.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d4262d1..0000000 --- a/43696.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6397 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Story of Mary MacLane - -Author: Mary MacLane - -Release Date: September 11, 2013 [EBook #43696] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - - - - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - - - - - -[Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and -small-capital text by =equal signs=.] - - - - - The STORY of MARY MACLANE - - - - - [Photograph: _MARY MACLANE_] - - - - - The STORY - of - MARY MACLANE - - - BY HERSELF - - - [Illustration: Publisher's logo] - - - CHICAGO - HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY - MCMII - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY - HERBERT S. STONE & CO - PUBLISHED APRIL 26, 1902 - - - - -The Story of Mary MacLane - - - - - Butte, Montana, - January 13, 1901. - -I of womankind and of nineteen years, will now begin to set down as -full and frank a Portrayal as I am able of myself, Mary MacLane, -for whom the world contains not a parallel. - -I am convinced of this, for I am odd. - -I am distinctly original innately and in development. - -I have in me a quite unusual intensity of life. - -I can feel. - -I have a marvelous capacity for misery and for happiness. - -I am broad-minded. - -I am a genius. - -I am a philosopher of my own good peripatetic school. - -I care neither for right nor for wrong--my conscience is nil. - -My brain is a conglomeration of aggressive versatility. - -I have reached a truly wonderful state of miserable morbid unhappiness. - -I know myself, oh, very well. - -I have attained an egotism that is rare indeed. - -I have gone into the deep shadows. - -All this constitutes oddity. I find, therefore, that I am quite, -quite odd. - -I have hunted for even the suggestion of a parallel among the several -hundred persons that I call acquaintances. But in vain. There are -people and people of varying depths and intricacies of character, -but there is none to compare with me. The young ones of my own -age--if I chance to give them but a glimpse of the real workings of -my mind--can only stare at me in dazed stupidity, uncomprehending; -and the old ones of forty and fifty--for forty and fifty are always -old to nineteen--can but either stare also in stupidity, or else, -their own narrowness asserting itself, smile their little devilish -smile of superiority which they reserve indiscriminately for all -foolish young things. The utter idiocy of forty and fifty at times! - -These, to be sure, are extreme instances. There are among my young -acquaintances some who do not stare in stupidity, and yes, even at -forty and fifty there are some who understand some phases of my -complicated character, though none to comprehend it in its entirety. - -But, as I said, even the suggestion of a parallel is not to be -found among them. - -I think at this moment, however, of two minds famous in the -world of letters between which and mine there are certain fine -points of similarity. These are the minds of Lord Byron and of -Marie Bashkirtseff. It is the Byron of "Don Juan" in whom I find -suggestions of myself. In this sublime outpouring there are few -to admire the character of Don Juan, but all must admire Byron. He -is truly admirable. He uncovered and exposed his soul of mingled -good and bad--as the terms are--for the world to gaze upon. He knew -the human race, and he knew himself. - -As for that strange notable, Marie Bashkirtseff, yes, I am rather -like her in many points, as I've been told. But in most things I -go beyond her. - -Where she is deep, I am deeper. - -Where she is wonderful in her intensity, I am still more wonderful -in my intensity. - -Where she had philosophy, I am a philosopher. - -Where she had astonishing vanity and conceit, I have yet more -astonishing vanity and conceit. - -But she, forsooth, could paint good pictures,--and I--what can -I do? - -She had a beautiful face, and I am a plain-featured, insignificant -little animal. - -She was surrounded by admiring, sympathetic friends, and I am -alone--alone, though there are people and people. - -She was a genius, and still more am I a genius. - -She suffered with the pain of a woman, young; and I suffer with -the pain of a woman, young and all alone. - -And so it is. - -Along some lines I have gotten to the edge of the world. A step -more and I fall off. I do not take the step. I stand on the edge, -and I suffer. - -Nothing, oh, nothing on the earth can suffer like a woman young -and all alone! - ---Before proceeding farther with the Portraying of Mary MacLane, -I will write out some of her uninteresting history. - -I was born in 1881 at Winnepeg, in Canada. Whether Winnepeg will -yet live to be proud of this fact is a matter for some conjecture -and anxiety on my part. When I was four years old I was taken with -my family to a little town in western Minnesota, where I lived a -more or less vapid and lonely life until I was ten. We came then -to Montana. - -Whereat the aforesaid life was continued. - -My father died when I was eight. - -Apart from feeding and clothing me comfortably and sending me to -school--which is no more than was due me--and transmitting to me -the MacLane blood and character, I can not see that he ever gave -me a single thought. - -Certainly he did not love me, for he was quite incapable of loving -any one but himself. And since nothing is of any moment in this -world without the love of human beings for each other, it is a -matter of supreme indifference to me whether my father, Jim MacLane -of selfish memory, lived or died. - -He is nothing to me. - -There are with me still a mother, a sister, and two brothers. - -They also are nothing to me. - -They do not understand me any more than if I were some strange live -curiosity, as which I dare say they regard me. - -I am peculiarly of the MacLane blood, which is Highland Scotch. My -sister and brothers inherit the traits of their mother's family, -which is of Scotch Lowland descent. This alone makes no small degree -of difference. Apart from this the MacLanes--these particular -MacLanes--are just a little bit different from every family in -Canada, and from every other that I've known. It contains and has -contained fanatics of many minds--religious, social, whatnot, and -I am a true MacLane. - -There is absolutely no sympathy between my immediate family and -me. There can never be. My mother, having been with me during the -whole of my nineteen years, has an utterly distorted idea of my -nature and its desires, if indeed she has any idea of it. - -When I think of the exquisite love and sympathy which might be -between a mother and daughter, I feel myself defrauded of a beautiful -thing rightfully mine, in a world where for me such things are -pitiably few. - -It will always be so. - -My sister and brothers are not interested in me and my analyses -and philosophy, and my wants. Their own are strictly practical and -material. The love and sympathy between human beings is to them, -it seems, a thing only for people in books. - -In short, they are Lowland Scotch, and I am a MacLane. - -And so, as I've said, I carried my uninteresting existence into -Montana. The existence became less uninteresting, however, as my -versatile mind began to develop and grow and know the glittering -things that are. But I realized as the years were passing that my -own life was at best a vapid, negative thing. - -A thousand treasures that I wanted were lacking. - -I graduated from the high school with these things: very good Latin; -good French and Greek; indifferent geometry and other mathematics; a -broad conception of history and literature; peripatetic philosophy -that I acquired without any aid from the high school; genius of a -kind, that has always been with me; an empty heart that has taken on -a certain wooden quality; an excellent strong young woman's-body; -a pitiably starved soul. - -With this equipment I have gone my way through the last two years. -But my life, though unsatisfying and warped, is no longer insipid. -It is fraught with a poignant misery--the misery of nothingness. - -I have no particular thing to occupy me. I write every day. Writing -is a necessity--like eating. I do a little housework, and on the -whole I am rather fond of it--some parts of it. I dislike dusting -chairs, but I have no aversion to scrubbing floors. Indeed, I have -gained much of my strength and gracefulness of body from scrubbing -the kitchen floor--to say nothing of some fine points of philosophy. -It brings a certain energy to one's body and to one's brain. - -But mostly I take walks far away in the open country. Butte and its -immediate vicinity present as ugly an outlook as one could wish to -see. It is so ugly indeed that it is near the perfection of ugliness. -And anything perfect, or nearly so, is not to be despised. I have -reached some astonishing subtleties of conception as I have walked -for miles over the sand and barrenness among the little hills and -gulches. Their utter desolateness is an inspiration to the long, -long thoughts and to the nameless wanting. Every day I walk over -the sand and barrenness. - -And so, then, my daily life seems an ordinary life enough, and -possibly, to an ordinary person, a comfortable life. - -That's as may be. - -To me it is an empty, damned weariness. - -I rise in the morning; eat three meals; and walk; and work a little, -read a little, write; see some uninteresting people; go to bed. - -Next day, I rise in the morning; eat three meals; and walk; and -work a little, read a little, write; see some uninteresting people; -go to bed. - -Again I rise in the morning; eat three meals; and walk; and work -a little, read a little, write; see some uninteresting people; go -to bed. - -Truly an exalted, soulful life! - -What it does for me, how it affects me, I am now trying to portray. - - - - - January 14. - -I have in me the germs of intense life. If I could _live_, and if -I could succeed in writing out my living, the world itself would -feel the heavy intensity of it. - -I have the personality, the nature, of a Napoleon, albeit a feminine -translation. And therefore I do not conquer; I do not even fight. -I manage only to exist. - -Poor little Mary MacLane!--what might you not be? What wonderful -things might you not do? But held down, half-buried, a seed fallen -in barren ground, alone, uncomprehended, obscure--poor little Mary -MacLane! Weep, world,--why don't you?--for poor little Mary MacLane! - -Had I been born a man I would by now have made a deep impression -of myself on the world--on some part of it. But I am a woman, and -God, or the Devil, or Fate, or whosoever it was, has flayed me of -the thick outer skin and thrown me out into the midst of life--has -left me a lonely, damned thing filled with the red, red blood of -ambition and desire, but afraid to be touched, for there is no -thick skin between my sensitive flesh and the world's fingers. - -But I want to be touched. - -Napoleon was a man, and though sensitive his flesh was safely -covered. - -But I am a woman, awakening, and upon awakening and looking about -me, I would fain turn and go back to sleep. - -There is a pain that goes with these things when one is a woman, -young, and all alone. - -I am filled with an ambition. I wish to give to the world a naked -Portrayal of Mary MacLane: her wooden heart, her good young -woman's-body, her mind, her soul. - -I wish to write, write, write! - -I wish to acquire that beautiful, benign, gentle, satisfying -thing--Fame. I want it--oh, I want it! I wish to leave all my -obscurity, my misery--my weary unhappiness--behind me forever. - -I am deadly, deadly tired of my unhappiness. - -I wish this Portrayal to be published and launched into that deep -salt sea--the world. There are some there surely who will understand -it and me. - -Can I be that thing which I am--can I be possessed of a peculiar -rare genius, and yet drag out my life in obscurity in this uncouth, -warped, Montana town? - -It must be impossible! If I thought the world contained nothing more -than that for me--oh, what should I do? Would I make an end of my -dreary little life now? I fear I would. I am a philosopher--and a -coward. And it were infinitely better to die now in the high-beating -pulses of youth than to drag on, year after year, year after year, -and find oneself at last a stagnant old woman, spiritless, hopeless, -with a declining body, a declining mind,--and nothing to look back -upon except the visions of things that might have been--and the -weariness. - -I see the picture. I see it plainly. Oh, kind Devil, deliver me -from it! - -Surely there must be in a world of manifold beautiful things -something among them for me. And always, while I am still young, -there is that dim light, the Future. But it is indeed a dim, dim -light, and ofttimes there's a treachery in it. - - - - - January 15. - -So then, yes. I find myself at this stage of womankind and nineteen -years, a genius, a thief, a liar--a general moral vagabond, a fool -more or less, and a philosopher of the peripatetic school. Also I -find that even this combination can not make one happy. It serves, -however, to occupy my versatile mind, to keep me wondering what it -is a kind Devil has in store for me. - -A philosopher of my own peripatetic school--hour after hour I walk -over the desolate sand and dreariness among tiny hills and gulches -on the outskirts of this mining town; in the morning, in the long -afternoon, in the cool of the night. And hour after hour, as I walk, -through my brain some long, long pageants march: the pageant of my -fancies, the pageant of my unparalleled egotism, the pageant of my -unhappiness, the pageant of my minute analyzing, the pageant of -my peculiar philosophy, the pageant of my dull, dull life,--and -the pageant of the Possibilities. - -We three go out on the sand and barrenness: my wooden heart, my -good young woman's-body, my soul. We go there and contemplate the -long sandy wastes, the red, red line on the sky at the setting of -the sun, the cold gloomy mountains under it, the ground without a -weed, without a grass-blade even in their season--for they have -years ago been killed off by the sulphur smoke from the smelters. - -So this sand and barrenness forms the setting for the personality -of me. - - - - - January 16. - -I feel about forty years old. - -Yet I know my feeling is not the feeling of forty years. These are -the feelings of miserable, wretched youth. - -Every day the atmosphere of a house becomes unbearable, so every -day I go out to the sand and barrenness. It is not cold, neither -is it mild. It is gloomy. - -I sit for two hours on the ground by the side of a pitiably small -narrow stream of water. It is not even a natural stream. I dare -say it comes from some mine among the hills. But it is well enough -that the stream is not natural--when you consider the sand and -barrenness. It is singularly appropriate. - -And I am singularly appropriate to all of them. It is good, after -all, to be appropriate to something--to be in touch with something, -even sand and barrenness. The sand and barrenness is old--oh, very -old. You think of this when you look at it. - -What should I do if the earth were made of wood, with a paper sky! - -I feel about forty years old. - -And again I say I know my feeling is not the feeling of forty years. -These are the feelings of miserable, wretched youth. - -Still more pitiable than the sand and barrenness and the poor -unnatural stream is the dry, warped cemetery where the dry, -warped people of Butte bury their dead friends. It is a source of -satisfaction to me to walk down to this cemetery and contemplate -it, and revel in its utter pitiableness. - -"It is more pitiable than I and my sand and barrenness and my poor -unnatural stream," I say over and over, and take my comfort. - -Its condition is more forlorn than that of a woman young and alone. -It is unkempt. It is choked with dust and stones. The few scattered -blades of grass look rather ashamed to be seen growing there. A -great many of the headstones are of wood and are in a shameful -state of decay. Those that are of stone are still more shameful in -their hard brightness. - -The dry, warped friends of the dry, warped people of Butte are -buried in this dusty, dreary, wind-havocked waste. They are left -here and forgotten. - -The Devil must rejoice in this graveyard. - -And I rejoice with the Devil. - -It is something for me to contemplate that is more pitiable than -I and my sand and barrenness and my unnatural stream. - -I rejoice with the Devil. - -The inhabitants of this cemetery are forgotten. I have watched once -the burying of a young child. Every day for a fortnight afterward I -came back, and I saw the mother of the child there. She came and -stood by the small new grave. After a few days more she stopped -coming. - -I knew the woman and went to her house to see her. She was beginning -to forget the child. She was beginning to take up again the thread -of her life where she had let it go. The thread of her life is -involved in the divorces and fights of her neighbors. - -Out in the warped graveyard her child is forgotten. And presently -the wooden headstone will begin to decay. But the worms will not -forget their part. They have eaten the small body by now, and -enjoyed it. Always worms enjoy a body to eat. - -And also the Devil rejoiced. - -And I rejoiced with the Devil. - -They are more pitiable, I insist, than I and my sand and -barrenness--the mother whose life is involved in divorces and -fights, and the worms eating at the child's body, and the wooden -headstone which will presently decay. - -And so the Devil and I rejoice. - -But no matter how ferociously pitiable is the dried-up graveyard, -the sand and barrenness and the sluggish little stream have their -own persistent individual damnation. The world is at least so -constructed that its treasures may be damned each in a different -manner and degree. - -I feel about forty years old. - -And I know my feeling is not the feeling of forty years. They do -not feel any of these things at forty. At forty the fire has long -since burned out. When I am forty I shall look back to myself and -my feelings at nineteen--and I shall smile. - -Or shall I indeed smile? - - - - - January 17. - -As I have said, I want Fame. I want to write--to write such things -as compel the admiring acclamations of the world at large; such -things as are written but once in years, things subtly but distinctly -different from the books written every day. - -I can do this. - -Let me but make a beginning, let me but strike the world in a -vulnerable spot, and I can take it by storm. Let me but win my -spurs, and then you will see me--of womankind and young--valiantly -astride a charger riding down the world, with Fame following at -the charger's heels, and the multitudes agape. - -But oh, more than all this I want to be happy! - -Fame is indeed benign and gentle and satisfying. But Happiness is -something at once tender and brilliant beyond all things. - -I want Fame more than I can tell. - -But more than I want Fame I want Happiness. I have never been happy -in my weary young life. - -Think, oh, _think_, of being happy for a year--for a day! How -brilliantly blue the sky would be; how swiftly and joyously would -the green rivers run; how madly, merrily triumphant the four winds -of heaven would sweep round the corners of the fair earth! - -What would I not give for one day, one hour, of that charmed thing -Happiness! What would I not give up? - -How we eager fools tread on each other's heels, and tear each other's -hair, and scratch each other's faces, in our furious gallop after -Happiness! For some it is embodied in Fame, for some in Money, for -some in Power, for some in Virtue--and for me in something very -much like love. - -None of the other fools desires Happiness as I desire it. For one -single hour of Happiness I would give up at once these things: Fame, -and Money, and Power, and Virtue, and Honor, and Righteousness, and -Truth, and Logic, and Philosophy, and Genius. The while I would -say, What a little, little price to pay for dear Happiness! - -I am ready and waiting to give all that I have to the Devil in -exchange for Happiness. I have been tortured so long with the dull, -dull misery of Nothingness--all my nineteen years. I want to be -happy--oh, I want to be happy! - -The Devil has not yet come. But I know that he usually comes, and -I wait him eagerly. - -I am fortunate that I am not one of those who are burdened with -an innate sense of virtue and honor which must come always before -Happiness. They are but few who find their Happiness in their -Virtue. The rest of them must be content to see it walk away. But -with me Virtue and Honor are nothing. - -I long unspeakably for Happiness. - -And so I await the Devil's coming. - - - - - January 18. - -And meanwhile--as I wait--my mind occupies itself with its own -good odd philosophy, so that even the Nothingness becomes almost -endurable. - -The Devil has given me some good things--for I find that the Devil -owns and rules the earth and all that therein is. He has given me, -among other things--my admirable young woman's-body, which I enjoy -thoroughly and of which I am passionately fond. - -A spasm of pleasure seizes me when I think in some acute moment of -the buoyant health and vitality of this fine young body that is -feminine in every fiber. - -You may gaze at and admire the picture in the front of this book. -It is the picture of a genius--a genius with a good strong young -woman's-body,--and inside the pictured body is a liver, a MacLane -liver, of admirable perfectness. - -Other young women and older women and men of all ages have good -bodies also, I doubt not--though the masculine body is merely flesh, -it seems, flesh and bones and nothing else. But few recognize the -value of their bodies; few have grasped the possibilities, the -artistic graceful perfection, the poetry of human flesh in its -health. Few have even sense enough indeed to keep their flesh in -health, or to know what health is until they have ruined some vital -organ, and so banished it forever. - -I have not ruined any of my vital organs, and I appreciate what -health is. I have grasped the art, the poetry of my fine feminine -body. - -This at the age of nineteen is a triumph for me. - -Sometime in the midst of the brightness of an October I have walked -for miles in the still high air under the blue of the sky. The -brightness of the day and the blue of the sky and the incomparable -high air have entered into my veins and flowed with my red blood. -They have penetrated into every remote nerve-center and into the -marrow of my bones. - -At such a time this young body glows with life. - -My red blood flows swiftly and joyously--in the midst of the -brightness of October. - -My sound, sensitive liver rests gently with its thin yellow bile -in sweet content. - -My calm, beautiful stomach silently sings, as I walk, a song of -peace. - -My lungs, saturated with mountain ozone and the perfume of the -pines, expand in continuous ecstasy. - -My heart beats like the music of Schumann, in easy, graceful rhythm -with an undertone of power. - -My strong and sensitive nerves are reeking and swimming in sensuality -like drunken little Bacchantes, gay and garlanded in mad revelling. - -The entire wonderful, graceful mechanism of my woman's-body has -fallen at the time--like the wonderful, graceful mechanism of my -woman's-mind--under the enchanting spell of a day in October. - -"It is good," I think to myself, "oh, it is good to be alive! It -is wondrously good to be a woman young in the fullness of nineteen -springs. It is unutterably lovely to be a healthy young animal -living on this charmed earth." - -After I have walked for several hours I reach a region where the -sulphur smoke has not penetrated, and I sit on the ground with -drawn-up knees and rest as the shadows lengthen. The shadows lengthen -early in October. - -Presently I lie flat on my back and stretch my lithe slimness to its -utmost like a mountain lioness taking her comfort. I am intensely -thankful to the Devil for my two good legs and the full use of -them under a short skirt, when, as now, they carry me out beyond -the pale of civilization away from tiresome dull people. There is -nothing in the world that can become so maddeningly wearisome as -people, people, people! - -And so, Devil, accept, for my two good legs, my sincerest gratitude. -I lie on the ground for some minutes and meditate idly. There is -a worldful of easy indolent, beautiful sensuality in the figure -of a young woman lying on the ground under a warm setting sun. A -man may lie on the ground--but that is as far as it goes. A man -would go to sleep, probably, like a dog or a pig. He would even -snore, perhaps--under the setting sun. But then, a man has not a -good young feminine body to feel with, to receive into itself the -spirit of a warm sun at its setting, on a day in October,--and so -let us forgive him for sleeping, and for snoring. - -When I rise again to a sitting posture all the brightness has focused -itself to the west. It casts a yellow glamor over the earth, a -glamor not of joy, nor of pleasure, nor of happiness--but of peace. - -The young poplar trees smile gently in the deathly still air. The -sage brush and the tall grass take on a radiant quietness. The high -hills of Montana, near and distant, appear tender and benign. All -is peace--peace. I think of that beautiful old song: - - "Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest - In thy bosom of shade----." - -But I am too young yet to think of peace. It is not peace that I -want. Peace is for forty and fifty. I am waiting for my Experience. - -I am awaiting the coming of the Devil. - -And now, just before twilight, after the sun has vanished over the -edge, is the red, red line on the sky. - -There will be days wild and stormy, filled with rain and wind and -hail; and yet nearly always at the sun's setting there will be -calm--and the red line of sky. - -There is nothing in the world quite like this red sky at sunset. -It is Glory, Triumph, Love, Fame! - -Imagine a life bereft of things, and fingers pointed at it, and -eyebrows raised; tossed and bandied hither and yon; crushed, beaten, -bled, rent asunder, outraged, convulsed with pain; and then, into -this life while still young, the red, red line of sky! - -Why did I cry out against Fate, says the line; why did I rebel -against my term of anguish! I now rather rejoice at it; now in my -Happiness I remember it only with deep pleasure. - -Think of that wonderful, admirable, matchless man of steel, Napoleon -Bonaparte. He threw himself heavily on the world, and the world has -never since been the same. He hated himself, and the world, and -God, and Fate, and the Devil. His hatred was his term of anguish. - -Then the sun threw on the sky for him a red, red line--the red line -of Triumph, Glory, Fame! - -And afterward there was the blackness of Night, the blackness that -is not tender, not gentle. - -But black as our Night may be, nothing can take from us the memory -of the red, red sky. "Memory is possession," and so the red sky we -have with us always. - -Oh, Devil, Fate, World--some one, bring me my red sky! For a little -brief time, and I will be satisfied. Bring it to me intensely -red, intensely full, intensely alive! Short as you will, but red, -red, red! - -I am weary--weary, and, oh, I want my red sky! Short as it might -be, its memory, its fragrance would stay with me always--always. -Bring me, Devil, my red line of sky for one hour and take all, -_all_--everything I possess. Let me keep my Happiness for one short -hour, and take away all from me forever. I will be satisfied when -Night has come and everything is gone. - -Oh, I await you, Devil, in a wild frenzy of impatience! - -And as I hurry back through the cool darkness of October, I feel -this frenzy in every fiber of my fervid woman's-body. - - - - - January 19. - -I come from a long line of Scotch and Canadian MacLanes. There are -a great many MacLanes, but there is usually only one real MacLane -in each generation. There is but one who feels again the passionate -spirit of the clans, those barbaric dwellers in the bleak, but -well-beloved Highlands of Scotland. - -I am the real MacLane of my generation. The real MacLane in these -later centuries is always a woman. The men of the family never amount -to anything worth naming--if one accepts the acme, the zenith, of -pure selfishness, with a large letter "s." Life may be easy enough -for the innumerable Canadian MacLanes who are not real. But it is -certain to be more or less a Hill of Difficulty for the one who is. -She finds herself somewhat alone. I have brothers and a sister and -a mother in the same house with me--and I find myself somewhat -alone. Between them and me there is no tenderness, no sympathy, no -binding ties. Would it affect me in the least--do you suppose--if -they should all die to-morrow? If I were not a real MacLane perhaps -it would have been different, or perhaps I should not have missed -these things. - -How much, Devil, have I lost for the privilege of being a real -MacLane? - -But yes, I have also gained much. - - - - - January 20. - -I have said that I am alone. - -I am not quite, quite alone. - -I have one friend--of that Friendship that is real and is inlaid -with the beautiful thing Truth. And because it has the beautiful -thing Truth in it, this my one Friendship is somehow above and -beyond me; there is something in it that I reach after in vain--for -I have not that divinely beautiful thing Truth. Have I not said -that I am a thief and a liar? But in this Friendship nevertheless -there is a rare, ineffably sweet something that is mine. It is the -one tender thing in this dull dreariness that wraps me round. - -Are there many things in this cool-hearted world so utterly exquisite -as the pure love of one woman for another woman? - -My one friend is a woman some twelve or thirteen years older than I. -She is as different from me as is day from night. She believes in -God--that God that is shown in the Bible of the Christians. And she -carries with her an atmosphere of gentleness and truth. The while I -am ready and waiting to dedicate my life to the Devil in exchange -for Happiness--or some lesser thing. But I love Fannie Corbin with -a peculiar and vivid intensity, and with all the sincerity and -passion that is in me. Often I think of her, as I walk over the -sand in my Nothingness, all day long. The Friendship of her and -me is a fair, dear benediction upon me, but there is something in -it--deep within it--that eludes me. In moments when I realize this, -when I strain and reach vainly at a thing beyond me, when indeed -I see in my mind a vision of the personality of Fannie Corbin, it -is then that it comes on me with force that I am not good. - -But I can love her with all the ardor of a young and passionate -heart. - -Yes, I can do that. - -For a year I have loved my one friend. During the eighteen years -of my life before she came into it I loved no one, for there was -no one. - -It is an extremely hard thing to go through eighteen years with no -one to love, and no one to love you--the first eighteen years. - -But now I have my one friend to love and to worship. - -I have named my friend the "anemone lady," a name beautifully -appropriate. - -The anemone lady used to teach me literature in the Butte High -School. She used to read poetry in the class-room in a clear, sweet -voice that made one wish one might sit there forever and listen -to it. - -But now I have left the high school, and the dear anemone lady has -gone from Butte. Before she went she told me she would be my friend. - -Think of it--to live and have a friend! - -My friend does not fully understand me; she thinks much too well -of me. She has not a correct idea of my soul's depths and shallows. -But if she did know them she would still be my friend. She knows -the heavy weight of my unrest and unhappiness. She is tenderly -sympathetic. She is the one in all the world who is dear to me. - -Often I think, if only I could have my anemone lady and go and live -with her in some little out-of-the-world place high up on the side -of a mountain for the rest of my life--what more would I desire? My -friendship would constitute my life. The unrest, the dreariness, -the Nothingness of my existence now is so dull and gray by contrast -that there would be Happiness for me in that life, Happiness softly -radiant, if quiet--redolent of the fresh, thin fragrance of the -dear blue anemone that grows in the winds and rains of spring. - -But Miss Corbin would doubtless look somewhat askance at the idea -of spending the rest of her life with me on a mountain. She is -very fond of me, but her feeling for me is not like mine for -her, which indeed is natural. And her life is made up mostly of -sacrifices--doing for her fellow-creatures, giving of herself. She -never would leave this. - -And so, then, the mountainside and the solitude and the friend with -me are, like every good thing, but a vision. - -"Thy friend is always thy friend; not to have, nor to hold, nor to -love, nor to rejoice in: but to remember." - -And so do I remember my one friend, the anemone lady--and think -often about her with passionate love. - - - - - January 21. - -Happiness, don't you know, is of three kinds--and all are transitory. -It never stays, but it comes and goes. - -There is that happiness that comes from newly-washed feet, for -instance, and a pair of clean stockings on them, particularly -after one has been upon a tramp into the country. Always I have -identified this kind of happiness with a Maltese cat, dipping a -hungry, stealthy, sensual tongue into a bowl of fresh, thick cream. - -There is that still happiness that has come to me at rare times -when I have been with my one friend--and which does very well for -people whose feelings are moderate. They need wish for nothing -beyond it. They could not appreciate anything deeper. - -And there is that kind of happiness which is of the red sunset sky. -There is something terrible in the thought of this indescribable mad -Happiness. What a thing it is for a human being to be _happy_--with -the red, red Happiness of the sunset sky! - -It's like a terrific storm in summer with rain and wind, beating quiet -water into wild waves, bending great trees to the ground,--convulsing -the green earth with delicious pain. - -It's like something of Schubert's played on the violin that stirs -you within to exquisite torture. - -It's like the human voice divine singing a Scotch ballad in a manner -to drag your soul from your body. - -But there are no words to tell it. It is something infinitely above -and beyond words. It is the kind of Happiness the Devil will bring -to me when he comes,--to me, to _me_! Oh, why does he not come now -when I am in the midst of my youth! Why is he so long in coming? - -Often you hear a dozen stories of how the Devil was most ready -and willing to take all from some one and give him his measure of -Happiness. And sometimes the person was innately virtuous and so -could not take the Happiness when it was offered. But Happiness is -its own justification, and it should be eagerly grasped when it -comes. - -A world filled with fools will never learn this. - -And so here I stand in the midst of Nothingness waiting and longing -for the Devil, and he doesn't come. I feel a choking, strangling, -frenzied feeling of waiting--oh, why doesn't my Happiness come! I -have waited so long--so long. - -There are persons who say to me that I ought not to think of the -Devil, that I ought not to think of Happiness--Happiness for me -would be sure to mean something wicked (as if Happiness could ever -be wicked!); that I ought to think of being good. I ought to think -of God. These are persons who help to fill the world with fools. At -any rate their words are unable to affect me. I can not distinguish -between right and wrong in this scheme of things. It is one of the -lines of reasoning in which I have gotten to the edge, the end. I -have gotten to the point to which all logic finally leads. I can -only say, What is wrong? What is right? What is good? What is evil? -The words are merely words, with word-meanings. - -Truth is Love, and Love is the only Truth, and Love is the one -thing out of all that is real. - -The Devil is really the only one to whom we may turn, and he exacts -payment in full for every favor. - -But surely he will come one day with Happiness for me. - -Yet, oh, how can I wait! - -To be a woman, young and all alone, is hard--_hard_!--is to want -things, is to carry a heavy, heavy weight. - -Oh, damn! damn! damn! Damn every living thing, the world!--the -universe be damned! - -Oh, I am weary, weary! Can't you see that I am weary and pity me -in my own damnation? - - - - - January 22. - -It is night. I might well be in my bed taking a needed rest. But -first I shall write. - -To-day I walked far away over the sand in the teeth of a bitter -wind. The wind was determined that I should turn and come back, -and equally I was determined I would go on. I went on. - -There is a certain kind of wind in the autumn to walk in the midst -of which causes one's spirits to rise ecstatically. To walk in the -midst of a bitter wind in January may have almost any effect. - -To-day the bitter wind swept over me and around me and into the -remote corners of my brain and swept away the delusions, and buffeted -my philosophy with rough insolence. - -The world is made up mostly of nothing. You may be convinced of -this when a bitter wind has swept away your delusions. - -What is the wind? - -Nothing. - -What is the sky? - -Nothing. - -What do we know? - -Nothing. - -What is fame? - -Nothing. - -What is my heart? - -Nothing. - -What is my soul? - -Nothing. - -What are we? - -We are nothing. - -We think we progress wonderfully in the arts and sciences as one -century follows another. What does it amount to? It does not teach -us the all-why. It does not let us cease to wonder what it is that -we are doing, where it is that we are going. It does not teach us -why the green comes again to the old, old hills in the spring; why -the benign balm-o'-Gilead shines wet and sweet after the rain; -why the red never fails to come to the breast of the robin, the -black to the crow, the gray to the little wren; why the sand and -barrenness lies stretched out around us; why the clouds float high -above us; why the moon stands in the sky, night after night; why -the mountains and valleys live on as the years pass. - -The arts and sciences go on and on--still we wonder. We have not yet -ceased to weep. And we suffer still in 1902, even as they suffered -in 1802, and in 802. - -To-day we eat our good dinners with forks. - -A thousand years ago they had no forks. - -Yet, though we have forks, we are not happy. We scream and kick -and struggle and weep just as they did a thousand years ago--when -they had no forks. - -We are "no wiser than when Omar fell asleep." - -And in the midst of our great wondering, we wonder why some of us -are given faith to trust without question, while the rest of us -are left to eat out our life's vitals with asking. - -I have walked once in summer by the side of a little marsh filled -with mint and white hawthorn. The mint and white hawthorn have with -them a vivid, rare, delicious perfume. It makes you want to grovel -on the ground--it makes you think you might crawl in the dust all -your days, and well for you. The perfume lingers with you afterward -when years have passed. You may scream and kick and struggle and -weep right lustily every day of your life, but in your moments of -calmness sometimes there will come back to you the fragrance of a -swamp filled with mint and white hawthorn. - -It is meltingly beautiful. - -What does it mean? - -What would it tell? - -Why does the marsh, and the mint and white hawthorn, freeze over -in the fall? And why do they come again, voluptuous, enticing, in -the damp spring days--and rack the souls of wretches who look and -wonder? - -You are superb, Devil! You have done a magnificent piece of work. I -kneel at your feet and worship you. You have wrought a perfection, -a pinnacle of fine, invisible damnation. - -The world is like a little marsh filled with mint and white -hawthorn. It is filled with things likewise damnably beautiful. -There are the green, green grass-blades and the gray dawns; there -are swiftly-flowing rivers and the honking of wild geese, flying -low; there are human voices and human eyes; there are stories of -women and men who have learned to give up and to wait; there is -poetry; there is Charity; there is Truth. - -The Devil has made all of these things, and also he has made human -beings who can feel. - -Who was it that said, long ago, "Life is always a tragedy to those -who feel"? - -In truth, the Devil has constructed a place of infinite torture--the -fair green earth, the world. - -But he has made that other infinite thing--Happiness. I forgive him -for making me wonder, since possibly he may bring me Happiness. I -cast myself at his feet. I adore him. - -The first third of our lives is spent in the expectation of Happiness. -Then it comes, perhaps, and stays ten years, or a month, or three -days, and the rest of our lives is spent in peace and rest--with -the memory of the Happiness. - -Happiness--though it is infinite--is a transient emotion. - -It is too brilliant, too magnificent, too overwhelming to be a -lasting thing. And it is merely an emotion. But, ah--_such_ an -emotion! Through it the Devil rules his domains. What would one -not do to have it! - -I can think of no so-called vile deed that I would scruple about if -I could be happy. Everything is justified if it gives me Happiness. -The Devil has done me some great favors; he has made me without a -conscience, and without Virtue. - -For which I thank thee, Devil. - -At least I shall be able to take my Happiness when it comes--even -though the piles of nice distinctions between it and me be mountains -high. - -But meanwhile, the world, I say, and the people are nothing, nothing, -nothing. The splendid castles, the strong bridges, that we are -building are of small moment. We can only go down the wide roadway -wondering and weeping, and without where to lay our heads. - - - - - January 23. - -I have eaten my dinner. - -I have had, among other things, fine, rare-broiled porterhouse steak -from Omaha, and some fresh, green young onions from California. And -just now I am a philosopher, pure and simple--except that there's -nothing very pure about my philosophy, nor yet very simple. - -Let the Devil come and go; let the wild waters rush over me; let -nations rise and fall; let my favorite theories form themselves -in line suddenly and run into the ground; let the little earth be -bandied about from one belief to another; but, I say in the midst -of my young peripatetic philosophy, I need not be in complete -despair--the world still contains things for me, while I have my -fine rare porterhouse steak from Omaha--and my fresh green young -onions from California. - -Fame may pass over my head; money may escape me; my one friend may -fail me; every hope may fold its tent and steal away; Happiness may -remain a sealed book; every remnant of human ties may vanish; I may -find myself an outcast; good things held out to me may suddenly be -withdrawn; the stars may go out, one by one; the sun may go dark; -yet still I may hold upright my head, if I have but my steak--and -my onions. - -I may find myself crowded out from many charmed circles; I may find -the ethical world too small to contain me; the social world may also -exclude me; the professional world may know me not; likewise the -worlds of the arts and the sciences; I may find myself superfluous -in literary haunts; I may see myself going gladly back to the -vile dust from whence I sprung--to live in a green forest like -the melancholy Jacques; but fare they well, I will say with what -cheerfulness I can summon, while I have my steak--and my onions. - -Possibly I may grow old and decrepit; my hair may turn gray; my -bones may become rheumatic; I may grow weak in the knees; my -ankle-joints which have withstood many a peripatetic journey may -develop dropsical tendencies; my heart may miss a beat now and -then; my lungs may begin to fight shy of wintry blasts; my eyes may -fail me; my figure that is now in its slim gracefulness may swathe -itself in layers of flesh, or worse, it may wither and decay and -stoop at the shoulders; my red blood may flow sluggishly; but if I -still have left teeth to eat with, why need I lament while I have -my steak--and my onions? - -I am obscure; I am morbid; I am unhappy; my life is made up of -Nothingness; I want everything and I have nothing; I have been -made to feel the "lure of green things growing," and I have been -made to feel also that something of them is withheld from me; I -have felt the deadly tiredness that is among the birthrights of a -human being; but with it all the Devil has given me a philosophy of -my own--the Devil has enabled me to count, if need be, the world -well lost for a fine rare porterhouse steak--and some green young -onions. - -For which I thank thee, Devil, profoundly. - -Who says the Devil is not your friend? Who says the Devil does not -believe in the all-merciful Law of Compensation? - -And so it is--do you see?--that all things look different after -a satisfying dinner, that the color of the world changes, that -life in fact resolves itself into two things: a fine rare-broiled -porterhouse steak from Omaha, and some fresh green young onions -from California. - - - - - January 24. - -I am charmingly original. I am delightfully refreshing. I am -startlingly Bohemian. I am quaintly interesting--the while in my -sleeve I may be smiling and smiling--and a villain. I can talk to a -roomful of dull people and compel their interest, admiration, and -astonishment. I do this sometimes for my own amusement. As I have -said, I am a rather plain-featured, insignificant-looking genius, -but I have a graceful personality. I have a pretty figure. I am -well set up. And when I choose to talk in my charmingly original -fashion, embellishing my conversation with many quaint lies, I have -a certain very noticeable way with me, an "air." - -It is well, if one has nothing else, to acquire an air. And an air -taken in conjunction with my charming originality, my delightfully -refreshing candor, is something powerful and striking in its way. - -I do not, however, exert myself often in this way; partly because -I can sometimes foresee, from the character of the assembled -company, that my performance will not have the desired effect--for -I am a genius, and genius at close range at times carries itself -unconsciously to the point where it becomes so interesting that it -is atrocious, and can not be carried farther without having somewhat -mildly disastrous results; and then, again, the facial antics of -some ten or a dozen persons possessed more or less of the qualities -of the genus fool--even they become tiresome after a while. - -Always I talk about myself on an occasion of this kind. Indeed, my -conversation is on all occasions devoted directly or indirectly to -myself. - -When I talk on the subject of ethics, I talk of it as it is related -to Mary MacLane. - -When I give out broad-minded opinions about Ninon de l'Enclos, I -demonstrate her relative position to Mary MacLane! - -When I discourse liberally on the subject of the married relation, -I talk of it only as it will affect Mary MacLane. - -An interesting creature, Mary MacLane. - -As a matter of fact, it is so with every one, only every one is -far from realizing and acknowledging it. And I have not lacked -listeners, though these people do not appreciate me. They do not -realize that I am a genius. - -I am of womankind and of nineteen years. I am able to stand off -and gaze critically and dispassionately at myself and my relation -to my environment, to the world, to everything the world contains. -I am able to judge whether I am good and whether I am bad. I am -able, indeed, to tell what I am and where I stand. I can see far, -far inward. I am a genius. - -Charlotte Bronte did this in some degree, and she was a genius; -and also Marie Bashkirtseff, and Olive Schreiner, and George Eliot. -They are all geniuses. - -And so, then, I am a genius--a genius in my own right. - -I am fundamentally, organically egotistic. My vanity and self-conceit -have attained truly remarkable development as I've walked and -walked in the loneliness of the sand and barrenness. Not the -least remarkable part of it is that I know my egotism and vanity -thoroughly--thoroughly, and plume myself thereon. - -These are the ear-marks of a genius--and of a fool. There is a -finely-drawn line between a genius and a fool. Often this line is -overstepped and your fool becomes a genius, or your genius becomes -a fool. - -It is but a tiny step. - -There's but a tiny step between the great and the little, the -tender and the contemptuous, the sublime and the ridiculous, the -aggressive and the humble, the paradise and the perdition. - -And so is it between the genius and the fool. - -I am a genius. - -I am not prepared to say how many times I may overstep the -finely-drawn line, or how many times I have already overstepped -it. 'Tis a matter of small moment. - -I have entered into certain things marvelously deep. I know things, -I know that I know them, and I know that I know that I know them, -which is a fine psychological point. - -It is magnificent of me to have gotten so far, at the age of nineteen, -with no training other than that of the sand and barrenness. -Magnificent--do you hear? - -Very often I take this fact in my hand and squeeze it hard like an -orange, to get the sweet, sweet juice from it. I squeeze a great deal -of juice from it every day, and every day the juice is renewed, -like the vitals of Prometheus. And so I squeeze and squeeze, and -drink the juice, and try to be satisfied. - -Yes, you may gaze long and curiously at the portrait in the front -of this book. It is of one who is a genius of egotism and analysis, -a genius who is awaiting the Devil's coming,--a genius, with a -wondrous liver within. - -I shall tell you more about this liver, I think, before I have done. - - - - - January 25. - -I can remember a time long, oh, very long ago. That is the time -when I was a child. It is ten or a dozen years ago. - -Or is it a thousand years ago? - -It is when you have but just parted from your friend that he seems -farthest from you. When I have lived several more years the time -when I was a child will not seem so far behind me. - -Just now it is frightfully far away. It is so far away that I can -see it plainly outlined on the horizon. - -It is there always for me to look at. And when I look I can feel -the tears deep within me--a salt ocean of tears that roll and surge -and swell bitterly in a dull, mad anguish, and never come to the -surface. - -I do not know which is the more weirdly and damnably pathetic: I -when I was a child, or I when I am grown to a woman, young and -all alone. I weigh the question coldly and logically, but my logic -trembles with rage and grief and unhappiness. - -When I was a child I lived in Canada and in Minnesota. I was a -little wild savage. In Minnesota there were swamps where I used -to wet my feet in the spring, and there were fields of tall grass -where I would lie flat on my stomach in company with lizards and -little garter snakes. And there were poplar leaves that turned -their pale green backs upward on a hot afternoon, and soon there -would be terrific thunder and lightning and rain. And there were -robins that sang at dawn. These things stay with one always. And -there were children with whom I used to play and fight. - -I was tanned and sunburned, and I had an unkempt appearance. My face -was very dirty. The original pattern of my frock was invariably -lost in layers and vistas of the native soil. My hair was braided -or else it flew about, a tangled maze, according as I could be -caught by some one and rubbed and straightened before I ran away -for the day. My hands were little and strong and brown, and wrought -much mischief. I came and went at my own pleasure. I ate what I -pleased; I went to bed all in my own good time; I tramped wherever -my stubborn little feet chose. I was impudent; I was contrary; I -had an extremely bad temper; I was hard-hearted; I was full of -infantile malice. Truly I was a vicious little beast. - -I was a little piece of untrained Nature. - -And I am unable to judge which is the more savagely forlorn: the -starved-hearted child, or the woman, young and all alone. - -The little wild stubborn child felt things and wanted things. She -did not know that she felt things and wanted things. - -Now I feel and I want things and I know it with burning vividness. - -The little vicious Mary MacLane suffered, but she did not know that -she suffered. Yet that did not make the suffering less. - -And she reached out with a little sunburned hand to touch and take -something. - -But the sunburned little hand remained empty. There was nothing -for it. No one had anything to put into it. - -The little wild creature wanted to be loved; she wanted something -to put in her hungry little heart. - -But no one had anything to put into a hungry little heart. - -No one said "dear." - -The little vicious child was the only MacLane, and she felt somewhat -alone. But there, after all, were the lizards and the little garter -snakes. - -The wretched, hardened little piece of untrained Nature has grown -and developed into a woman, young and alone. For the child there -was a Nothingness, and for the woman there is a great Nothingness. - -Perhaps the Devil will bring me something in my lonely womanhood -to put in my wooden heart. - -But the time when I was a child will never come again. It is -gone--gone. I may live through some long, long years, but nothing -like it will ever come. For there is nothing like it. - -It is a life by itself. It has naught to do with philosophy, or -with genius, or with heights and depths, or with the red sunset -sky, or with the Devil. - -These come later. - -The time of the child is a thing apart. It is the Planting and -Seed-time. It is the Beginning of things. It decides whether there -shall be brightness or bitterness in the long after-years. - -I have left that time far enough behind me. It will never come -back. And it had a Nothingness--do you hear, a _Nothingness_! Oh, -the pity of it! the pity of it! - -Do you know why it is that I look back to the horizon at the figure -of an unkempt, rough child, and why I feel a surging torrent of -tears and anguish and despair? - -I feel more than that indeed, but I have no words to tell it. - -I shall have to miss forever some beautiful, wonderful things -because of that wretched, lonely childhood. - -There will always be a lacking, a wanting--some dead branches that -never grew leaves. - -It is not deaths and murders and plots and wars that make life -tragedy. - -It is Nothing that makes life tragedy. - -It is day after day, and year after year, and Nothing. - -It is a sunburned little hand reached out and Nothing put into it. - - - - - January 26. - -I sit at my window and look out upon the housetops and chimneys of -Butte. As I look I have a weary, disgusted feeling. - -People are abominable creatures. - -Under each of the roofs live a man and woman joined together by that -very slender thread, the marriage ceremony--and their children, -the result of the marriage ceremony. - -How many of them love each other? Not two in a hundred, I warrant. -The marriage ceremony is their one miserable, petty, paltry excuse -for living together. - -This marriage rite, it appears, is often used as a cloak to cover -a world of rather shameful things. - -How virtuous these people are, to be sure, under their different -roof-trees. So virtuous are they indeed that they are able to draw -themselves up in the pride of their own purity, when they happen -upon some corner where the marriage ceremony is lacking. So virtuous -are they that the men can afford to find amusement and diversion -in the woes of the corner that is without the marriage rite; and -the women may draw away their skirts in shocked horror and wonder -that such things can be, in view of their own spotless virtue. - -And so they live on under the roofs, and they eat and work and sleep -and die; and the children grow up and seek other roofs, and call -upon the marriage ceremony even as their parents before them--and -then they likewise eat and work and sleep and die; and so on world -without end. - -This also is life--the life of the good, virtuous Christians. - -I think, therefore, that I should prefer some life that is not -virtuous. - -I shall never make use of the marriage ceremony. I hereby register -a vow, Devil, to that effect. - -When a man and a woman love one another that is enough. That is -marriage. A religious rite is superfluous. And if the man and woman -live together without the love, no ceremony in the world can make -it marriage. The woman who does this need not feel the tiniest bit -better than her lowest sister in the streets. Is she not indeed -a step lower since she pretends to be what she is not--plays the -virtuous woman? While the other unfortunate pretends nothing. She -wears her name on her sleeve. - -If I were obliged to be one of these I would rather be she who -wears her name on her sleeve. I certainly would. The lesser of two -evils, always. - -I can think of nothing in the world like the utter littleness, the -paltriness, the contemptibleness, the degradation, of the woman who -is tied down under a roof with a man who is really nothing to her; -who wears the man's name, who bears the man's children--who plays -the virtuous woman. There are too many such in the world now. - -May I never, I say, become that abnormal, merciless animal, that -deformed monstrosity--a virtuous woman. - -Anything, Devil, but that. - -And so, as I look out over the roofs and chimneys, I have a weary, -disgusted feeling. - - - - - January 27. - -This is not a diary. It is a Portrayal. It is my inner life shown -in its nakedness. I am trying my utmost to show everything--to -reveal every petty vanity and weakness, every phase of feeling, -every desire. It is a remarkably hard thing to do, I find, to probe -my soul to its depths, to expose its shades and half-lights. - -Not that I am troubled with modesty or shame. Why should one be -ashamed of anything? - -But there are elements in one's mental equipment so vague, so -opaque, so undefined--how is one to grasp them? I have analyzed and -analyzed, and I have gotten down to some extremely fine points--yet -still there are things upon my own horizon that go beyond me. - -There are feelings that rise and rush over me overwhelmingly. I am -helpless, crushed, and defeated, before them. It is as if they were -written on the walls of my soul-chamber in an unknown language. - -My soul goes blindly seeking, seeking, asking. Nothing answers. -I cry out after some unknown Thing with all the strength of my -being; every nerve and fiber in my young woman's-body and my young -woman's-soul reaches and strains in anguished unrest. At times as I -hurry over my sand and barrenness all my life's manifold passions -culminate in utter rage and woe. Waves of intense, hopeless longing -rush over me and envelop me round and round. My heart, my soul, my -mind go wandering--wandering; ploughing their way through darkness -with never a ray of light; groping with helpless hands; asking, -longing, wanting things: pursued by a Demon of Unrest. - -I shall go mad--I shall go mad, I say over and over to myself. - -But no. No one goes mad. The Devil does not propose to release any -one from a so beautifully-wrought, artistic damnation. He looks to -it that one's senses are kept fully intact, and he fastens to them -with steel chains the Demon of Unrest. - -It hurts--oh, it tortures me in the days and days! But when the -Devil brings me my Happiness I will forgive him all this. - -When my Happiness is given me, the Unrest will still be with me, -I doubt not, but the Happiness will change the tenor of it, will -make it an instrument of joy, will clasp hands with it and mingle -itself with it,--the while I, with my wooden heart, my woman's-body, -my mind, my soul, shall be in transports. I shall be filled with -pleasure so deep and pain so intense that my being's minutest -nerve will reel and stagger in intoxication, will go drunk with -the fullness of Life. - -When my Happiness is given me I shall live centuries in the hours. -And we shall all grow old rapidly,--I and my wooden heart, and my -woman's-body, and my mind, and my soul. Sorrow may age one in some -degree. But Happiness--the real Happiness--rolls countless years -off from one's finger-tips in a single moment, and each year leaves -its impress. - -It is true that life is a tragedy to those who feel. When my Happiness -is given me life will be an ineffable, a nameless thing. - -It will seethe and roar; it will plunge and whirl; it will leap -and shriek in convulsion; it will guiver in delicate fantasy; it -will writhe and twist; it will glitter and flash and shine; it -will sing gently; it will shout in exquisite excitement; it will -vibrate to the roots like a great oak in a storm; it will dance; it -will glide; it will gallop; it will rush; it will swell and surge; -it will fly; it will soar high--high; it will go down into depths -unexplored; it will rage and rave; it will yell in utter joy; it -will melt; it will blaze; it will ride triumphant; it will grovel -in the dust of entire pleasure; it will sound out like a terrific -blare of trumpets; it will chime faintly, faintly like the remote -tinkling notes of a harp; it will sob and grieve and weep; it will -revel and carouse; it will shrink; it will go in pride; it will -lie prone like the dead; it will float buoyantly on air; it will -moan, shiver, burst--oh, it will reek with Love and Light! - -The words of the English language are futile. There are no words in -it, or in any other, to express an idea of that thing which would -be my life in its Happiness. - -The words I have written describe it, it is true,--but confusedly -and inadequately. - -But words are for everyday use. - -When it comes my turn to meet face to face the unspeakable vision -of the Happy Life I shall be rendered dumb. - -But the rains of my feeling will come in torrents! - - - - - January 28. - -I am an artist of the most artistic, the highest type. I have -uncovered for myself the art that lies in obscure shadows. I have -discovered the art of the day of small things. - -And that surely is art with a capital "A." - -I have acquired the art of Good Eating. Usually it is in the gray -and elderly forties and fifties that people cultivate this art--if -they ever do; it is indeed a rare art. - -But I know it in all its rare exquisiteness at the young slim age -of nineteen--which is one more mark of my genius, do you see? - -The art of Good Eating has two essential points: one must eat only -when one is hungry, and one must take small bites. - -There are persons who eat for the sake of eating. They are gourmands, -and partake of the natures of the pig and the buzzard. There are -persons who take bites that are not small. These also are gourmands -and partake of the natures of the pig and the buzzard. There are -persons who can enjoy nothing in the way of eating except a luxurious, -well-appointed meal. These, it is safe to say, have not acquired -the art of anything. - -But I--I have acquired the art of eating an olive. - -Now listen, and I will tell you the art of eating an olive: - -I take the olive in my fingers, and I contemplate its green oval -richness. It makes me think at once of the land where the green -citron grows--where the cypress and myrtle are emblems; of the -land of the Sun where human beings are delightfully, enchantingly -wicked,--where the men are eager and passionate, and the women -gracefully developed in mind and in body--and their two breasts -show round and full and delicately veined beneath thin drapery. - -The mere sight of the olive conjures up this charming picture in -my mind. - -I set my teeth and my tongue upon the olive, and bite it. It is -bitter, salt, delicious. The saliva rushes to meet it, and my tongue -is a happy tongue. As the morsel of olive rests in my mouth and is -crunched and squeezed lusciously among my teeth, a quick, temporary -change takes place in my character. I think of some adorable lines -of the Persian poet: "Give thyself up to Joy, for thy Grief will be -infinite. The stars shall again meet together at the same point in -the firmament, but of thy body shall bricks be made for a palace -wall." - -"Oh, dear, sweet, bitter olive!" I say to myself. - -The bit of olive slips down my red gullet, and so into my stomach. -There it meets with a joyous welcome. Gastric juices leap out from -the walls and swathe it in loving embrace. My stomach is fond of -something bitter and salt. It lavishes flattery and endearment galore -upon the olive. It laughs in silent delight. It feels that the day -it has long waited for has come. The philosophy of my stomach is -wholly epicurean. Let it receive but a tiny bit of olive and it will -reck not of the morrow, nor of the past. It lives, voluptuously, -in the present. It is content. It is in paradise. - -I bite the olive again. Again the bitter salt crisp ravishes my -tongue. "If this be vanity,--vanity let it be." The golden moments -flit by and I heed them not. For am I not comfortably seated and -eating an olive? Go hang yourself, you who have never been comfortably -seated and eating an olive! My character evolves farther in its -change. I am now bent on reckless sensuality, let happen what will. -The fair earth seems to resolve itself into a thing oval and crisp -and good and green and deliciously salt. I experience a feeling of -fervent gladness that I am a female thing living, and that I have -a tongue and some teeth, and salivary glands. - -Also this bit slips down my red gullet, and again the festive -Stomach lifts up a silent voice in psalms and rejoicing. It is -now an absolute monarchy with the green olive at its head. The -kisses of the gastric juice become hot and sensual and convulsive -and ecstatic. "Avaunt, pale, shadowy ghosts of dyspepsia!" says -my Stomach. "I know you not. I am of a brilliant, shining world. -I dwell in Elysian fields." - -Once more I bite the olive. Once more is my tongue electrified. -And the third stage in my temporary transformation takes place. I -am now a gross but supremely contented sensualist. An exquisite -symphony of sensualism and pleasure seems to play somewhere within -me. My heart purrs. My brain folds its arms and lounges. I put -my feet up on the seat of another chair. The entire world is now -surely one delicious green olive. My mind is capable of conceiving -but one idea--that of a green olive. Therefore the green olive is -a perfect thing--absolutely a perfect thing. - -Disgust and disapproval are excited only by imperfections. When a -thing is perfect, no matter how hard one may look at it, one can -see only itself--itself, and nothing beyond. - -And so I have made my olive and my art perfect. - -Well, then, this third bit of olive slides down the willing gullet -into my stomach. "And then my heart with pleasure fills." The play -of the gastric secretions is now marvelous. It is the meeting of -the waters! It were well, ah, how well, if the hearts of the world -could mingle in peace, as the gastric juices mingle at the coming -of a green olive into my stomach! "Paradise! Paradise!" says my -Stomach. - -Every drop of blood in my passionate veins is resting. Through -my stomach--my _stomach_, do you hear--my soul seems to feel the -infinite. The minutes are flying. Shortly it will be over. But just -now I am safe. I am entirely satisfied. I want nothing, nothing. - -My inner quiet is infinite. I am conscious that it is but momentary, -and it matters not. On the contrary, the knowledge of this fact -renders the present quiet--the repose, more limitless, more intense. - -Where now, Devil, is your damnation? If this be damnation, damnation -let it be! If this be the human fall, then how good it is to be -fallen! At this moment I would fain my fall were like yours, Lucifer, -"never to hope again." - -And so, bite by bite, the olive enters into my body and soul. Each -bite brings with it a recurring wave of sensation and charm. - -No. We will not dispute with the brilliant mind that declared life -a tragedy to those who feel. We will let that stand. However, there -are parts of the tragedy that are not tragic. There are parts that -admit of a turning aside. - -As the years pass, one after another, I shall continue to eat. And -as I eat I shall have my quiet, my brief period of aberration. - -This is the art of Eating. - -I have acquired it by means of self-examination, analyzing--analyzing-- -analyzing. Truly my genius is analytical. And it enables me to -endure--if also to feel bitterly--the heavy, heavy weight of life. - -What a worm of misery I should be were it not for these bursts of -philosophy, these turnings aside! - -If it please the Devil, one day I may have Happiness. That will be -all-sufficient. I shall then analyze no more. I shall be a different -being. - -But meanwhile I shall eat. - -When the last of the olive vanishes into the stomach, when it is -there reduced to animated chyme, when I play with the olive-seed -in my fingers, when I lean back in my chair and straighten out my -spinal column,--oh, then do you not envy me, you fine, brave world, -who are not a philosopher, who have not discovered the art of the -small things, who have not conscious chyme in your stomach, who -have not acquired the art of Good Eating! - - - - - January 29. - -As I read over now and then what I have written of my Portrayal I -have alternate periods of hope and despair. At times I think I am -succeeding admirably--and again, what I have written compared to -what I have felt seems vapid and tame. Who has not felt the futility -of words when one would express feelings? - -I take this hope and despair as another mark of genius. Genius, -apart from natural sensitiveness, is prone equally to unreasoning -joy and to bitterest morbidness. - -I am more than fond of writing, though I have hours when I can not -write any more than I could paint a picture, or play Wagner as it -should be played. - -I think my style of writing has a wonderful intensity in it, and -it is admirably suited to the creature it portrays. What sort -of Portrayal of myself would I produce if I wrote with the long, -elaborate periods of Henry James, or with the pleasant, ladylike -phrasing of Howells? It would be rather like a little tin phonograph -trolling out flowery poetry at breakneck speed, or like a deep-toned -church organ pouring forth "Goo-Goo Eyes" with ponderous feeling. - -When I read a book I study it carefully to find whether the author -_knows things_, and whether I could, with the same subject, write -a better one myself. - -The latter question I usually decide in the affirmative. - -The highest thing one can do in literature is to succeed in saying -that thing which one meant to say. There is nothing better than -that--to make the world see your thoughts as you see them. Eugene -Field and Edgar Allan Poe and Robert Louis Stevenson and Charles -Dickens, among others, have succeeded in doing this. They impress -the world with a sense of their courage and realness. - -There are people who have written books which did not impress the -world in this way, but which nevertheless came out of the feeling -and fullness of zealous hearts. Always I think of that pathetic, -artless little old-fashioned thing, "Jane Eyre," as a picture shown -to a world seeing with distorted vision. Charlotte Bronte meant one -thing when she wrote the book, and the world after a time suddenly -understood a quite different thing, and heaped praise and applause -upon her therefor. When I read the book I was not quite able to see -just what the message was that the Bronte intended to send out. But -I saw that there was a message--of bravery, perhaps, or of that -good which may come out of Nazareth. But the world that praised -and applauded and gave her money seems totally to have missed it. - -It takes centuries of tears and piety and mourning to move this -world a tiny bit. - -But still it will give you praise and applause and money if you will -prostitute your sensibilities and emotions for the gratification -of it. - -I have no message to hide in a book and send out. I am writing a -Portrayal. - -But a Portrayal is also a thing that may be misunderstood. - - - - - January 30. - -An idle brain is the Devil's workshop, they say. It is an absurdly -incongruous statement. If the Devil is at work in a brain it certainly -is not idle. And when one considers how brilliant a personage the -Devil is, and what very fine work he turns out, it becomes an open -question whether he would have the slightest use for most of the -idle brains that cumber the earth. But, after all, the Devil is so -clever that he could produce unexcelled workmanship with even the -poorest tools. - -My brain is one kind of devil's workshop, and it is as incessantly -hard-worked and always-busy a one as you could imagine. - -It is a devil's workshop, indeed, only I do the work myself. But -there is a mental telegraphy between the Devil and me, which accounts -for the fact that many of my ideas are so wonderfully groomed and -perfumed and colored. I take no credit to myself for this, though, -as I say, I do the work myself. - -I try always to give the Devil his due--and particularly in this -Portrayal. - -There are very few who give the Devil his due in this world of -hypocrites. - -I never think of the Devil as that atrocious creature in red tights, -with cloven hoofs and a tail and a two-tined fork. I think of him -rather as an extremely fascinating, strong, steel-willed person in -conventional clothes--a man with whom to fall completely, madly in -love. I rather think, I believe, that he is incarnate at times. -Why not? - -Periodically I fall completely, madly in love with the Devil. He -is so fascinating, so strong--so strong, exactly the sort of man -whom my wooden heart awaits. I would like to throw myself at his -head. I would make him a dear little wife. He would love me--he -would love me. I would be in raptures. And I would love him, oh, -madly, madly! - -"What would you have me do, little MacLane?" the Devil would say. - -"I would have you conquer me, crush me, know me," I would answer. - -"What shall I say to you?" the Devil would ask. - -"Say to me, 'I love you, I love you, I love you,' in your strong, -steel, fascinating voice. Say it to me often, always--a million -times." - -"What would you have me do, little MacLane?" he would say again. - -I would answer: "Hurt me, burn me, consume me with hot love, shake -me violently, embrace me hard, _hard_ in your strong, steel arms, -kiss me with wonderful burning kisses--press your lips to mine with -passion, and your soul and mine would meet then in an anguish of -joy for me!" - -"How shall I treat you, little MacLane?" - -"Treat me cruelly, brutally." - -"How long shall I stay with you?" - -"Through the life everlasting--it will be as one day; or for one -day--it will be as the life everlasting." - -"And what kind of children will you bear me, little MacLane?" he -would say. - -"I will bear wonderful, beautiful children--with great pain." - -"But you hate pain," the Devil will say, "and when you are in your -pain you will hate me." - -"But no," I will answer, "pain that comes of you whom I love will -be ineffable exaltation." - -"And how will you treat me, little MacLane?" - -"I will cast myself at your feet; or I will minister to you with -divine tenderness; or I will charm you with fantastic deviltry; -when you weep, I will melt into tears; when you rejoice, I will go -wild with delight; when you go deaf I will stop my ears; when you -go blind I will put out my eyes; when you go lame I will cut off -my legs. Oh, I will be divinely dear, unutterably sweet!" - -"Indeed you are rarely sweet," the Devil will say. And I will be -in transports. - -Oh, Devil, Devil, Devil! - -Oh, misery, _misery_ of Nothingness! - -The days are long--long and very weary as I await the Devil's coming. - - - - - January 31. - -To-day as I walked out I was impressed deeply with the wonderful -beautifulness of Nature even in her barrenness. The far-distant -mountains had that high, pure, transparent look, and the nearer ones -were transformed completely with a wistful, beseeching attitude -that reminded me of my life. It was late in the afternoon. As the -sun lowered, the pure lavender of the far-away hills was tinted -with faint-rose, and the gray of the nearer ones with sun-color. -And the sand--my sand and barrenness--almost flushed consciously in -its wide, mysterious magnitude. In the sky there was a white cloud. -The sky was blue--blue almost as when I was a child. The air was -very gentle. The earth seemed softened. There was an indefinite, -caressing something over all that went into my soul and stirred -it, and hurt it. There was that in the air which is there when -something is going to happen. Only nothing ever happens. It is -rare, I thought, that my sand and barrenness looks like this. I -crouched on the ground, and the wondrous calm and beauty of the -natural things awed and moved me with strange, still emotions. - -I felt, and gazed about me, and felt again. And everything was very -still. - -Presently my eyes filled quietly with tears. - -I bent my head into the breast of a great gray rock. Oh, my soul, my -soul, I said over and over, not with passion. It is so divine--the -earth is so beautiful, so untainted--and I, what am I? It was so -beautiful that now as I write, and it comes over me again, I can -not restrain the tears. - -Tears are not common. - -I felt my wooden heart, my soul, quivering and sobbing with their -unknown wanting. This is my soul's awakening. Ah, the pain of my -soul's awakening! Is there nothing, _nothing_ to help this pain? I am -so lonely, so lonely--Fannie Corbin, my one friend, my dearly-loved -anemone lady, I want you so much--why aren't you here! I want to -feel your hand with mine as I felt it sometimes before you went -away. You are the only one among a worldful of people to care a -little--and I love you with all the strength and worship I can give -to the things that are beautiful and true. You are the only one, -the only one--and my soul is full of pain, and I am sitting alone -on the ground, and my head lies on a rock's breast.-- - -Strange, sweet passions stirred and waked somewhere deep within me -as I sat shivering on the ground. And I felt them singing far away, -as if their faint voices came out of that limitless deep, deep blue -above me; and it was like a choir of spirit-voices, and they sang -of love and of light and of dear tender dreams, and of my soul's -awakening. Why is this--and what is it that is hurting so? Is it -because I am young, or is it because I am alone, or because I am -a woman? - -Oh, it is a hard and bitter thing to be a woman! And why--why? Is -woman so foul a creature that she must needs be purged by this -infinite pain? - -The choir of faint, sweet voices comes to me incessantly out of the -blue. My wooden heart and my soul are listening to them intently. -The voices are trying hard to tell me, to help me, but I can not -understand. I know only that it is about pure, exalted things, and -about the all-abiding love that is somewhere; and it is about the -earth-love, and about Truth,--but I can not understand. And the -voices sing of me the child--a song of the unloved, starved little -being; and a song of the unloved, half-grown creature; and a song -of me, a woman and all alone--awaiting the Devil's coming. - -Oh, my soul--my soul! - -A female snake is born out of its mother's white egg, and lives -awhile in content among weeds and grass, and dies. - -A female dog lives some years, and has bones thrown at her, and -sometimes she receives a kick or a blow, and a dog-house to sleep -in, and dies. - -A female bird has a nest, and worms to eat, and goes south in the -winter, and presently she dies. - -A female toad has a swamp or a garden, some bugs and flies, -contentment--and then she dies. - -And each of these has a male thing with her for a time, and soon -there are little snakes or little dogs for her to love as much as -it is given her to love--she can do no more. - -And they are fortunate with their little snakes and little dogs. - -A female human being is born out of her mother's fair body, branded -with a strange, plague-tainted name, and let go; and lives awhile, -and dies. But before she dies she awakes. There is a pain that goes -with it. - -And the male thing that is with her for a time is unlike a snake or -a dog. It is more like a man, and there is another pain for this. - -And when a little human being comes with a soul of its own there must -be another awakening, for she has then reached the best and highest -state that any human being can reach, though she is a female human -being, and plague-tainted. And here also there is heavy soul-pain. - -The name--the plague-tainted name branded upon her--means woman. - -I lifted my head from the breast of the gray rock. The tears had -been falling, falling. Tears are so strange! Tears from the dried-up -fountain of nineteen years are like drops of water wrung out of -stone. Suddenly I got up from the ground and ran quickly over the -sand for several minutes. I did not dare look again at the hilltops -and the deep blue, nor listen again to the voices. - -Oh, with it all, I am a coward! I shrink and cringe before the pain -of the dazzling lights. Yet I am waiting--longing for the most -dazzling light of all: the coming of the Devil. - - - - - February 1. - -Oh, the wretched bitter loneliness of me! - -In all the deep darkness, and the silence, there is never a faint -human light, never a voice! - -How can I bear it--how can I bear it! - - - - - February 2. - -I have been looking over the confessions of the Bashkirtseff. -They are indeed rather like my Portrayal, but they are not so -interesting, nor so intense. I have a stronger individuality than -Marie Bashkirtseff, though her mind was probably in a higher state -of development than mine, even when she was younger than I. - -Most of her emotions are vacillating and inconsistent. She worships -a God one day and blasphemes him the next. She never loves her God. -And why, then, does she have a God? Why does she not abandon him -altogether? He seems to be of no use to her--except as a convenient -thing on which to fasten the blame for her misfortunes.--And, after -all, that is something very useful indeed.--And she loves the people -about her one day, and the next day she hates them. - -But in her great passion--her ambition, Marie Bashkirtseff was -beautifully consistent. And what terrific storms of woe and despair -must have enveloped her when she knew that within a certain period -she would be dead--removed from the world, and her work left undone! -The time kept creeping nearer--she must have tasted the bitterness of -death indeed. She was sure of success, sure that her high-strained -ambition would be gratified to its last vestige--and then, to die! -It was certainly hard lines for the little Bashkirtseff. - -My own despair is of an opposite nature. - -There is one thing in the world that is more bitter than death--and -that is life. - -Suppose that I learned I was to die on the twenty-seventh of June, -1903, for instance. It would give me a soft warm wave of pleasure, -I think. I might be in the depths of woe at the time; my despair -might be the despair of despair; my misery utterly unceasing,--and -I could say, Never mind, on the twenty-seventh of June, 1903, all -will be over--dull misery, rage, Nothingness, obscurity, the unknown -longing, every desire of my soul, all the pain--ended inevitably, -completely on the twenty-seventh of June, 1903. I might come upon -a new pain, but this, my long old torture, would cease. - -You may say that I might end my life on that day, that I might do -so now. I certainly shall if the pain becomes greater than I can -bear--for what else is there to do? But I shall be far from satisfied -in doing so. What if I were to end everything now--when perhaps -the Devil may be coming to me in two years' time with Happiness? - -Upon dying it might be that I should go to some wondrous fair country -where there would be trees and running water, and a resting-place. -Well--oh, well! But I want the earthly Happiness. I am not -high-minded and spiritual. I am earthly, human--sensitive, sensuous, -sensual, and, ah, dear, my soul wants its earthly Happiness! - -I can not bring myself to the point of suicide while there is a -possibility of Happiness remaining. But if I knew that irrevocable, -inevitable death awaited me on June twenty-seventh, 1903, I should -be satisfied. My Happiness might come before that time, or it might -not. I should be satisfied. I should know that my life was out of -my hands. I should know, above all, that my long, long, old, old -pain of loneliness would stop, June twenty-seventh, 1903. - -I shall die naturally some day--probably after I have grown old -and sour. If I have had my Happiness for a year or a day, well and -good. I shall be content to grow as old and as sour as the Devil -wills. But having had no Happiness--if I find myself growing old -and still no Happiness--oh, then I vow I will not live another -hour, even if dying were rushing headlong to damnation! - -I am, do you see, a philosopher and a coward--with the philosophy -of cowardice. I squeeze juice also from this fact sometimes--but -the juice is not sweet juice. - -The Devil--the fascinating man-devil--it may be, is coming, coming, -coming. - -And meanwhile I go on and on, in the midst of sand and barrenness. - - - - - February 3. - -The town of Butte presents a wonderful field to a student of humanity -and human nature. There are not a great many people--seventy thousand -perhaps--but those seventy thousand are in their way unparalleled. -For mixture, for miscellany--variedness, Bohemianism--where is -Butte's rival? - -The population is not only of all nationalities and stations, but -the nationalities and stations mix and mingle promiscuously with -each other, and are partly concealed and partly revealed in the -mazes of a veneer that belongs neither to nation nor to station, -but to Butte. - -The nationalities are many, it is true, but Irish and Cornish -predominate. My acquaintance extends widely among the inhabitants -of Butte. Sometimes when I feel in the mood for it I spend an -afternoon in visiting about among divers curious people. - -At some Fourth of July demonstration, or on a Miners' Union day, the -heterogeneous herd turns out--and I turn out, with the herd and of -it, and meditate and look on. There are Irishmen--Kelleys, Caseys, -Calahans, staggering under the weight of much whiskey, shouting -out their green-isle maxims; there is the festive Cornishman, -ogling and leering, greeting his fellow-countrymen with alcoholic -heartiness, and gazing after every feminine creature with lustful -eyes; there are Irish women swearing genially at each other in shrill -pleasantry, and five or six loudly-vociferous children for each; -there are round-faced Cornish women likewise, each with her train -of children; there are suave, sleek sporting men just out of the -bath-tub; insignificant lawyers, dentists, messengerboys; "plungers" -without number; greasy Italians from Meaderville; greasier French -people from the Boulevarde Addition; ancient miners--each of whom -was the first to stake a claim in Butte; starved-looking Chinamen -here and there; a contingent of Finns and Swedes and Germans; -musty, stuffy old Jew pawn-brokers who have crawled out of their -holes for a brief recreation; dirt-encrusted Indians and squaws in -dirty, gay blankets, from their flea-haunted camp below the town; -"box-rustlers"--who are as common in Butte as bar-maids in Ireland; -swell, flashy-looking Africans; respectable women with white aprons -tied around their waists and sailor-hats on their heads, who have -left the children at home and stepped out to see what was going on; -innumerable stray youngsters from the dark haunts of Dublin Gulch; -heavy restaurant-keepers with toothpicks in their mouths; a vast -army of dry-goods clerks--the "paper-collared" gentry; miners of -every description; representatives from Dog Town, Chicken Flats, -Busterville, Butchertown, and Seldom Seen--suburbs of Butte; pale, -thin individuals who sing and dance in beer-halls; smart society -people in high traps and tally-hos; impossible women--so-called -(though in Butte no one is more possible), in vast hats and extremely -plaid stockings; persons who take things seriously and play the -races for a living; "beer-jerkers"; "biscuit-shooters"; soft-voiced -Mexicans and Arabians;--the dregs, the elite, the humbly respectable, -the off-scouring--all thrown together, and shaken up, and mixed -well. - -One may notice many odd bits of irony as one walks among these. One -may notice that the Irishmen are singularly carefree and strong and -comfortable--and so jolly! while the Irish women are frumpish and -careworn and borne earthward with children. The Cornishman who has -consumed the greatest amount of whiskey is the most agreeable, -and less and less inclined to leer and ogle. The Cornish woman -whose profanity is the shrillest and most genial and voluble, is -she whose life seems the most weighted and downtrodden. The young -women whose bodies are encased in the tightest and stiffest corsets -are in the most wildly hilarious spirits of all. The filthy little -Irish youngsters from Dublin Gulch are much brighter and more -clever in every way than the ordinary American children who are -less filthy. A delicate aroma of cocktails and whiskey-and-soda -hangs over even the four-in-hands and automobiles of the upper -crust. Gamblers, newsboys, and Chinamen are the most chivalrously -courteous among them. And the modest-looking "plunger" who has drunk -the greatest number of high-balls is the most gravely, quietly -polite of all. The rolling, rollicking, musical profanity of the -"ould sod"--Bantry Bay, Donegal, Tyrone, Tipperary--falls much less -limpidly from the cigaretted lips of the ten-year-old lad than -from those of his mother, who taught it to him. One may notice that -the husband and wife who smile the sweetest at each other in the -sight of the multitudes are they whose countenances bear various -scars and scratches commemorating late evening orgies at home; that -the peculiar solid, block-shaped appearance of some of the miners' -wives is due quite as much to the quantity of beer they drink as -to their annual maternity; that the one grand ruling passion of -some men's lives is curiosity;--that the entire herd is warped, -distorted, barren, having lived its life in smoke-cured Butte. - -A single street in Butte contains people in nearly every walk of -life--living side by side resignedly, if not in peace. - -In a row of five or six houses there will be living miners and -their families, the children of which prevent life from stagnating -in the street while their mothers talk to each other--with the -inevitable profanity--over the back-fences. On the corner above -there will be a mysterious widow with one child, who has suddenly -alighted upon the neighborhood, stealthily in the night, and is -to be seen at rare intervals emerging from her door--the target -for dozens of pairs of eager eyes and half as many eager tongues. -And when the mysterious widow, with her one child, disappears some -night as suddenly and as stealthily as she appeared, an outburst of -highly-colored rumors is tossed with astonishing glibness over the -various back-fences--all relating to the mysterious widow's shady -antecedents and past history, to those of her child, and to the -cause of her sudden departure,--no two of which rumors agree in any -particular. Across on the opposite corner there will be a company -of strange people who also descended suddenly, and upon whom the -eyes of the entire block are turned with absorbing interest. They -consist of half-a-dozen men and women seemingly bound together only -by ties of conviviality. The house is kept closely-blinded and quiet -all day, only to burst forth in a blaze of revel in the evening, -which revel lasts all night. This goes on until some momentous -night, at the request of certain proper ones, a police officer -glides quietly into the midst of a scene of unusual gaiety--and the -festive company melts into oblivion, never to return. They also -are then discussed with rapturous relish and in tones properly -lowered, over the back-fences. Farther down the street there will -live an interesting being of feminine persuasion who has had five -divorces and is in course of obtaining another. These divorces, -the causes therefor, the justice thereof, and the future prospects -of the multi-grass widow, are gone over, in all their bearings, by -the indefatigable tongues. Every incident in the history of the -street is put through a course of sprouts by these same tireless -members. The Jewish family that lives in the poorest house in the -neighborhood, and that is said to count its money by the hundred -thousands; the aristocratic family with the Irish-point curtains -in the windows--that lives on the county; the family whose husband -and father gains for it a comfortable livelihood--forging checks; -the miner's family whose wife and mother wastes its substance in -diamonds and sealskin coats and other riotous living; the family in -extremely straitened circumstances into which new babies arrive in -great and distressing numbers; the strange lady with an apoplectic -complexion and a wonderfully foul and violent flow of invective--all -are discussed over and over and over again. No one is omitted. - -And so this is Butte, the promiscuous--the Bohemian. And all these -are the Devil's playthings. They amuse him, doubtless. - -Butte is a place of sand and barrenness. - -The souls of these people are dumb. - - - - - February 4. - -Always I wonder, when I die will there be any one to remember me -with love? - -I know I am not lovable. - -That I want it so much only makes me less lovable, it seems. But--who -knows?--it may be there will be some one. - -My anemone lady does not love me. How can she--since she does not -understand me? But she allows me to love her--and that carries me -a long way. There are many--oh, a great many--who will not allow -you to love them if you would. - -There is no one to love me now. - -Always I wonder how it will be after some long years when I find -myself about to die. - - - - - February 7. - -In this house where I drag out my accursed, devilish, weary -existence, upstairs in the bathroom, on the little ledge at the -top of the wainscoting, there are six tooth-brushes: an ordinary -white bone-handled one that is my younger brother's; a white -twisted-handled one that is my sister's; a flat-handled one that is -my older brother's; a celluloid-handled one that is my stepfather's; -a silver-handled one that is mine; and another ordinary one that is -my mother's. The sight of these tooth-brushes day after day, week -after week, and always, is one of the most crushingly maddening -circumstances in my fool's life. - -Every Friday I wash up the bathroom. Usually I like to do this. I -like the feeling of the water squeezing through my fingers, and -always it leaves my nails beautifully neat. But the obviousness of -those six tooth-brushes signifying me and the five other members of -this family and the aimless emptiness of my existence here--Friday -after Friday--makes my soul weary and my heart sick. - -Never does the pitiable, barren, contemptible, damnable, narrow -Nothingness of my life in this house come upon me with so intense -a force as when my eyes happen upon those six tooth-brushes. - -Among the horrors of the Inquisition, a minute refinement of cruelty -was reached when the victim's head was placed beneath a never-ceasing -falling of water, drop by drop. - -A convict sentenced to solitary confinement, spending his endless -days staring at four blank walls, feels that had he committed every -known crime he could not possibly deserve his punishment. - -I am not undergoing an Inquisition, nor am I a convict in solitary -confinement. But I live in a house with people who affect me mostly -through their tooth-brushes--and those I should like, above all -things, to gather up and pitch out of the bathroom window--and oh, -damn them, _damn_ them! - -You who read this, can you understand the depth of bitterness and -hatred that is contained in this for me? Perhaps you can a little -if you are a woman and have felt yourself alone. - -When I look at the six tooth-brushes a fierce, lurid storm of rage -and passion comes over me. Two heavy leaden hands lay hold of my -life and press, press, press. They strike the sick, sick weariness -to my inmost soul. - -Oh, to leave this house and these people, and this intense -Nothingness--oh, to pass out from them, forever! But where can I go, -what can I do? I feel with mad fury that I am helpless. The grasp -of the stepfather and the mother is contemptible and absurd--but -with the persistence and tenacity of narrow minds. It is like the -two heavy leaden hands. It is not seen--it is not tangible. It is -felt. - -Once I took away my own silver-handled tooth-brush from the bathroom -ledge, and kept it in my bedroom for a day or two. I thought to -lessen the effect of the six. - -I put it back in the bathroom. - -The absence of one accentuated the significant damnation of the -others. There was something more forcibly maddening in the five -than in the six tooth-brushes. The damnation was not worse, but it -developed my feeling about them more vividly. - -And so I put my tooth-brush back in the bathroom. - -This house is comfortably furnished. My mother spends her life in -the adornment of it. The small square rooms are distinctly pretty. - -But when I look at them seeingly I think of the proverb about the -dinner of stalled ox. - -Yet there is no hatred here, except mine and my bitterness. I am -the only one of them whose bitter spirit cries out against things. - -But there is that which is subtler and strikes deeper. There is -the lack of sympathy--the lack of everything that counts: there is -the great, deep Nothing. - -How much better were there hatred here than Nothing! - -I long hopelessly for will-power, resolution to take my life into -my own hands, to walk away from this house some day and never -return. I have nowhere to go--no money, and I know the world quite -too well to put the slightest faith in its voluntary kindness of -heart. But how much better and wider, less damned, less maddening, -to go out into it and be beaten and cheated and fooled with, than -_this_!--this thing that gathers itself easily into a circle made -of six tooth-brushes with a sufficiency of surplus damnation. - -I have read about a woman who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho -and fell among thieves. Perhaps she had a house at Jerusalem with -six tooth-brushes and Nothingness. In that case she might have -rushed gladly into the arms of thieves. - -I think of crimes that strike horror and revulsion to my maid-senses. -And I think of my Nothingness, and I ask myself were it not better -to walk the earth an outcast, a solitary woman, and meet and face -even these, than that each and every one of my woman-senses should -wear slowly, painfully to shreds, and strain and break--in this -unnameable Nothing? - -Oh, the dreariness--the hopelessness of Nothing! - -There are no words to tell it. And things are always hardest to -bear when there are no words for them. - -However great one's gift of language may be, there is always -something that one can not tell. - -I am weary of self--always self. But it must be so. - -My life is filled with _self_. - -If my soul could awaken fully perhaps I might be lifted out of -myself--surely I should be. But my soul is not awake. It is -awakening, trying to open its eyes; and it is crying out blindly -after something, but it can not _know_. I have a dreadful feeling -that it will stay always like this. - -Oh, I feel everything--everything! I feel what might be. And there -is Nothing. There are six tooth-brushes. - -Would I stop for a few fine distinctions, a theory, a natural law -even, to escape from this into Happiness--or into something greatly -less? - -Misery--misery! If only I could feel it less! - -Oh, the weariness, the weariness--as I await the Devil's coming. - - - - - February 8. - -Often I walk out to a place on the flat valley below the town, to -flirt with Death. There is within me a latent spirit of coquetry, -it appears. - -Down on the flat there is a certain deep, dark hole with several -feet of water at the bottom. - -This hole completely fascinates me. Sometimes when I start out -to walk in a quite different direction, I feel impelled almost -irresistibly to turn and go down on the flat in the direction of -the fascinating, deep black hole. - -And here I flirt with Death. The hole is so narrow--only about four -feet across--and so dark, and so deep! I don't know whether it was -intended to be a well, or whether it is an abandoned shaft of some -miner. At any rate it is isolated and deserted, and it has a rare -loving charm for me. - -I go there sometimes in the early evening, and kneel on the edge -of it and lean over the dark pit, with my hand grasping a wooden -stake that is driven into the ground near by. And I drop little -stones down and hear them splash hollowly, and it sounds a long -way off. - -There is something wonderfully soothing, wonderfully comforting -to my unrestful, aching wooden heart in the dark mystery of this -fascinating hole. Here is the End for me, if I want it--here is -the Ceasing, when I want it. And I lean over and smile quietly. - -"No flowers," I say softly to myself, "no weeping idiots, no -senseless funeral, no oily undertaker fussing over my woman's-body, -no useless Christian prayers. Nothing but this deep dark restful -grave." - -No one would ever find it. It is a mile and a half from any house. - -The water--the dark still water at the bottom--would gurgle over -me and make an end quickly. Or if I feared there was not enough -water, I would bring with me a syringe and some morphine and -inject an immense quantity into one white arm, and kneel over the -tender darkness until my youth-weary, waiting-worn senses should -be overcome, and my slim, light body should fall. It would splash -into the water at the bottom--it would follow the little stones -at last. And the black, muddy water would soak in and begin the -destroying of my body, and murky bubbles would rise so long as my -lungs continued to breathe. Or perhaps my body would fall against -the side of the hole, and the head would lie against it out of the -water. Or perhaps only the face would be out of the water, turned -upward to the light above--or turned half-down, and the hair would -be darkly wet and heavy, and the face would be blue-white below -it, and the eyes would sink inward. - -"The End, the End!" I say softly and ecstatically. Yet I do not -lean farther out. My hand does not loosen its tight grasp on the -wooden stake. I am only flirting with Death now. - -Death is fascinating--almost like the Devil. Death makes use of -all his arts and wiles, powerful and alluring, and flirts with -deadly temptation for me. And I make use of my arts and wiles--and -tempt him. - -Death would like dearly to have me, and I would like dearly to have -him. It is a flirtation that has its source in mutual desire. We -do not love each other, Death and I,--we are not friends. But we -desire each other sensually, lustfully. - -Sometime I suppose I shall yield to the desire. I merely play at -it now--but in an unmistakable manner. Death knows it is only a -question of time. - -But first the Devil must come. First the Devil, then Death: a deep -dark soothing grave--and the early evening, "and a little folding -of the hands to sleep." - - - - - February 12. - -I am in no small degree, I find, a sham--a player to the gallery. -Possibly this may be felt as you read these analyses. - -While all of these emotions are written in the utmost seriousness -and sincerity, and are exactly as I feel them, day after day--so far -as I have the power to express what I feel--still I aim to convey -through them all the idea that I am lacking in the grand element -of Truth--that there is in the warp and woof of my life a thread -that is false--false. - -I don't know how to say this without the fear of being misunderstood. -When I say I am in a way a sham, I have no reference to the truths -as I have given them in this Portrayal, but to a very light and -subtle thing that runs through them. - -Oh, do not think for an instant that this analysis of my emotions -is not perfectly sincere and real, and that I have not felt all -of them more than I can put into words. They are my tears--my -life-blood! - -But in my life, in my personality, there is an essence of falseness -and insincerity. A thin, fine vapor of fraud hangs always over me -and dampens and injures some things in me that I value. - -I have not succeeded thoroughly in analyzing this--it is so thin, -so elusive, so faint--and yet not little. It is a natural thing -enough viewed in the light of my other traits. - -I have lived my nineteen years buried in an environment at utter -variance with my natural instincts, where my inner life is never -touched, and my sympathies very rarely, if ever, appealed to. I never -disclose my real desires or the texture of my soul. Never, that is -to say, to any one except my one friend, the anemone lady.--And so -every day of my life I am playing a part; I am keeping an immense -bundle of things hidden under my cloak. When one has played a part--a -false part--all one's life, for I was a sly, artful little liar -even in the days of five and six; then one is marked. One may never -rid oneself of the mantle of falseness, charlatanry--particularly -if one is innately a liar. - -A year ago when the friendship of my anemone lady was given me, and -she would sometimes hear sympathetically some long-silent bit of -pain, I felt a snapping of tense-drawn cords, a breaking away of -flood-gates--and a strange, new pain. I felt as if I must clasp her -gentle hand tightly and give way to the pent-up, surging tears of -eighteen years. I had wanted this tender thing more than anything -else all my life, and it was given me suddenly. - -I felt a convulsion and a melting, within. - -But I could not tell my one friend exactly what I felt. There was -no doubt in my own mind as to my own perfect sincerity of feeling, -but there was with it and around it this vapor of fraud, a spirit -of falseness that rose and confronted me and said, "hypocrite," -"fool." - -It may be that the spirit of falseness is itself a false thing--yet -true or false, it is with me always. I have tried, in writing out my -emotions, to convey an idea of this sham element while still telling -everything faithfully true. Sometimes I think I have succeeded, -and at other times I seem to have signally failed. This element of -falseness is absolutely the very thinnest, the very finest, the -rarest of all the things in my many-sided character. - -It is not the most unimportant. - -I have seen visions of myself walking in various pathways. I have -seen myself trying one pathway and another. And always it is the -same: I see before me in the path, darkening the way and filling me -with dread and discouragement, a great black shadow--the shadow -of my own element of falseness. - -I can not rid myself of it. - -I am an innate liar. - -This is a hard thing to write about. Of all things it is the most -liable to be misunderstood. You will probably misunderstand it, -for I have not succeeded in giving the right idea of it. I aimed -at it and missed it. It eluded me completely. - -You must take the idea as I have just now presented it for what -it may be worth. This is as near as I can come to it. But it is -something infinitely finer and rarer. - -It is a difficult task to show to others a thing which, though -I feel and recognize it thoroughly, I have not yet analyzed for -myself. - -But this is a complete Portrayal of me--as I await the Devil's -coming--and I must tell everything--everything. - - - - - February 13. - -So then, yes. As I have said, I find that I am quite, quite odd. My -various acquaintances say that I am _funny_. They say, "Oh, it's -that May MacLane, Dolly's younger sister. She's funny." But I call -it oddity. I bear the hall-mark of oddity. - -There was a time, a year or two since, when I was an exceedingly -sensitive little fool--sensitive in that it used to strike very -deep when my young acquaintances would call me funny and find in -me a vent for their distinctly unfriendly ridicule. My years in -the high school were not years of joy. Two years ago I had not yet -risen above these things. I was a sensitive little fool. - -But that sensitiveness, I rejoice to say, has gone from me. The -opinion of these young people, or of these old people, is now a -thing that is quite unable to affect me. - -The more I see of conventionality, it seems, the more I am odd. - -Though I am young and feminine--very feminine--yet I am not that -quaint conceit, a _girl_: the sort of person that Laura E. Richards -writes about, and Nora Perry, and Louisa M. Alcott,--girls with -bright eyes, and with charming faces (they always have charming -faces), standing with reluctant feet where the brook and river -meet,--and all that sort of thing. - -I missed all that. - -I have read some girl-books, a few years ago--"Hildegarde Grahame," -and "What Katy Did," and all,--but I read them from afar. I looked -at those creatures from behind a high board fence. I felt as if -I had more tastes in common with the Jews wandering through the -wilderness, or with a band of fighting Amazons. I am not a girl. I -am a woman, of a kind. I began to be a woman at twelve, or more -properly, a genius. - -And then, usually, if one is not a girl one is a heroine--of the -kind you read about. But I am not a heroine, either. A heroine -is beautiful--eyes like the sea shoot opaque glances from under -drooping lids--walks with undulating movements, her bright smile -haunts one still, falls methodically in love with a man--always -with a man, eats things (they are always called "viands") with a -delicate appetite, and on special occasions her voice is full of -tears. I do none of these things. I am not beautiful. I do not walk -with undulating movements--indeed, I have never seen any one walk -so, except, perhaps, a cow that has been overfed. My bright smile -haunts no one. I shoot no opaque glances from my eyes, which are -not like the sea by any means. I have never eaten any viands, and -my appetite for what I do eat is most excellent. And my voice has -never yet, to my knowledge, been full of tears. - -No, I am not a heroine. - -There never seem to be any plain heroines, except Jane Eyre, and -she was very unsatisfactory. She should have entered into marriage -with her beloved Rochester in the first place. I should have, let -there be a dozen mad wives upstairs. But I suppose the author -thought she must give her heroine some desirable thing--high moral -principles, since she was not beautiful. Some people say that beauty -is a curse. It may be true, but I'm sure I should not have at all -minded being cursed a little. And I know several persons who might -well say the same. But, anyway, I wish some one would write a book -about a plain, bad heroine so that I might feel in real sympathy -with her. - -So far from being a girl or a heroine, I am a thief--as I have -before suggested. - -I mind me of how, not long since, I stole three dollars. A woman -whom I know rather well, and lives near, called me into her house -as I was passing and asked me to do an errand for her. She was -having an ornate gown made, and she needed some more applique with -which to festoon it. The applique cost nine dollars a yard. My -trusting neighbor gave me a bit of the braid for a sample and two -twenty-dollar bills. I was to get four yards. I did so, and came -back and gave her the braid and a single dollar. The other three -dollars I kept myself. I wanted three dollars very much, to put -with a few that I already had in my purse. My trusting neighbor is -of the kind that throws money about carelessly. I knew she would -not pay any attention to a little detail like that,--she was deeply -interested in her new frock; or perhaps she would think I had got -thirty-nine dollars' worth of applique. At any rate, she did not -need the money, and I wanted three dollars, and so I stole it. - -I am a thief. - -It has been suggested to me that I am a kleptomaniac. But I am sure -my mind is perfectly sane. I have no such excuse. I am a plain, -downright thief. - -This is only one of my many peculations. I steal money, or anything -that I want, whenever I can, nearly always. It amuses me--and one -must be amused. - -I have only two stipulations: that the person to whom it belongs -does not need it pressingly, and that there is not the smallest -chance of being found out. (And of course I could not think of -stealing from my one friend.) - -It would be extremely inconvenient to be known as a thief, merely. - -When the world knows you are a thief it blinds itself completely -to your other attributes. It calls you a thief, and there's an -end. I am a genius as well as a thief--but the world would quite -overlook that fact. "A thief's a thief," says the world. That is -very true. But the mere fact of being a thief should not exclude -the consideration of one's other traits. When the world knows you -are a Methodist minister, for instance, it will admit that you may -also be a violinist, or a chemist, or a poet, and will credit you -therefor. And so if it condemns you for being a thief, it should at -the same time admire you for being a genius. If it does not admire -you for being a genius, then it has no right to condemn you for -being a thief. - ---And why the world should condemn any one for being a thief--when -there is not within its confines any one who is not a thief in -some way--is a bit of irony upon which I have wasted much futile -logic.-- - -I am not trying to justify myself for stealing. I do not consider -it a thing that needs to be justified, any more than walking or -eating or going to bed. But, as I say, if the world knew that I -am a thief without being first made aware with emphasis that I am -some other things also, then the world would be a shade cooler for -me than it already is--which would be very cool indeed. - -And so in writing my Portrayal I have dwelt upon other things at -some length before touching on my thieving propensities. - -None of my acquaintances would suspect that I am a thief. I look -so respectable, so refined, so "nice," so inoffensive, so sweet, -even! - -But, for that matter, I am a great many things that I do not appear -to be. - -The woman from whom I stole the three dollars, if she reads this, -will recognize it. This will be inconvenient. I fervently hope she -may not read it. It is true she is not of the kind that reads. - -But, after all, it's of no consequence. This Portrayal is Mary -MacLane: her wooden heart, her young woman's-body, her mind, her -soul. - -The world may run and read. - -I will tell you what I did with the three dollars. In Dublin Gulch, -which is a rough quarter of Butte inhabited by poor Irish people, -there lives an old world-soured, wrinkled-faced woman. She lives -alone in a small, untidy house. She swears frightfully like a -parrot, and her reputation is bad--so bad, indeed, that even the -old woman's compatriots in Dublin Gulch do not visit her lest they -damage their own. It is true that the profane old woman's morals are -not good--have never been good--judged by the world's standards. -She bears various marks of cold, rough handling on her mind and -body. Her life has all but run its course. She is worn out. - -Once in a while I go to visit this old woman--my reputation must -be sadly damaged by now. - -I sit with her for an hour or two and listen to her. She is -extremely glad to have me there. Except me she has no one to talk -to but the milkman, the groceryman, and the butcher. So always she -is glad to see me. There is a certain bond of sympathy between her -and me. We are fond of each other. When she sees me picking my way -towards her house, her hard, sour face softens wonderfully and a -light of distinct friendliness comes into her green eyes. - -Don't you know, there are few people enough in the world whose hard, -sour faces will soften at sight of you and a distinctly friendly -light come into their green eyes. For myself, I find such people -few indeed. - -So the profane old woman and I are fond of each other. No question -of morals, or of immorals, comes between us. We are equals. - -I talk to her a little--but mostly she talks. She tells me of the -time when she lived in County Galway, when she was young--and of -her several husbands, and of some who were not husbands, and of her -children scattered over the earth. And she shows me old tin-types of -these people. She has told me the varied tale of her life a great -many times. I like to hear her tell it. It is like nothing else I -have heard. The story in its unblushing simplicity, the sour-faced -old woman sitting telling it, and the tin-types,--contain a thing -that is absurdly, grotesquely, tearlessly sad. - -Once when I went to her house I brought with me six immense, heavy, -fragrant chrysanthemums. - -They had been bought with the three dollars I had stolen. - -It pleased me to buy them for the profane old woman. They pleased -her also--not because she cares much for flowers, but because I -brought them to her. I knew they would please her, but that was -not the reason I gave her them. - -I did it purely and simply to please myself. - -I knew the profane old woman would not be at all concerned as to -whether they had been bought with stolen money or not, and my only -regret was that I had not had an opportunity to steal a larger sum so -that I might have bought more chrysanthemums without inconveniencing -my purse. - -But as it was they filled her dirty little dwelling with perfume -and color. - -Long ago, when I was six, I was a thief--only I was not then, as -now, a graceful, light-fingered thief--I had not the philosophy of -stealing. - -When I would steal a copper cent out of my mother's pocketbook I -would feel a dreadful, suffocating sinking in my bad heart, and for -days and nights afterwards--long after I had eaten the chocolate -mouse--the copper cent would haunt me and haunt me, and oh, how I -wished it back in that pocketbook with the clasp shut tight and -the bureau drawer locked! - -And so, is it not finer to be nineteen and a thief, with the -philosophy of stealing--than to be six and haunted day and night -by a copper cent? - -For now always my only regret is, when I have stolen five dollars, -that I did not steal ten while I was about it. - -It is a long time ago since I was six. - - - - - February 17. - -To-day I walked over the hill where the sun vanishes down in the -afternoon. - -I followed the sun so far as I could, but two even very good legs -can do no more than carry one into the midst of the sunshine--and -then one may stand and take leave, lovingly, of it. - -I stood in the valley below the hill and looked away at the -gold-yellow mountains that rise into the cloudy blue, and at the -long gray stretches of rolling sand. It all reminded me of the -Devil and the Happiness he will bring me. - -Some day the Devil will come to me and say: "Come with me." - -And I will answer: "Yes." - -And he will take me away with him to a place where it is wet and -green--where the yellow, yellow sunshine falls on heaven-kissing -hills, and misty, cloudy masses float over the valleys. - -And for days I shall be happy--happy--happy! - -For _days_! The Devil and I will love each other intensely, -perfectly--for days! He will be incarnate, but he will not be a man. -He will be the man-devil, and his soul will take mine to itself -and they will be one--for days. - -Imagine me raised out of my misery and obscurity, dullness and -Nothingness, into the full, brilliant life of the Devil--for days! - -The love of the man-devil will enter into my barren, barren life -and melt all the cold, hard things, and water the barrenness, and -a million little green growing plants will start out of it; and -a clear, sparkling spring will flow over it--through the dreary, -sandy stretches of my bitterness, among the false stony roadways -of my pain and hatred. And a great rushing, flashing cataract of -melting love will flow over my weariness and unrest and wash it -away forever. My soul will be fully awakened and there will be a -million little sweet new souls in the green growing things. And they -will fill my life with everything that is beautiful--tenderness, and -divineness, and compassion, and exaltation, and uplifting grace, -and light, and rest, and gentleness, and triumph, and truth, and -peace. My life will be borne far out of self, and self will sink -quietly out of sight--and I shall see it farther and farther away, -until it disappears. - -"It is the last--the _last_--of that Mary MacLane," I will say, -and I will feel a long, sighing, quivering farewell. - -A thousand years of misery--and now a million years of Happiness. - -When the sun is setting in the valley and the crests of those -heaven-kissing hills are painted violet and purple, and the -valley itself is reeking and swimming in yellow-gold light, the -man-devil--whom I love more than all--and I will go out into it. - -We will be saturated in the yellow light of the sun and the gold -light of Love. - -The man-devil will say to me: "Look, you little creature, at this -beautiful picture of Joy and Happiness. It is the picture of your -life as it will be while I am with you--and I am with you for days." - -Ah, yes, I will take a last, long farewell of this Mary MacLane. -Not one faint shadow of her weary wretched Nothingness will remain. - -There will be instead a brilliant, buoyant, joyous creature--transformed, -adorned, garlanded by the love of the Devil. - -My mind will be a treasure-house of art, swept and garnished and -strong and at its best. - -My barren, hungry heart will come at last to its own. The red -flames of the man-devil's love will burn out forever its pitiable, -distorted, wooden quality, and he will take it and cherish it--and -give me his. - -My young woman's-body likewise will be metamorphosed, and I shall -feel it developing and filled with myriads of little contentments -and pleasures. Always my young woman's-body is a great and important -part of me, and when I am married to the Devil its finely-organized -nerve-power and intricate sensibility will be culminated to marvelous -completeness. My soul--upon my soul will descend consciously the -light that never was on land or sea. - -This will be for days--for days. - -No matter what came before, I will say; no matter what comes -afterward. Just now it is the man-devil, my best-beloved, and I, -living in the yellow light. - -Think of living with the Devil in a bare little house, in the midst -of green wetness and sweetness and yellow light--for days! - -In the gray dawn it will be ineffably sweet and beautiful, with -shining leaves and the gray, unfathomable air, and the wet grass, -and all. - -"Be happy now, my weary little wife," the Devil will say. - -And the long, long yellow-gold day will be filled with the music -of Real Life. - -My grandest possibility will be realized. The world contains a -great many things--and this is my grandest possibility realized! - -I will weep rapturous tears. - -When I think of all this and write it there is in me a feeling that -is more than pain. - -Perhaps the very sweetest, the tenderest, the most pitiful and benign -human voice in the world could sing these things and this feeling -set to their own wondrous music,--and it would echo far--far,--and -you would understand. - - - - - February 20. - -At times when I walk among the natural things--the barren, natural -things--I know that I believe in Something. Why can I not call it -God and pray to it? - -There is Something--I do not know it intellectually, but I feel -it--I _feel_ it--with my soul. It does not seem to reach down to -me. It does not pity me. It does not look at me tenderly in my -unhappiness. - -My soul feels only that it is there. - -No. It is not all-loving, all-gracious, all-pitying. It hurts -me--it hurts me always as I walk over the sand. But even while it -hurts me it seems to promise--ah, those beautiful things that it -promises me! - -And then the hurting is anguish--for I know that the promises will -never be fulfilled. - -There is within me a thing that is aching, aching, aching always -as the days pass. - -It is not my pain of wanting, nor my pain of unrest, nor my pain of -bitterness, nor of hatred. I know those in all their own anguish. - -This aching is another pain. It is a pain that I do not know--that -I feel ignorantly but sharply, and, oh, it is torture, torture! - -My soul is worn and weary with pain. There is no compassion--no -mercy upon me. There is no one to help me bear it. It is just I -alone out on the sand and barrenness. It is cruel anguish to be -always alone--and so long--oh, so long! - -Nineteen years are as ages to you when you are nineteen. - -When you are nineteen there is no experience to tell you that all -things have an end. - -This aching pain has no end. - -I feel no tears now, but I feel heavy sobs that shake my life to -its center. - -My soul is wandering in a wilderness. - -There is a great light sometimes that draws my soul toward it. When -my soul turns toward it, it shines out brilliant and dazzling and -awful--and the worn, sensitive thing shrinks away, and shivers, -and is faint. - -Shall my soul have to know this Light, inevitably? Must it, some -day, plunge into this? - -Oh, it may be--it may be. But I know that I shall die with the pain. - -There are times when the great Light is dim and beautiful as the -starlight--the utter agony of it--the cruel, ineffable loveliness! - -Do you understand this? I am telling you my young, passionate -life-agony? Do you listen to it indifferently? Has it no meaning -for any one? For me it means everything. For me it makes life old, -long, weariness. - -It may be that you know. And perhaps you would even weep a little -with me if you had time. - -It is as if this Light were the light of the Christian religion--and -the Christian religion is full of hatred. It says, "Come unto me, -you that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." But when you -would go, when you reach up with your weary hands, it sends you a -too-brilliant Light--it makes you fair, wondrous promises--it puts -you off. You beseech it in your suffering-- - - "While the waters near me roll, - While the tempest still is high--" - -but it does not listen--it does not care. Worship me, worship me, it -says, but after that let me alone. There is a bookful of promises. -Take it and thank me and worship me. - -It does not care. - -If I obey it, it looks on indifferently. If I disobey it, it looks -on indifferently. If I am in woe, it looks on indifferently. If I -am in a brief joy, it looks on indifferently. - -I am left all alone--all alone. - -The Light is shown me and I reach after it, but it is placed high -out of my reach. - -I see the promises in the Light. Oh, why--_why_ does it promise -these things! Is not the burden of life already greater than I can -bear? And there is the story of the Christ. It is beautiful. It is -damningly beautiful. It draws the tears of pain and soft anguish -from me at the sense of beauty. And when every nerve in me is -melted and overflowing, then suddenly I am conscious that it is a -lie--a _lie_. - -Everywhere I turn there is Nothing--Nothing. - -My soul wails out its grief in loneliness. - -My soul wanders hither and thither in the dark wilderness and asks, -asks always in blind, dull agony, How long?--how long? - - - - - February 22. - -Life is a pitiful thing. - - - - - February 23. - -I stand in the midst of my sand and barrenness and gaze hard at -everything that is within my range of vision--and ruin my eyes -trying to see into the darkness beyond. - -And nearly always I feel a vague contempt for you, fine, brave -world--for you and all the things that I see from my barrenness. -But I promise you, if some one comes from among you over the sunset -hill one day with love for me, I will fall at your feet. - -I am a selfish, conceited, impudent little animal, it is true, but, -after all, I am only one grand conglomeration of Wanting--and when -some one comes over the barren hill to satisfy the wanting, I will -be humble, humble in my triumph. - -It is a difficult thing--a most difficult thing--to live on as one -year follows another, from childhood slowly to womanhood, without -one single sharer of your life--to be alone, always alone, when -your one friend is gone. Oh, yes, it is hard! Particularly when one -is not high-minded and spiritual, when one's near longing is not a -God and a religion, when one wants above all things the love of a -human being--when one is a woman, young and all alone. Doubtless you -know this. After all, fine brave world, there are some things that -you know very well. Whether or not you care is a quite different -matter. - -You have the power to take this wooden heart in a tight, suffocating -grasp. You have the power to do this with pain for me, and you have -the power to do it with ravishing gentleness. But whether or not -you will is another matter. - -You may think evil of me before you have finished reading this. -You will be very right to think so--according to your standards. -But sometimes you see evil where there is no evil, and think evil -when the only evil is in your own brains. - -My life is a dry and barren life. You can change it. - - "Oh, the little more, and how much it is! - And the little less, and what worlds away." - -Yes, you can change it. Stranger things have happened. Again, -whether you will--that is a quite different thing. - -No doubt you are the people and wisdom will die with you. I do not -question that. I will admit and believe anything you may assert -about yourselves. I do not want your wisdom, your judgment. I want -some one to come up over the barren sunset hill. My thoughts are -the thoughts of youth, which are said to be long, long thoughts. - -Your life is multi-colored and filled with people. My life is of -the gray of sand and barrenness, and consists of Mary MacLane, the -longing for Happiness, and the memory of the anemone lady. - -This Portrayal is my deepest sincerity, my tears, my drops of red -blood. Some of it is wrung from me--wrung by my ambition to tell -_everything_. It is not altogether good that I should give you all -this, since I do not give it for love of you. I am giving it in -exchange for a few gayly-colored things. I want you to know all -these passions and emotions. I give them with the utmost freedom. I -shall be furious indeed if you do not take them. At the same time, -the fact that I am exchanging my tears and my drops of red blood -for your gayly-colored trifles is not a thing that thrills me with -delight. - -But it's of little moment. When the Devil comes over the hill with -Happiness I will rush at him frantically headlong--and nothing else -will matter. - - - - - February 25. - -Mary MacLane--what are you, you forlorn, desolate little creature? -Why are you not of and in the galloping herd? Why is it that you -stand out separate against the background of a gloomy sky? Why can -you not enter into the lives and sympathies of other young creatures? -There have been times when you strained every despairing nerve to -do so--before you realized that these things were not for you, that -the only sympathy for you was that of Mary MacLane, and the only -things for you were those you could take yourself--not which were -given you. And your things are few, few, you starved, lean little -mud-cat--you worn, youth-weary, obscure little genius! - -Oh, it is a wearisome waiting--for the Devil. - - - - - February 28. - -To-day when I walked over my sand and barrenness I felt Infinite -Grief. - -Everything is beyond me. - -Nothing is mine. - -My single friendship shines brightly before me, and is fascinating--and -always just out of my reach. - -I want the love and sympathy of human beings, and I repel human -beings. - -Yes, I repel human beings. - -There is something about me that faintly and finely and unmistakably -repels. - -When my Happiness comes, shall I be able to have it? Shall I ever -have anything? - -This repellent power is not an outward quality. It is something -that comes from deeply, deeply within. It is something that was -there in the Beginning. It is a thing from the Original. - -There is no ridding myself of it. There is no ridding myself of -it. There is no ridding myself of it. - -Oh, I am damned--damned! - -There is not one soul in the world to feel for me and with me--not -one out of all the millions. No one can understand--_no one_. - -You are saying to yourself that I imagine this. - -What right have you to say so? You don't know anything about me. I -know all about me. I have studied all the elements and phases in -my life for years and years. I do not imagine anything. I am even -fool enough to shut my eyes to some things until, inevitably, I -know I must meet them. I am racked with the passions of youth, and -I am young in years. Beyond that I am mature--old. I am not a child -in anything but my passions and my years. I feel and recognize -everything thoroughly. I have not to imagine anything. My inner -life is before my eyes. - -There is something about me that no one can understand. Can there -ever be any one to understand? Shall I not always walk my barren -road alone? - -This follows me incessantly. It is burning like a smouldering fire -every hour of my life. - -Oh, deep black Despair! - -How I suffer, how I suffer--just in being alive. - -I feel Infinite Grief. - -Oh, Infinite Grief---- - - - - - March 2. - -Often in the early morning I leave my bed and get me dressed and -go out into the Gray Dawn. There is something about the Gray Dawn -that makes me wish the world would stop, that the sun would never -more come up over the edge, that my life would go on and on and -rest in the Gray Dawn. - -In the Gray Dawn every hard thing is hidden by a gray mantle of -charity, and only the light, vague, caressing fancies are left. - -Sometimes I think I am a strange, strange creature--something not -of earth, nor yet of heaven, nor of hell. I think at times I am a -little thing fallen on the earth by mistake: a thing thrown among -foreign, unfitting elements, where there is nothing in touch with -it, where life is a continual struggle, where every little door -is closed--every Why unanswered, and itself knows not where to -lay its head. I feel a deadly certainty in some moments that the -wild world contains not one moment of rest for me, that there will -never be any rest, that my woman's-soul will go on asking long, -long centuries after my woman's-body is laid in its grave. - -I felt this in the Gray Dawn this morning, but the gray charitable -mantle softened it. Always I feel most acutely in the Gray Dawn, -but always there is the thing to soften it. - -The gray atmosphere was charged. There was a tense electrical thrill -in the cold, soft air. My nerves were keenly alive. But the gray -curtain was mercifully there. I did not feel too much. - -How I wished the yellow, beautiful sun would never more come up -over the edge to show me my nearer anguish! - -"Stay with me, stay with me, soft Gray Dawn," implored every one -of my tiny lives. "Let me forget. Let the vanity, the pain, the -longing sink deep and vanish--all of it, all of it! And let me rest -in the midst of the Gray Dawn." - -I heard music--the silent music of myriad voices that you hear when -all is still. One of them came and whispered to me softly: "Don't -suffer any more just now, little Mary MacLane. You suffer enough -in the brightness of the sun and the blackness of the night. This -is the Gray Dawn. Take a little rest." - -"Yes," I said, "I will take a little rest." - -And then a wild, swelling chorus of voices whispered in the -stillness: "Rest, rest, rest, little Mary MacLane. Suffer in the -brightness, suffer in the blackness--your soul, your wooden heart, -your woman's-body. But now a little rest--a little rest." - -"A little rest," I said again. - -And straightway I began resting lest the sun should come too quickly -over the edge. - -When I have heard in summer the wind in a forest of pines, blowing -a wondrous symphony of purity and truth, my varied nature felt -itself abashed and there was a sinking in my wooden heart. The -beauty of it ravished my senses, but it savored crushingly of the -virtue that is far above and beyond me, and I felt a certain sore, -despairing grief. - -But the Gray Dawn is in perfect sympathy. It is quite as beautiful -as the wind in the pines, and its truth and purity are extremely -gentle, and partly hidden under the gray curtain. - -Almost I can be a different Mary MacLane out in the Gray Dawn. Let -me forget all the mingled agonies of my life. Let me walk in the -midst of this soft grayness and drink of the waters of Lethe. - -The Gray Dawn is not Paradise; it is not a Happy Valley; it is not -a Garden of Eden; it is not a Vale of Cashmere. It is the Gray -Dawn--soft, charitable, tender. "The brilliant celestial yellow -will come soon," it says; "you will suffer then to your greatest -extent. But now I am here--and so, rest." - -And so in the Gray Dawn I was forgetting for a brief period. I was -submerged for a little in Lethe, river of oblivion. If I had seen -some one coming over the near horizon with Happiness I should have -protested: Wait, wait until the Gray Dawn has passed. - -The deep, deep blue of the summer sky stirs me to a half-painful -joy. The cool green of a swiftly-flowing river fills my heart with -unquiet longings. The red, red of the sunset sky convulses my entire -being with passion. But the dear Gray Dawn brings me Rest. - -Oh, the Gray Dawn is sweet--sweet! - -Could I not die for very love of it! - -The Gray Dawn can do no wrong. If those myriad voices suddenly had -begun to sing a voluptuous evil song of the so great evil that I -could not understand, but that I could feel instantly, still the -Gray Dawn would have been fine and sweet and beautiful. - -Always I admire Mary MacLane greatly--though sometimes in my -admiration I feel a complete contempt for her. But in the Gray Dawn -I love Mary MacLane tenderly and passionately. - -I seem to take on a strange, calm indifference to everything in the -world but just Mary MacLane and the Gray Dawn. We two are identified -with each other and joined together in shadowy vagueness from the -rest of the world. - -As I walked over my sand and barrenness in the Gray Dawn a poem -ran continuously through my mind. It expressed to me in my gray -condition an ideal life and death and ending. Every desire of my -life melted away in the Gray Dawn except one good wish that my own -life and death might be short and obscure and complete like them. -The poem was this beautiful one of Charles Kingsley's: - - "'Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - Across the sands of Dee!' - The western wind was wild and dank with foam, - And all alone went she. - - "The creeping tide came up along the sand, - And o'er and o'er the sand, - And round and round the sand, - As far as eye could see; - The blinding mist came up and hid the land-- - And never home came she. - - "Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair?-- - A tress of golden hair, - Of drowned maiden's hair, - Above the nets at sea. - Was never salmon yet that shone so fair - Among the stakes on Dee. - - "They rowed her in across the rolling foam, - The cruel, crawling foam, - The cruel, hungry foam, - To her grave beside the sea; - But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home - Across the sands of Dee." - -This is a poem perfect. And in the Gray Dawn it expresses to me a -most desirable thing--a short, eventless life, a sudden ceasing, and -a forgotten voice sometimes calling. This Mary, in the Gray Dawn, -would wish nothing else. If the waters rolled over me now--over my -short, eventless life--there would be the sudden ceasing,--and the -anemone lady would hear my voice sometimes, and remember me--the -anemone lady and one or two others. And after a short time even my -pathetic, passionate voice would sound faint and be forgotten, and -my world of sand and barrenness would know me and my weary little -life-tragedy no more. - -And well for me, I say,--in the Gray Dawn. - -It is different--oh, very different--when the yellow bursts through -the gray. And the yellow is with me all day long, and at sunset--the -red, red line! - -Yet--oh, sweet Gray Dawn! - - - - - March 5. - -Sometimes I am seized with nearer, vivider sensations of love for -my one friend, the anemone lady. - -She is so dear--so beautiful! - -My love for her is a peculiar thing. It is not the ordinary -woman-love. It is something that burns with a vivid fire of its -own. The anemone lady is enshrined in a temple on the inside of my -heart that shall always only be hers. - -She is my first love--my only dear one. - -The thought of her fills me with a multitude of feelings, passionate -yet wonderfully tender,--with delight, with rare, undefined emotions, -with a suggestion of tears. - -Oh, dearest anemone lady, shall I ever be able to forget your -beautiful face! There may be some long, crowded years before -me; it may be there will be people and people entering and -departing--but, oh, no--no, I shall never forget! There will be in -my life always--always the faint sweet perfume of the blue anemone: -the memory of my one friend. - -Before she went away, to see her, to be near her, was an event in -my life--a coloring of the dullness. Always when I used to look -at her there would rush a train of things over my mind, a vaguely -glittering pageant that came only with her, and that held an -always-vivid interest for me. - -There were manifold and varied treasures in this train. There were -skies of spangled sapphire, and there were lilies, and violets wet -with dew. There was the music of violins, and wonderful weeds from -the deep sea, and songs of troubadours, and gleaming white statues. -There were ancient forests of oak and clematis vines; there were -lemon-trees, and fretted palaces, and moss-covered old castles with -moats and draw-bridges and tiny mullioned windows with diamond -panes. There was a cold, glittering cataract of white foam, and -a little green boat far off down the river, drifting along under -drooping willows. There was a tree of golden apples, and a banquet -in a beautiful house with the melting music of lutes and harps, -and mulled orange-wine in tall, thin glasses. There was a field -of long, fine grass, soft as bat's-wool, and there were birds of -brilliant plumage--scarlet and indigo with gold-tipped wings. - -All these and a thousand fancies alike vaguely glittering would -rush over me when I was with the anemone lady. Always my brain was -in a gentle delirium. My nerves were unquiet. - -It was because I love her. - -Oh, there is not--there can never be--another anemone lady! - -My life is a desert--a desert, but the thin, clinging perfume of -the blue anemone reaches to its utter confines. And nothing in the -desert is the same because of that perfume. Years will not fade -the blue of the anemone, nor a thousand bitter winds blow away the -rare fragrance. - -I feel in the anemone lady a strange attraction of sex. There is -in me a masculine element that, when I am thinking of her, arises -and overshadows all the others. - -"Why am I not a man," I say to the sand and barrenness with a certain -strained, tense passion, "that I might give this wonderful, dear, -delicious woman an absolutely perfect love!" - -And this is my predominating feeling for her. - -So, then, it is not the woman-love, but the man-love, set in the -mysterious sensibilities of my woman-nature. It brings me pain and -pleasure mingled in that odd, odd fashion. - -Do you think a man is the only creature with whom one may fall in -love? - -Often I see coming across the desert a long line of light. My -soul turns toward it and shrinks away from it as it does from all -the lights. Some day, perhaps, all the lights will roll into one -terrible white effervescence and rush over my soul and kill it. -But this light does not bring so much of pain, for it is soft and -silvery, and always with it is the Soul of Anemone. - - - - - March 8. - -There are several things in the world for which I, of womankind and -nineteen years, have conceived a forcible repugnance--or rather, -the feeling was born in me; I did not have to conceive it. - -Often my mind chants a fervent litany of its own that runs somewhat -like this: - -From women and men who dispense odors of musk; from little boys -with long curls; from the kind of people who call a woman's figure -her "shape": Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From all sweet girls; from "gentlemen"; from feminine men: Kind -Devil, deliver me. - -From black under-clothing--and any color but white; from hips that -wobble as one walks; from persons with fishy eyes; from the books -of Archibald C. Gunter and Albert Ross: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From the soft persistent, maddening glances of water-cart drivers: -Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From lisle-thread stockings; from round, tight garters; from -brilliant brass belts: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From insipid sweet wine; from men who wear moustaches; from the sort -of people that call legs "limbs"; from bedraggled white petticoats: -Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From unripe bananas; from bathless people; from a waist-line that -slopes up in the front: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From an ordinary man; from a bad stomach, bad eyes, and bad feet: -Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From red note-paper; from a rhinestone-studded comb in my hair; -from weddings: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From cod-fish balls; from fried egg plant, fried beef-steak, fried -pork-chops, and fried French toast: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From wax flowers off a wedding-cake, under glass; from thin-soled -shoes; from tape-worms; from photographs perched up all over my -house: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From soft old bachelors and soft old widowers; from any masculine -thing that wears a pale blue necktie; from agonizing elocutionists -who recite "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-Night," and "The Lips That -Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine"; from a Salvation Army singing -hymns in slang: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From people who persist in calling my good body "mere vile clay"; -from idiots who appear to know all about me and enjoin me not to -bathe my eyes in hot water since it hurts their own; from fools -who tell me what I "want" to do: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From a nice young man; from tin spoons; from popular songs: Kind -Devil, deliver me. - -From pleasant old ladies who tell a great many uninteresting, obvious -lies; from men with watch-chains draped across their middles; from -some paintings of the old masters which I am unable to appreciate; -from side-saddles: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From the kind of man who sings, "Oh, Promise Me!"--who sings _at_ -it; from constipated dressmakers; from people who don't wash their -hair often enough: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -From a servant girl with false teeth; from persons who make a -regular practice of rubbing oily mixtures into their faces; from -a bed that sinks in the middle: Kind Devil, deliver me. - -And so on and on and on. And in each petition I am deeply sincere. -But, kind Devil, only bring me Happiness and I will more than -willingly be annoyed by all these things. Happiness for two days, kind -Devil, and then, if you will, languishing widowers, lisle-thread -stockings--anything, for the rest of my life. - -And hurry, kind Devil, pray--for I am weary. - - - - - March 9. - -It is astonishing to me how very many contemptible, petty vanities -are lodged in the crevices of my genius. My genius itself is one -grand good vanity--but it is not contemptible. And even those -little vanities--though they are contemptible, I do not hold them -in contempt by any means. I smile involuntarily at their absurdness -sometimes, but I know well that they have their function. - -They are peculiarly of my mind, my humanness, and they are useful -therein. When this mind stretches out its hand for things and finds -only wilderness and Nothingness all about it, and draws the hand -back empty, then it can only turn back--like my soul--to itself. -And it finds these innumerable little vanities to quiet it and help -it. My soul has no vanity, and it has nothing, nothing to quiet it. -My soul is wearing itself out, eating itself away. These vanities -are a miserable substitute for the rose-colored treasures that it -sees a great way off and even imagines in its folly that it may -have, if it continues to reach after them. Yet the vanities are -something. They prevent my erratic, analytical mind from finding -a great Nothing when it turns back upon itself. - -If I were not so unceasingly engrossed with my sense of misery and -loneliness my mind would produce beautiful, wonderful logic. I am a -genius--a genius--a genius. Even after all this you may not realize -that I am a genius. It is a hard thing to show. But, for myself, -I feel it. It is enough for me that I feel it. - -I am not a genius because I am foreign to everything in the world, -nor because I am intense, nor because I suffer. One may be all of -these and yet not have this marvelous perceptive sense. My genius is -because of nothing. It was born in me as germs of evil were born -in me. And mine is a genius that has been given to no one else. -The genius itself enables me to be thoroughly convinced of this. - -It is hopeless, never-ending loneliness! - -My ancestors in their Highlands--some of them--were endowed with -second sight. My genius is not in the least like second sight. That -savors of the supernatural, the mysterious. My genius is a sound, -sure, earthly sense, with no suggestion of mystery or occultism. -It is an inner sense that enables me to feel and know things that -I could not possibly put into thought, much less into words. It -makes me know and analyze with deadly minuteness every keen, tiny -damnation in my terrible lonely life. It is a mirror that shows -me myself and something in myself in a merciless brilliant light, -and the sight at once sickens and maddens me and fills me with an -unnamed woe. It is something unspeakably dreadful. The sight for -the time deadens all thought in my mind. It freezes my reason and -intellect. Logic can not come to my aid. I can only feel and know -the thing and it analyzes itself before my eyes. - -I am alone with this--alone, alone, alone! There is no pitiful hand -extended from the heights--there is no human being--ah, there is -Nothing. - -How can I bear it! Oh, I ask you--how can I bear it! - - - - - March 10. - -My genius is an element by itself, and it is not a thing that I can -tell in so many words. But it makes itself felt in every point of -my life. This book would be a very different thing if I were not a -genius--though I am not a literary genius. Often people who come in -contact with me and hear me utter a few commonplace remarks feel -at once that I am extraordinary. - -I am extraordinary. - -I have tried longingly, passionately, to think that even this sand -and barrenness is mine. But I can not. I know beyond the shadow -of a doubt that it, like all good things, is beyond me. It has -something that I also have. In that is our bond of sympathy. - -But the sand and barrenness itself is not mine. - -Always I think there is but one picture in the world more perfect -in its art than the picture of me in my sand and barrenness. It -is the picture of the Christ crucified with two thieves. Nothing -could be more divinely appropriate. The art in it is ravishingly -perfect. It is one of the few perfect pictures set before the world -for all time. As I see it before my mind I can think only of its -utter perfectness. I can summon no feeling of grief at the deed. The -deed and the art are perfect. Its perfectness ravishes my senses. - -And within me I feel that the picture of me in my sand and -barrenness--knowing that even the sand and barrenness is not mine--is -only second to it. - - - - - March 11. - -Sometimes when I go out on the barrenness my mind wanders afar. - -To-day it went to Greece. - -Oh, it was very beautiful in Greece! - -There was a wide, long sky that was vividly, wonderfully blue. And -there was a limitless sea that was gray and green. And it went far to -the south. The sky and the sea spread out into the vast world--two -beautiful elements, and they fell in love with each other. And the -farther away they were the nearer they moved together until at last -they met and clasped each other in the far distance. There were -tall, dark-green trees of kinds that are seen only in Greece. They -murmured and whispered in the stillness. The wind came off from the -sea and went over them and around them. They quivered and trembled -in shy, ecstatic joy--for the wind was their best-beloved. There -were banks of moss of a deep emerald color, and golden flowers that -drooped their heavy sensual heads over to the damp black earth. -And they also loved each other, and were with each other, and were -glad. Clouds hung low over the sea and were dark-gray and heavy with -rain. But the sun shone from behind them at intervals with beams of -bronze-and-copper. Three white rocks rose up out of the sea, and -the bronze-and-copper beams fell upon them, and straightway they -were of gold. - -Oh, how beautiful were those three gold rocks that came up out of -the sea! - -Aphrodite once came up out of this same sea. She came gleaming, -with golden hair and beautiful eyes. Her skin glowed with tints of -carmine and wild rose. Her white feet touched the smooth, yellow -sand on the shore. The white feet of Aphrodite on the yellow sand -made a picture of marvelous beauty. She was flushed in the joy of -new life. - -But the bronze-and-copper sunshine on the three white rocks was -more beautiful than Aphrodite. - -I stood on the shore and looked at the rocks. My heart contracted -with the pain that beautiful things bring. - -The bronze-and-copper in the wide gray and green sea! - -"This is the gateway of Heaven," I said to myself. "Behind those -three gold rocks there is music and the high notes of happy voices." -My soul grew faint. "And there is no sand and barrenness there, -and no Nothingness, and no bitterness, and no hot, blinding tears. -And there are no little heart-weary children, and no lonely young -women--oh, there is no loneliness at all!" My soul grew more and -more faint with thinking of it. "And there is no heart there but -that is pure and joyous and in Peace--in long, still, eternal -Peace. And every life comes there to its own; and every earth-cry -is answered, and every earth-pain is ended; and the dark spirit of -Sorrow that hangs always over the earth is gone--gone,--beyond the -gateway of Heaven. And more than all, Love is there and walks among -the dwellers. Love is a shining figure with radiant hands, and it -touches them all with its hands so that never-dying love enters into -their hearts. And the love of each for another is like the love of -each for self. And here at last is Truth. There is searching and -searching over the earth after Truth--and who has found it? But -here is it beyond the gateway of Heaven. Those who enter in know -that it is Truth at last." - -And so Peace and Love and Truth are there behind the three gold -rocks. - -And then my soul could no longer endure the thought of it. - -Suddenly the sun passed behind a heavy, dark-gray cloud, and -the bronze-and-copper faded from the three rocks and left them -white--very white in the wide water. - -The yellow flowers laid their heads drowsily down on the emerald -moss. The wind from off the sea played very gently among the -motionless branches of the tall trees. The blue, blue sky and the -wide, gray-green sea clasped each other more closely and mingled -with each other and became one vague, shadowy element--and from -it all I brought my eyes back thousands of leagues to my sand and -barrenness. - -The sand and barrenness is itself an element, and I have known it -a long, long time. - - - - - March 12. - -Everything is so dreary--so dreary. - -I feel as if I would like to die to-day. I should not be the tiniest -bit less unhappy afterward--but this life is unutterably weary. I -am not strong. I can not bear things. I do not want to bear things. -I do not long for strength. I want to be happy. - -When I was very little, it was cold and dreary also, but I was -certain it would be different when I should grow and be ten years -old. It must be very nice to be ten, I thought,--and one would not -be nearly so lonesome. But when the years passed and I was ten it -was just exactly as lonesome. And when I was ten everything was -very hard to understand. - -But it will surely be different when I am seventeen, I said. I will -know so much when I am seventeen. But when I was seventeen it was -even more lonely, and everything was still harder to understand. - -And again I said--faintly--everything will become clearer in a few -years more, and I will wonder to think how stupid I have always been. -But now the few years more have gone and here I am in loneliness that -is more hopeless and harder to bear than when I was very little. -Still, I wonder indeed to think how stupid I have been--and now I -am not so stupid. I do not tell myself that it will be different -when I am five-and-twenty. - -For I know that it will not be different. - -I know that it will be the same dreariness, the same Nothingness, -the same loneliness. - -It is very, very lonely. - -It is hope deferred and maketh the heart sick. - -It is more than I can bear. - -Why--_why_ was I ever born! - -I can not live, and I can not die--for what is there after I am -dead? I can see myself wandering in dark and lonely places. - -Yet I feel as if I would like to die to-day. - - - - - March 13. - -If it were pain alone that one must bear, one could bear it. One -could lose one's sense of everything but pain. - -But it is pain with other things. It is the sense of pain with the -sense of beauty and the sense of the anemone. And there is that -mysterious pain. - -Who knows the name of that mysterious pain? - -It is these mingled senses that torture me. - - - - - March 14. - -I have been placed in this world with eyes to see and ears to hear, -and I ask for Life. Is it to be wondered at? Is it so strange? -Should I be content merely to see and to hear? There are other -things for other people. Is it atrocious that I should ask for some -other things also? - -Is thy servant a dog? - - - - - March 15. - -In these days of approaching emotional Nature even the sand and -barrenness begins to stir and rub its eyes. - -My sand and barrenness is clothed in the awful majesty of countless -ages. It stands always through the never-ending march of the living -and the dead. It may have been green once--green and fertile, and -birds and snakes and everything that loves green growing things may -have lived in it. It may have sometime been rolling prairie. It -may have been submerged in floods. It changed and changed in the -centuries. Now it is sand and barrenness, and there are no birds and -no snakes; only me. But whatever change came to it, whatever its -transfiguration, the spirit of it never moved. Flood, or fertility, -or rolling prairie, or barrenness--it is only itself. It has a -great self, a wonderful self. - -I shall never forget you, my sand and barrenness. - -Some day, shall my thirsty life be watered, my starved heart fed, -my asking voice answered, my tired soul taken into the warmth of -another with the intoxicating sweetness of love? - -It may be. - -But I shall remember the sand and barrenness that is with me in my -Nothingness. The sand and barrenness and the memory of the anemone -lady are all that are in any degree mine. - -And so then I shall remember it. - -As I stand among the barren gulches in these days and look away at -the slow-awakening hills of Montana, I hear the high, swelling, -half-tired, half-hopeful song of the world. As I listen I know that -there are things, other than the Virtue and the Truth and the Love, -that are not for me. There is beyond me, like these, the unbreaking, -undying bond of human fellowship--a thing that is earth-old. - -It is beyond me, and it is nothing to me. - -In my intensest desires--in my widest longings--I never go beyond -_self_. The ego is the all. - -Limitless legions of women and men in weariness and in joy are one. -They are killing each other and torturing each other, and going -down in sorrow to the dust. But they are one. Their right hands -are joined in unseen sympathy and kinship. - -But my two hands are apart, and clasped together in an agony of -loneliness. - -I have read of women who have been strongly, grandly brave. Sometimes -I have dreamed that I might be brave. The possibilities of this -life are magnificent. - -To be saturated with this agony, I say at times, and to bear with -it all; not to sink beneath it, but to vanquish it, and to make -it the grace and comeliness of my entire life from the Beginning -to the End! - -Perhaps a woman--a real woman--could do this. - -But I?--No. I am not real--I do not seem _real_ to myself. In such -things as these my life is a blank. - -There was Charlotte Corday--a heroine whom I admire above all the -heroines. And more than she was a heroine she was a woman. And she -had her agony. It was for love of her fair country. - -To suffer and do and die for love of something! It is glorious! -What must be the exalted ecstasy of Charlotte Corday's soul now! - -And I--with all my manifold passions--I am a coward. - -I have had moments when, vaguely and from far off, it seemed as if -there might be bravery and exaltation for me,--when I could rise -far over myself. I have felt unspeakable possibilities. While they -lasted--what wonderful emotion was it that I felt? - -But they are not real. - -They fade away--they fade away. - -And again come the varied phenomena of my life to bewilder and -terrify me. - -Confusion! Chaos! Damnation! They are not moments of exaltation -now. Poor little Mary MacLane! - -"If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels -had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces." - -I do not know what to do. - -I do not know what were good to do. - -I would do nothing if I knew. - -I might add to my litany this: Most kind Devil, deliver me--from -myself. - - - - - March 16. - -To-day I walked over the sand, and it was almost beautiful. The -sun was sinking and the sky was filled with roses and gold. - -Then came my soul and confronted me. My soul is wondrous fair. It -is like a young woman. The beauty of it is too great for human eyes -to look upon. It is too great for mine. Yet I look. - -My soul said to me: "I am sick." - -I answered: "And I am sick." - -"We may be well," said my soul. "Why are we not well?" - -"How may we be well?" I asked. - -"We may throw away all our vanity and false pride," said my soul. -"We way take on a new life. We may learn to wait and to possess -ourselves in patience. We may labor and overcome." - -"We can do none of these things," I cried. "Have I not tried all -of them some time in my short life? And have I not waited and -wanted until you have become faint with pain? Have I not looked -and longed? Dear soul, why do you not resign yourself? Why can you -not stay quiet and trouble yourself and me no more? Why are you -always straining and reaching? There isn't anything for you. You -are wearing yourself out." - -My soul made answer: "I may strain and reach until only one worn -nerve of me is left. And that one nerve may be scourged with whips -and burned with fire. But I will keep one atom of faith. I may go -bad, but I will keep one atom of faith in Love and in the Truth -that is Love. You are a genius, but I am no genius. The years--a -million of years--may do their utmost to destroy the single nerve. -They may lash and beat it. I will keep my one atom of faith." - -"You are not wise," I said. "You have been wandering and longing -for a time that seems a thousand years--through my cold, dark -childhood to my cold, dark womanhood. Is that not enough to quiet -you? Is that not enough to teach you the lesson of Nothing? You -are not a genius, but you are not a fool." - -"I will keep my one atom of faith," said my soul. - -"But lie and sleep now," I said. "Don't reach after that Light any -more. Let us both sleep a few years." - -"No," said my soul. - -"Oh, my soul," I wailed, "look away at that glowing copper -horizon--and beyond it. Let us go there now and take an infinite -rest. Now! We can bear this no longer." - -"No," said my soul; "we will stay here and bear more. There would -be no rest yet beyond the copper horizon. And there is no need of -going anywhere. I have my one atom of faith." - -I gazed at my soul as it stood plainly before me, weak and worn and -faint, in the fading light. It had one atom of faith, it said, -and tried to hold its head high and to look strong and triumphant. -Oh, the irony--the pathos of it! - -My soul, with its one pitiful atom of faith, looked only what it -was--a weeping, hunted thing. - - - - - March 17. - -In some rare between-whiles it is as if nothing mattered. My heart -aches, I say; my soul wanders; this person or that person was -repelled to-day; but nothing matters. - -A great inner languor comes like a giant and lays hold of me. I -lie fallow beneath it. - -Some one forgot me in the giving of things. But it does not matter. -I feel nothing. - -Persons say to me, don't analyze any more and you will not be -unhappy. - -When Something throws heavy clubs at you and you are hit by them, -don't be hurt. When Something stronger than you holds your hands -in the fire, don't let it burn you. When Something pushes you into -a river of ice, don't be cold. When something draws a cutting lash -across your naked shoulders, don't let it concern you--don't be -conscious that it is there. - -This is great wisdom and fine, clear logic. - -It is a pity that no one has ever yet been able to live by it. - -But after all it's no matter. Nothing is any one's affair. It is -all of no consequence. - -And have I not had all my anguish for nothing? I am a fool--a fool. - -A handful of rich black mud in a pig's yard--does it wonder why it -is there? Does it torture itself about the other mud around it, and -about the earth and water of which it is made, and about the pig? -Only fool's mud would do so. And so, then, I am fool's mud. - -Nothing counts. Nothing can possibly count. - -Regret, passion, cowardice, hope, bravery, unrest, pain, the -love-sense, the soul-sense, the beauty-sense--all for nothing! What -can a handful of rich black mud in a pig's yard have to do with -these? I am a handful of rich black mud--a fool-woman, fool's mud. - -All on earth that I need to do is to lie still in the hot sun and -feel the pig rolling and floundering and slushing about. It were -folly to waste my mud nerves in wondering. Be quiet, fool-woman, -let things be. Your soul is a fool's-mud soul and is governed by -the pig; your heart is a fool's-mud heart, and wants nothing beyond -the pig; your life is a fool's-mud life, and is the pig's life. - -Something within me shrieks now, but I do not know what it is--nor -why it shrieks. - -It groans and moans. - -There is no satisfaction in being a fool--no satisfaction at all. - - - - - March 18. - -But yes. It all matters, whether or no. Nature is one long battle, -and the never-ending perishing of the weak. I must grind and grind -away. I have no choice. And I must know that I grind. - -Fool, genius, young lonely woman--I must go round and round in the -life within, for how many years the Devil knows. After that my soul -must go round and round, for how many centuries the Devil knows. - -What a master-mind is that of the Devil! The world is a wondrous -scheme. For me it is a scheme that is black with woe. But there -may be in the world some one who finds it beautiful Real Life. - -I wonder as I write this Portrayal if there will be one person to -read it and see a thing that is mingled with every word. It is -something that you must feel, that must fascinate you, the like of -which you have never before met with. - -It is the unparalleled individuality of me. - -I wish I might write it in so many words of English. But that is -not possible. If I have put it in every word and if you feel it -and are fascinated, then I have done very well. - -I am marvelously clever if I have done so. - -I know that I am marvelously clever. But I have need of all my -peculiar genius to show you my individuality--my aloneness. - -I am alone out on my sand and barrenness. I should be alone if my -sand and barrenness were crowded with a thousand people each filled -with melting sympathy for me--though it would be unspeakably sweet. - -People say of me, "She's peculiar." They do not understand me. If -they did they would say so oftener and with emphasis. - -And so I try to put my individuality in the quality of my diction, -in my method of handling words. - -My conversation plainly shows this individuality--more than shows -it, indeed. My conversation hurls it violently at people's heads. -My conversation--when I choose--makes people turn around in their -chairs and stare and give me all of their attention. They admire -me, though their admiration is mixed decidedly with other feelings. - -I like to be admired. - -It soothes my vanity. - -When you read this Portrayal you will admire me. You will surely -have to admire me. - -And so this is life, and everything matters. - -But just now I will stop writing and go downstairs to my dinner. -There is a porterhouse steak, broiled rare, and some green young -onions. Oh, they are good! And when one is to have a porterhouse -steak for one's dinner--and some green young onions, one doesn't -give a tupenny dam whether anything else matters or not. - - - - - March 19. - -On a day when the sky is like lead and a dull, tempestuous wilderness -of gray clouds adds a dreariness to the sand, there is added to -the loneliness of my life a deep bitterness of gall and wormwood. - -Out of my bitterness it is easy for bad to come. - -Surely Badness is a deep black pool wherein one may drown dullness -and Nothingness. - -I do not know Badness well. It is something material that seems -a great way off now, but that might creep nearer and nearer as I -became less and less young. - -But now when the day is of the leaden dullness I look at Badness -and long for it. I am young and all alone, and everything that is -good is beyond my reach. But all that is bad--surely that is within -the reach of every one. - -I wish for a long pageant of bad things to come and whirl and rage -through this strange leaden life of mine and break the spell. - -Why should it not be Badness instead of Death? Death, it seems, -will bring me but a change of agony. Badness would perhaps so crowd -my life with its vivid phenomena that they would act as a neurotic -to the racked nerves of my Nothingness. It would be an outlet--and -possibly I could forget some things. - -I think just now of a woman who lived long ago and in whom the -world at large seems not to have found anything admirable. I mean -Messalina Valeria, the wife of the stupid emperor Claudius. I have -conceived a profound admiration for this historic wanton. She may -not indeed have had anything to forget; she may not have suffered. -But she had the strength of will to take what she wanted, to do as -she liked, to live as she chose to live. - -It is admirable and beautiful beyond expression to sacrifice and -give up and wait for love of that good that gives in itself a just -reward. And only next to this is the throwing to the winds of all -restraint when the good holds itself aloof and gives nothing. We -are weak, contemptible fools who do not grasp the resources within -our reach when there is no just reward for our restraint. Why do we -not take what we want of the various temptations? It is not that -we are virtuous. It is that we are cowards. - -And it is worth while to remain true to an ideal that offers only -the vaguest hopes of realization? It is not philosophy. When one has -made up one's mind that one wants a dish of hot stewed mushrooms, and -set one's heart on it, should one scorn a handful of raw evaporated -apples, if one were starving, for the sake of the phantom dish of -hot stewed mushrooms? Should one say, Let me starve, but I will -never descend to evaporated apples; I will have nothing but a dish -of hot stewed mushrooms? If one is sure one will have the stewed -mushrooms finally, before one dies of starvation, then very well. -One should wait for them and take nothing else. - -But it is not in my good peripatetic philosophy to pass by the Badness -that the gods provide for the sake of a far-away, always-unrealized -ideal, however brilliant, however beautiful, however golden. - -When the lead is in the sky and in my life, a vision of Badness looms -up on the horizon and looks at me and beckons with a fascinating -finger. Then I say to myself, What is the use of this unsullied, -struggling soul; this unbesmirched, empty heart; this treasureless, -innocent mind; this insipid maid's-body? There are no good things -for them. But here, to be sure, are fascinating, glittering bad -things--the goods that the gods provide, the compensation of the -Devil. - -Comes Death, some day, I said--but to die, in the sight of glittering -bad things--and I only nineteen! These glittering things appear -fair. - -There is really nothing evil in the world. Some things appear -distorted and unnatural because they have been badly done. Had -they been perfect in conception and execution they would strike -one only with admiration at their fine, iridescent lights. You -remember Don Juan and Haidee. That, to be sure, was not evil in any -event--they loved each other. But if they had had only a passing, if -intense, fancy for one another, who would call it evil? Who would -call it anything but wonderful, charming, enchanting? The Devil's -bad things--like the Devil's good things--may gleam and glisten, -oh, how they may gleam and glisten! I have seen them do so, not -only in a poem of Byron's, but in the life that is. - -Always when the lead is in the sky I would like to cultivate -thoroughly this branch of the vineyard. Now doesn't it make you -shiver to think of this dear little Mary MacLane wandering unloved -through dark by-ways and deadly labyrinths? It makes me shiver. -But it needn't. If I am to wander unloved, why not as well wander -there as through Nothingness? - -I fancy it must be wonderfully easy to become used to the many-sided -Badness. I have lived my nineteen years in the midst of Nothingness, -and I have not yet become used to it. It has sharp knives in it, -has Nothingness. Badness may have some sharp knives also--but there -are other things. Yes, there are other things. - -Kind Devil, if you are not to fetch me Happiness, then slip off -from your great steel key-ring a bright little key to the door of -the glittering, gleaming bad things, and give it me, and show me -the way, and wish me joy. - -I would like to live about seven years of judicious Badness, and then -Death, if you will. Nineteen years of damnable Nothingness, seven -years of judicious Badness--and then Death. A noble ambition! But -might it not be worse? If not that, then nineteen years of damnable -Nothingness, and then Death. No; when the lead is in the sky that -does not appeal to me. My versatile mind turns to the seven years -of judicious Badness. - -There is nothing in the world without its element of Badness. It is -in literature; it is in every art--in pictures, sculpture, even in -music. There are certain fine, deep, minute passages in Beethoven -and in Chopin that tell of things wonderfully, sublimely bad. Chopin -one can not understand. Is there any one in the world who can -understand him? But we know at once that there is the Badness--and -it is music! - -There is the element of Badness in me. - -I long to cultivate my element of Badness. Badness compared to -Nothingness is beautiful. And so, then, I wait also for some one to -come over the hill with things other than Happiness. But whatever -I wait for, nothing comes. - - - - - March 20. - -There were pictures in the red sunset sky to-day. I looked at them -and was racked with passions of desire. I fancied to myself that I -could have any of the good things in the pictures for the asking -and the waiting. The while I knew that when the sunset should fade -from the sky I would be overwhelmed by my heaviest woe. - -There was a picture of intense peace. There were stretches of flat, -green country, and oak-trees and aspens, and a still, still lake. -In the dim distance you could see fields of wheat and timothy-grass -that moved a little as if in the wind. You could fancy the cows -feeding just below the brow of the near hills, and a hawk floating -and wheeling among the clouds. A rainbow arched over the lake. -There is nothing lacking here, I thought. "Life and health and -peace possessing." Give me this, kind Devil. - -There was a picture of endless, limitless strength. There were the -oak-trees again but bereft now of every leaf, and the bristling, -jagged rocks back of them were not more coldly staunch. The sun -poured brilliantly bright upon them. A river flowed unmoved and quiet -between yellow clay banks. A tornado might sweep over this and not -one twig would be displaced, not one ripple would come to the river. -Is it not fine! I said to myself. No feeling, no self-analysis, -no aching, no pain--and the strength of the Philistines. Oh, kind -Devil, I entreat you, let me have that! - -There was a picture of untrammeled revel and forgetfulness. There -were fields of swaying daffodils and red lilies. The young shrubs -tossed their heads and were joyous. Lambs gamboled and the happy -meadow-lark knew whereof she sang. - - "The winds with wonder whist - Smoothly the waters kissed." - -Be carefree, be light-hearted, be wicked--above all, forget. The -deeds are what you will; the time is now; the aftermath is nothing; -the day of reckoning is never. Love things lightly, take all that -you see, and to the winds with regret! Gracious Devil, I whispered -intensely, give me this and no other! - -There was a picture of raging elements. "The winds blew, and the -rains descended and the floods came." The sky was overcast with -rolling clouds. The air was heavy with unrest. There was a gray -stone house set upon a rocky point, and I had momentary glimpses of -an unquiet sea below it. Back on the surface of the land slender -trees were waving wildly in the gale. The wind and the rain were -saying, "Damn you, little earth, I have you now,--I will rend and -ruin you." They whipped and raged in frenzied joy. The little earth -liked it. The elements whirled and whistled round the gray stone -house. A lurid light came from a ghastly moon between clouds. The -entire scene was desolately savage and forlorn, but attractive. -As I listened in fancy to that shrieking, wailing wind, and saw -green branches jerked and twisted asunder in the storm, my barren, -defrauded heart leaped and exulted. If I could live in the midst -of this and be beaten and shaken roughly, would not that deep -sense forget to ache? Kind Devil, pray send me some storms. It is -Nothingness that bears down heavy. - -There was a picture of an exalted spiritual life. There was that -strange bright light. And the things in the picture were those things -alone in this world that are real, and the only things that count. -The old, soft green of the old, old rolling hills was the green of -love--the earth-love and the love that comes from beyond the earth. -The air and the blue water and the sunshine were so beautifully -real and true that except for their deep-reaching, passionate -tenderness human strength could not endure them. There were lanes -of climbing vines and white violets. Was it my fancy that brought -their thin fragrance to me over piles of billowy clouds? There was -something there that was old--old as the race. Those green valleys -were the same as when the mists first lifted from the earth. As I -looked my life stood still. My soul shivered faintly. As I looked I -felt nearer, my God, to thee--though I have no God and everything -is away from me, nothing tender comes to me. - -Still it was nearer, my God, to thee. - -A voice came out of the far, far distant ages and said very gently: -"All these shadows are falling in vain. You are blinded and bewildered -in the darkness--the darkness is deep--deep. There is not one dim -ray of light. Your feet falter and stumble. You can not see. But -the shadows are falling in vain." - -I ask you, Why is this life not mine? - -I implore and wring my hands in agonized entreaty, and almost it -seems sometimes my fingers can grasp these things--but there is -something cold and strong between them and me. Oh, what is it! - -There was a picture of various castles in Spain. They were most -beautiful, were those castles. The lights that shone on the -battlements were soft, bright lights. For one thing, I fancied I -saw myself and Fame with me. Fame is very fine. The sun and moon -and stars may go dark in the Heavens. Bitter rain may fall out of -the clouds. But never mind. Fame has a sun and moon and gently -brilliant stars of her own, and these, shining once, shine always. -The green river may run dry in the land. But Fame has a green river -that never runs dry. One may wander over the face of the earth. -But Fame is herself a refuge. One may be a target for stones and -mud. Yes--but Fame stands near with her arm laid across one's -shoulders--as no other arm can be laid across one's shoulders. Fame -would fill several empty places. Fame would continue to fill them -for some years. - -Fame, if you please, Devil. - -There was a picture of Death. I saw a figure lying in the midst -of a desert that was rather like my sand and barrenness. Not far -off a wolf sat on his haunches and waited for the end. A buzzard -perched near and waited also. They both appeared hungry. It seemed -as though the end might come quickly. - -Let it come, kind Devil. - -And a wolf and a buzzard are better than an undertaker and some -worms. Although that doesn't much matter. - -And oh, there again was the dearest picture of all--the red, red -picture of Happiness for me, Happiness with the sunshine falling -on the Heaven-kissing hills! There was I, and I loved and was -loved. I--out of loneliness into perfect Happiness! The yellow-gold -of the glorious hot sun melted and poured over the earth and over -everything that was there. The river ran and rippled and sang the -most sweetly glad song that ever river sang. Winged things sparkled -in the gold light and flew down the sky. "The wonderful air was over -me; the wonderful wind was shaking the tree." The silent voices in -the air rang out like flutes and clarionets. And the love of the -man-devil for me was everywhere--above me, around me, within me. -It would last for a number of beautiful yellow-gold days. I--out -of the anguish of loneliness into this! - -My heart is filled with desire. - -My soul is filled with passion. - -My life is a life of longing. - -All pictures fade before this picture. They fade completely. When -the sun itself faded I gazed over my sand and barrenness with -blurred, unseeing eyes and wished only with a heavy, desolate spirit -for the coming of the Devil. - - - - - March 21. - -Some people think, absurdly enough, that to be Scotch or descended -from the Scottish clans is to be rather strong, rather conservative, -firm in faith, and all that. The idea is one that should be completely -exploded by this time. I think that the Scotch as a nation are the -most difficult of all to characterize. Their traits and tendencies -cover a wider field than those of any other. To be Scotch is to -be anything. There is no man so narrow as a Scotchman. There is -no man so broad as a Scotchman. There is no mind so versatile as -a Scotch mind. At the same time only a Scotch mind is capable of -clinging with bull-dog tenacity to one idea. A Scotch heart out of -all, and through all, can be true as death. A Scotch heart--the -same one--can be cunning and treacherous as false human hearts are -made. To be English is to have limits; the Germans, the French, -the Russians--they have all some inevitable attributes to modify -their genius. - -But one may be anything--anything, if one is Scotch. - -Always I think of the cruel, hardened, ferocious, weather-beaten, -kilted Clan MacLean wandering over bleak winter hills, fighting the -powerful MacDonalds and MacGregors--and generally wiping them from -the earth,--marching away with merrily shrieking pipes from fields -of withered, blood-soaked heather--and all this merely to gather -intensified life for me. I feel that the causes of my tragedy began -long, long ago from remote germs. - -My Scotch blood added to my genius sense has made me into a dangerous -chemical compound. By analyzing I have brought an almost clear -portrait of myself up before my mind's eyes. - -When I was a child I did not analyze knowingly, but the child was -this same genius, though I am one of the kind that changes widely -and decidedly in the years. This weary unhappiness is not a matter -of development. - -When I was a child I felt dumbly what I feel now less dumbly. At -the age of five I used sometimes to weep silently in the night--I -did not know why. It was that I felt my aloneness, my foreignness -to all things. I felt the heavy, heavy weight of life--and I was -only five. - -I was only five, and it seems a thousand years ago. But sometimes -back through the long, winding, unused passages of my mind I hear -that silent sobbing of the child and the unarmed wailing of a tiny, -tired soul. - -It mingles with the bitter Nothingness of the grown young woman, -and oh, with it all--with it all I am so unhappy! - -There is something subtly _Scotch_ in all this. - -But Scotch or Indian or Japanese, there is no stopping of the pain. - - - - - March 22. - -I fear, do you know, fine world, that you do not yet know me really -well--particularly me of the flesh. Me of the peculiar philosophy -and the unhappy spirit you know rather well by now, unless you -are stupider than I think you are. But you might pass me in the -street--you might spend the day with me--and never suspect that I -am I. Though for the matter of that, even if I had set before you a -most graphic and minutely drawn portrait of myself, I am certainly -clever enough to act a quite different role if I chose--when you -came to spend the day. Still, if the world at large is to know me -as I desire it to know me without ever seeing me, I shall have to -bring myself into closer personal range with it--and you may rise -in your seats and focus your opera-glasses, stare with open mouths, -stand on your hind-legs and gape--I will myself turn on glaring -green and orange lights from the wings. - -I believe that it's the trivial little facts about anything that -describe it the most effectively. In "Vanity Fair," when Beckey -Sharpe was describing young Crawley in a letter to her friend Amelia, -she stated that he had hay-colored whiskers and straw-colored hair. -And knowing this you feel that you know much more about the Crawley -than you would if Miss Sharpe had not mentioned those things. And -yet it is but a mere matter of color! - -When you think that Dickens was extremely fond of cats you feel at -once that nothing could be more fitting. Somehow that marvelously -mingled humor and pathos and gentle irony seem to go exceedingly -well with a fondness for soft, green-eyed, purring things. If you -had not read the pathetic humor, but knew about Dickens and his -warm feline friends you might easily expect such things from him. - -When you read somewhere that Dr. Johnson is said never to have -washed his neck and his ears, and then go and read some of his -powerful, original philosophy, you say to yourself, "Yes, I can -readily believe that this man never troubled himself to wash his -neck and his ears." I, for my part, having read some of the things -he has written, can not reconcile myself to the fact that he ever -washed any part of his anatomy. I admire Dr. Johnson--though I wash -my own neck occasionally. - -When you think of Napoleon amusing himself by taking a child on his -knee and pinching it to hear it cry, you feel an ecstatic little -wave of pleasure at the perfect fitness of things. You think of his -hard, brilliant, continuous victories, and you suspect that Napoleon -Bonaparte lived but to gratify Napoleon Bonaparte. When you think -of the heavy, muscular man smilingly pinching the child, you are -quite sure of it. Such a method of amusement for that king among -men is so exquisitely appropriate that you wonder why you had not -thought of it yourself. - -So, then, yes. I believe strenuously in the efficacy of seemingly -trivial facts as portrayers of one's character--one's individual -humanness. - -Now I will set down for your benefit divers and varied observations -relative to me--an interesting one of womankind and nineteen years, -and curious and fascinating withal. - -Well, then. - -Nearly every day I make me a plate of hot, rich fudge, with brown -sugar (I should be an entirely different person if I made it with -white sugar--and the fudge would not be nearly so good), and take -it upstairs to my room, with a book or a newspaper. My mind then -takes in a part of what is contained in the book or the newspaper, -and the stomach of the MacLane takes in all of what is contained -in the plate. I sit by my window in a miserable, uncomfortable, -stiff-backed chair, but I relieve the strain by resting my feet on -the edge of the low bureau. Usually the book that I read is an old -dilapidated bound volume of that erstwhile periodical, "Our Young -Folks." It is a thing that possesses a charm for me. I never grow -tired of it. As I eat my nice brown little squares of fudge I read -about a boy whose name is Jack Hazard and who, J. T. Trowbridge -informs the reader, is doing his best, and who seems to find it -somewhat difficult. I believe I could repeat pages of J. T. Trowbridge -from memory, and that ancient bound volume has become a part of my -life. I stop reading after a few minutes, but I continue to eat--and -gaze at the toes of my shoes which need polishing badly, or at the -conglomeration of brilliant pictures on my bedroom wall, or out -of the window at the children playing in the street. But mostly -I gaze without seeing, and my versatile mind is engaged either in -nothing or in repeating something over and over, such as, "But the -sweet face of Lucy Gray will never more be seen." Only I am not -aware that I have been repeating it until I happen to remember it -afterward. - -Always the fudge is very good, and I eat and eat with unabated relish -until all the little squares are gone. A very little of my fudge has -been known to give some people a most terrific stomach-ache--but my -own digestive organs seem to like nothing better. It's so brown--so -rich! - -I amuse myself with this for an hour or two in the afternoon. Then -I go downstairs and work awhile. - -There are few things that annoy me so much as to be called a young -lady. I am no lady--as any one could see by close inspection, and -the phrase has an odious sound. I would rather be called a sweet -little thing, or a fallen woman, or a sensible girl--though they -would each be equally a lie. - -Always I am glad when night comes and I can sleep. My mind works -busily repeating things while I divest myself of my various dusty -garments. As I remove a dozen or two of hairpins from my head I -say within me: - - "You are old, father William, one would hardly suppose - That your eye is as steady as ever; - Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- - What made you so awfully clever?" - -Always I take a little clock to bed with me and hang it by a cord -at the head of my bed for company. I have named the clock Little -Fido, because it is so constant and ticks always. It is beginning -to stand in the same relation to me as J. T. Trowbridge's magazine. -If I were to go away from here I should take Little Fido and the -magazine with me. - -Every morning, being beautifully hungry after my walk, I eat three -boiled eggs out of the shell for my breakfast. The while I mentally -thank the kind Providence that invented hens. Also I eat bits of -toast. I have my breakfast alone--because the rest of the family -are still sleeping,--sitting at a corner of the kitchen table. I -enjoy those three eggs and those bits of toast. Usually when I am -eating my breakfast I am thinking of three things: the varying -price of any eggs that are fit to eat; of what to do after I've -finished my housework and before lunch; and of my one friend. And -I meditatively and gently kick the leg of the table with the heel -of my right foot. - -I have beautiful hair. - -In the front of my shirt-waist there are nine cambric handkerchiefs -cunningly distributed. My figure is very pretty, to be sure, but not -so well developed as it will be in five years--if I live so long. -And so I help it out materially with nine cambric handkerchiefs. -You can see by my picture that my waist curves gracefully out. Only -it is not all flesh--some of it is handkerchief. It amuses me to -do this. It is one of my petty vanities. - -Likewise by an ingenious arrangement of my striped moreen petticoat -I contrive to display a more evident pair of hips than Nature seems -to have intended for me at this stage. Doubtless they also will -take on fuller proportions when some years have passed. Still I -am not dissatisfied with them as they are. It is not as if they -were too well developed--in which case I should have need of all -my skill in arranging my moreen petticoat so as to lessen their -effect. It is easy enough to add on to these things, but one would -experience serious difficulty in attempting to take from them. I -hate that heavy, aggressive kind of hips. Moreover, small, graceful -ones are desirable when one is nineteen. The world at large judges -you more leniently on that account--usually. Narrow, shapely -hips may give one an effect of youth and harmlessness which is a -distinct advantage, when, for instance, one is writing a Portrayal -and so will be at the world's mercy. I believe I should not think -of attempting to write a Portrayal if I had hips like a pair of -saddle-bags. Certainly it would avail me nothing. - -Sometimes I look at my face in a mirror and find it not plain but -ugly. And there are other times when I look and find it not pretty -but beautiful with a Madonna-like sweetness. - -I told you I might say more about the liver that is within me -before I have done. Well, then, I will say this: that the world, -if it had a liver like mine, would be very different from what it -is. The world would be many-colored and mobile and passionate and -nervous and high-strung and intensely alive and poetic and romantic -and philosophical and egotistic and pathetic, and, oh, racked to -the verge of madness with the spirit of unrest--if the world had a -liver like mine. It is not all of these now. It is rather stupid. -Gods and little fishes! would not the world be wonderful if all -in it were like me? And it would be if it had a liver like mine. -For it is my liver mostly that makes me what I am--apart from my -genius. My liver is fine and perfect, but sensitive, and, well--it's -a dangerous thing to have within you. - -It is the liver of the MacLanes. - -It is the foundation of the curious castle of my existence. - -And after all, fine, brave, stupid world, you may be grateful to -the Devil that yours is not like it. - -I have seventeen little engraved portraits of Napoleon that I keep -in one of my bureau-drawers. Often late in the evening, between -nine and ten o'clock, when I come in from a walk over the sand and -barrenness, I take these pictures from the drawer and gaze at them -carefully a long time and think of that man until I am stirred to -the depths. - -And then easily and naturally I fall in love with Napoleon. - -If only he were living now, I think to myself, I would make my -way to him by whatever means and cast myself at his feet. I would -entreat him with the most passionate humbleness of spirit to take -me into his life for three days. To be the wife of Napoleon for -three days--that would be enough for a lifetime! I would be much -more than satisfied if I could get three such days out of life. - -I suppose a man is either a villain or a fool, though some of them -seem to be a judicious mingling of both. The type of the distinct -villain is preferable to a mixture of the two, and to a plain fool. -I like a villain anyway--a villain that can be rather tender at -times. And so, then, as I look at the pictures I fall in love with -the incomparable Napoleon. The seventeen pictures are all different -and all alike. I fall in love with each picture separately. - -In one he is ugly and unattractive--and strong. I fall in love -with him. - -In another he is cruel and heartless and utterly selfish--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In a third he has a fat, pudgy look, and is quite insignificant--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In a fourth he is grandly sad and full of despair--and strong. I -fall in love with him. - -In the fifth he is greasy and greedy and common-looking--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the sixth he is masterly and superior and exalted--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the seventh he is romantic and beautiful--and strong. I fall in -love with him. - -In the eighth he is obviously sensual and reeking with uncleanness--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the ninth he is unearthly and mysterious and unreal--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the tenth he is black and sullen-browed, and ill-humored--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the eleventh he is inferior and trifling and inane--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the twelfth he is rough and ruffianly and uncouth--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the thirteenth he is little and wolfish and vile--and strong. -I fall in love with him. - -In the fourteenth he is calm and confident and intellectual--and -strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the fifteenth he is vacillating and fretful and his mouth is -like a woman's--and still he is strong. I fall in love with him. - -In the sixteenth he is slow and heavy and brutal--and strong. I -fall in love with him. - -In the seventeenth he is rather tender--and strong. I fall vividly -in love with him. - -Napoleon was rather like the Devil, I think as I sit in the -straight-backed chair with my feet on the bureau and gaze long and -intently at the seventeen pictures, late in the evening. - -Then I wearily put them away, maddened with the sense of Nothingness, -and take Little Fido and go to bed. - -Sometimes, early in the evening just before dinner, I sit in the -stiff-backed chair with my elbows on the window-sill and my head -resting on one hand, and I look out of the window at a Pile of -Stones and a Barrel of Lime. These are in the vacant lot next to -this house. - -I fix my eyes intently on the Pile of Stones and the Barrel of -Lime. And I fix my thoughts on them also. And some of my widest -thoughts come to me then. - -I feel an overwhelming wave of a kind of pantheism which, at the -moment I feel it, begins slowly to grow less and less and continues -in this until finally it dwindles to a Pile of Stones and a Barrel -of Lime. - -I feel at the moment that the universe is a Pile of Stones and a -Barrel of Lime. They alone are the Real Things. - -Take anything at any point and deceive yourself into thinking that -you are happy with it. But look at it heavily; dig down underneath -the layers and layers of rose-colored mists and you will find that -your Thing is a Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime. - -A struggle or two, a fight, an agony, a passing--and then the only -Real Things: a Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime. - -Damn everything! Afterward you will find that you have done all -your damning for naught. For there is nothing worthy of damnation -except a Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime--and they are not -damnable. They have never harmed you, and moreover they alone are -the Real Things. - -Julius Caesar made many wars. Sir Francis Drake went sailing over -the seas. It was all child's play and counts for nothing. Here are -the Pile of Stones and a Barrel of Lime. - -And so this is how it is early in the evening just before dinner, when -I sit in the uncomfortable chair with my elbows on the window-sill -and my head resting on one hand. - -I have two pictures of Marie Bashkirtseff high upon my wall. -Often I lean my head on the back of the chair with my feet on -the bureau--always with my feet on the bureau--and look at these -pictures. - -In one of them she is eighteen years old and wears a green frock -which is extremely becoming--of which fact the person inside of -it seems fully aware. The other picture is taken from her last -photograph, when she was twenty-four. - -Marie Bashkirtseff is a very beautiful creature. And evidently _she_ -is not obliged to arrange a moreen petticoat over her plumpness. She -has a wonderfully voluptuous look for a woman of eighteen years. In -the later picture vanity is written in every line of her graceful -form and in every feature of that charming face. The picture fairly -yells: "I am Marie Bashkirtseff--and, oh, I am splendid!" - -And as I look at the pictures I am glad. For though she was admirable -and splendid, and all, she was no such genius as I. She had a genius -of her own, it is true. But the Bashkirtseff, with her voluptuous -body and her attractive personality, is after all a bit ordinary. -My genius, though not powerful, is rare and deep, and no one has -ever had or ever will have a genius like it. - -Mary MacLane, if you live--if you live, my darling, the world -will one day recognize your genius. And when once the world has -recognized such genius as this--oh, then no one will ever think of -profaning it by comparing it with any Bashkirtseff! - -But I would give up this genius eagerly, gladly--at once and -forever--for one dear, bright day free from loneliness. - -The portraits of the Bashkirtseff are certainly beautiful, but there -is something about them that is--well, not common, but bourgeois -at least, as if she were a German waitress of unusual appearance, -or an aristocratic shop-girl, or a nurse with good taste who would -walk out on pleasant forenoons wheeling a go-cart--something of -that sort. Perhaps it is because her neck is too short, or because -her wrists are too muscular-looking. I thank a gracious Devil as -I look up at the pictures that I have not those particular points -and that particular bourgeois air. I am bound to confess that I -have one of my own, but mine is Highland Scotch--and anyway, I am -Mary MacLane. - -Marie Bashkirtseff is beautiful enough, however, that she can easily -afford to look rather second-rate. - -I like to look at my two pictures of her. - -I value money literally for its own sake. I like the feeling of -dollars and quarters rubbing softly together in my hand. Always -it reminds me of those lovely chestfuls of gold that Captain Kidd -buried--no one seems to know just where. Usually I keep some -fairly-clean dollars and quarters to handle. "Money is so nice!" -I say to myself. - -If you think, fine world, that I am always interesting and striking -and admirable, always original, showing up to good advantage in a -company of persons, and all--why, then you are beautifully mistaken. -There are times, to be sure, when I can rivet the attention of the -crowd heavily upon myself. But mostly I am the very least among all -the idiots and fools. I show up to the poorest possible advantage. - -Of several ways that are mine there is one that gives me a distinct -and hopeless air of insignificance. I have seen people, having met -me for the first time, glance carelessly at me as if they were quite -sure I had not an idea in my brain--if I had a brain; as if they -wondered why I had been asked there; as if they were fully aware -that they had but to fiddle and "It" would dance. Sometimes before -this highly intellectual gathering breaks up I manage to make them -change their minds with astonishing suddenness. But nearly always I -don't bother about it at all. I go among people occasionally because -it amuses me. It may be a literary club where they talk theosophy, -or it may be a Cornish dance where they have pasty and saffron -cake and the chief amusement is sending beer-bottles at various -heads, or it may be a lady-like circle of married women with cerise -silk drop-skirts and white kid gloves, drinking chocolate in the -afternoon and talking about something "shocking!" - -And often, as I say, I am the least of them. - -Genius is an odd thing. - -When certain of my skirts need sewing, they don't get sewed. I simply -pin the rents in them together and it lasts as long or longer than -if I had seated myself in my stiff-backed chair with a needle and -thread and mended them--like a sensible girl. (I hate a sensible -girl.) - -Though I have never yet hurriedly pinned up a torn flounce or -several inches of skirt-binding without saying softly to myself, -using a trite, expressive phrase, "Certainly, it's a hell of a -way to do." Still I never take a needle and mend my garments. I -couldn't, anyway. I never learned to sew, and I don't intend ever -to learn. It reminds me too much of a constipated dressmaker. - -And so I pin up the torn places--though, as I say, I never fail to -make use of the quaint, expressive phrase. - -All of which a reasonably astute reader will recognize as an -important point in the portraying of any character--whether mine -or the queen of Spain's. - -I had for my dinner to-day some whole-wheat bread, some -liver-and-bacon, and some green, green early asparagus. While I -was eating these the world seemed a very nice place indeed. - -I never see people walking along on the opposite side of the street, -as I sit by my window, without wondering who they are, and how -they live, and how ugly they would look if their bodies were not -adorned with clothes. Always I feel certain that some of them are -bow-legged. - -And sometimes I see a woman in a fearful state of deshabille walk -across the vacant lot next to this. "A plague on me," I say then -to myself, "if I ever become middle-aged and if my entire being -seems to tip up in the front, and if I go about with no stays so -that when I tie an apron around my waist my upper fatness hangs -over the band like a natural blouse." - -And so--I could go on writing all night these seemingly trivial but -really significant details relating to the outer genius. But these -will answer. These to any one who knows things will be a revelation. - -Sometimes you know things, fine brave world. - -You must know likewise that though I do ordinary things, when _I_ -do them they cease to be ordinary. I make fudge--and a sweet girl -makes fudge, but there are ways and ways of doing things. This -entire affair of the fudge is one of my uniquest points. - -No sweet girl makes fudge and eats it, as I make fudge and eat it. - -So it is. - -But, oh--who is to understand all this? Who will understand any -of this Portrayal? My unhappy soul has delved in shadows far, far -beyond and below. - - - - - March 23. - -My philosophy, I find after very little analysis, approaches -precariously near to sensualism. - -It is wonderful how many sides there can be to just one character. - -Nature, with all those suns, and all those hilltops, and all those -rivers, and all those stars, is inscrutable--intangible--maddening. -It affects one with unutterable joy and anguish, but no one can -ever begin to understand what it means. - -Human nature is yet more inscrutable--and nothing appears on the -surface. One can have no idea of the things buried in the minds of -one's acquaintances. And mostly they are fools and have no idea -themselves of what germs are in themselves--of what they are capable. -And in most minds it is true the dormant devils never awaken and -never are known. - -It is another sign of my analytical genius, that I, aged nineteen, -recognize the devils in my character. I have not the slightest wish, -since things are as they are with me, to rid myself of them. There -is in me much more of evil than of good. Genius like mine must -needs have with it manifold bad. "I have in me the germ of every -crime." I have no desire to destroy these germs. I should be glad -indeed to have them develop into a ravaging disease. Something in -this dreadful confusion would then give way. My wooden heart and -my soul would cry out in the darkness less heavily, less bitterly. - -They want something--they know not what. - -I give them poison. - -They snatch it and eat it hungrily. - -Then they are not so hungry. They become quieter. - -The ravaging disease soothes them to sleep--it descends on them -like rain in the autumn. - -When I hurry over my sand and barrenness my vivid passions come -to me--or when I sit and look at the horizon. When I walk slowly I -consider calmly the question of how much evil I should need to kill -off my finer feelings, to poison thoroughly this soul of unrest and -this wooden heart so that they would never more be conscious of -too-brilliant lights, and to make myself over into a quite different -creature. - -A little evil would do--a little of a fine, good quality. - -I should like a man to come (it is always a man, have you ever -noticed?--whatever one contemplates when one is of womankind and -young). I should like a man to come, I said calmly to myself to-day -as I walked slowly over my barrenness--a perfect villain to come -and fascinate me and lead me with strong, gentle allurements to -what would be technically termed my ruin. And as the world views -such things it would be my ruin. But as I view such things it -would not be ruin. It would be a new lease on life. - -Yes, I should like a man to come--any man so that he is strong and -thoroughly a villain, and so that he fascinates me. Particularly -he must fascinate me. There must be no falling in love about it. I -doubt if I could fascinate him, but I should ask him quite humbly -to lead me to my ruin. - -I have never yet seen the man who would not readily respond to such -an appeal. - -This villain would be no exception. - -I would then jerk my life out of this Nothingness by the roots. -Farewell, a long farewell, I would say. Then I would go forth with -the man to my ruin. The man would be bad to his heart's core. And -after living but a short time with him my shy, sensitive soul would -be irretrievably poisoned and polluted. The defilement of so sacred -and beautiful a thing as marriage is surely the darkest evil that -can come to a life. And so everything within me that had turned -toward that too-bright light would then drink deep of the lees of -death. - -The thirst of this incessant unrest and longing, this weariness of -_self_, would be quenched completely. - -My life would be like fertile soil planted thickly with rank wild -mustard. On every square inch of soil there would be a dozen sprouts -of wild mustard. There would be no room--no room at all--for an -anemone to grow. If one should start up, instantly it would be choked -and overrun with wild mustard. But no anemone would start up. - -My life now is a life of pain and revolt. - -My life darkened and partly killed would be more than content to -drift along with the current. - -Oh, it would be a rest! - -The Christians sing, there is rest for the weary, on the other side -of Jordan, where the tree of life is blooming. But that rest, of -course, is for the Christians. My rest will have to come on this -side of Jordan. Let the impress of a thoroughly evil and strong -man be stamped upon my inner life, and I am convinced there would -come a wonderful settled quiet over it. Its spirit would be broken. -It would rest. Why not? I have no virtue-sense. Nothing to me is -of any consequence except to be rid of this unrest and pain. Yes, -surely I might rest. - -The coming of the man-devil would bring rest. But I am fool enough -to think that marriage--the real marriage--is possible for me! - -This other thing is within the reach of every one--of fools and -geniuses alike--and of all that come between. - -And so I want a fascinating wicked man to come and make me positively, -rather than negatively, wicked. I feel a terrific wave of utter -weariness. My life lies fallow. I am tired of sitting here. The -sand and barrenness is gray with age. And I am gray with age. - -Happiness--the red of the sunset sky--is the intensest desire of -my life. - -But I will grasp eagerly anything else that is offered me--_anything_. - -The poisoning of my soul--the passing of my unrest--would rouse -my mental power. My genius would receive a wonderful impetus from -it. You would marvel, good world, at the things I should write. -Not that they would be exalted--not that they would surge upward. -Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles? But they would -be marvels of fire and intensity. I should no longer exhaust much -of my energy in grinding, grinding within. The things that would -come of the thorns and thistles would excite your astonishment and -admiration, though they be not grapes and figs. - -And as for me--the real me--the creature imbued with a spirit of -intense femininity, with a spirit of an intense sense of Love--with -a spirit like that of the Magdalene who loved too much, with the -very soul of unrest and Nothingness--this thing would vanish swiftly -into oblivion, and I should go down a dark world and feel not. - - - - - March 25. - -One of the remarkable points about my life is that it is so -completely, hopelessly alone--a lonely, lonely life. This book of -mine contains but one character--myself. - -There is also the Devil--as a possibility. - -And there is also the anemone lady--my dearest beloved--as a memory. - -I have read books that were written to portray but one character, -and there were various people brought in to help in the portraying. -But my one friend is gone, and there is no person who enters into -my inner life in the very least. I am always alone. I might mingle -with people intimately every hour of my life--still I should be -alone. - -Always alone--alone. - -Not even a God to worship. - -How do I bear this? How do I get through the days and days? - -And, oh, when it all comes over me, what frightful rage--what long -agony of my breaking heart--what utter woe! - -When the stars shine down upon me with cold hatred; when miles -and miles of barrenness stretch out around me and envelop me in -their weary, weary Nothingness; when the wind blows over me like -the breath of a vicious giant; when the ugly, ugly sun radiates -centuries of hard, heavy bitterness around me from its stinging -rays; when the sky maddens me with its cold, careless blue; when the -rivers that are flowing over the earth send echoes to me of their -hateful voices; when I hear wild geese honking in bitter wailing -melody; when bristling edges of jagged rocks cut sharply into my -tired life; when drops of rain fall on me and pierce me like steel -points; when the voices in the air shriek little-minded malice in -my ears; when the green of Nature is the green of spitefulness and -cruelty; when the red, red of the setting sun burns and consumes me -with its horrid feverish effervescence; when I feel the all-hatred -of the Universe for its poor little earth-bugs: then it is that I -approach nearest to Rest. - -The softnesses are my Unrest. - -I do not want those bitter things. - -But I must have them if I would rest. - -I want the softnesses and I want Rest! - -Oh, dear faint soul, it is hard--hard for us. - -We are sick with loneliness. - - - - - March 26. - -Now and again I have torturing glimpses of a Paradise. And I feel -my soul in its pain every moment of my life. Otherwise, how gladly -would I deny the existence of a soul and a life to come! - -For my soul is beset with Nothingness, and the Paradise that shows -itself is not for me. - - - - - March 28. - -Hatred, after all, is the easiest thing of all to bear. - -If you have been forgotten by the one who must have made you, and -if you have been left alone of human beings all your life--all your -nineteen years--then, when at last you see some one looking toward -you with beautiful eyes, and extending to you a beautiful hand, and -showing you a beautiful heart wherein is just a little of beautiful -sympathy for you--for you--oh, that is harder than anything to -bear. Harder than the loneliness and the bitterness--and the tears -are nearer and nearer. - -But one would be hurt often, often for the sake of the beautiful -things. Yes, one would gladly be hurt long and often. - -I shall never forget how it was with me when I first saw the -beautiful eyes of my dearest anemone lady when they were looking -gently--at me--and the beautiful hand, and the beautiful heart. - -The awakening of my racked soul is hardly more heavily laden with -passion and pain. I shall never forget. - -Though I feel away from her also, she is the only one out of all -to look gently at me. - -Let me writhe and falter with pain; let me go mad--but oh, worldful -of people--for the love of your God--give me out of this seething -darkness only one beautiful human hand to touch mine with _love_, -one beautiful human heart to know the aching sad loneliness of mine, -one beautiful, human soul to mingle with mine in long, long Rest. - -Oh, for a human being, my soul wails--a human being to love me! - -Oh, to know--just once--what it is to be loved! - -Nineteen years without one faint shadow of love is mouldy, crumbling -age--is gray with the dust of centuries. - -How long have I lived? - -How long must I live? - -I am shrieking at you, cold, stupid world. - -Oh, the long, long waiting! - -The millions of human beings! - -I am a human being and there is no one--no one--no one. - -Who can know this that has not felt it? You do not know--you can -not know. - -Surely I do not ask too much. But whether or not it is too much I -can not go through the years without it--oh, I can not! - -You have lived your nineteen years, fine world, and you have lived -through some after years. - -But in your nineteen years there was some one to love you. - -It is that that counts. - -Since you have had that some one, in your nineteen years, can you -understand what life is to me--me--in my loneliness? - -My wailing, waiting soul burns with but one desire: _to be loved--oh, -to be loved_. - - - - - March 29. - -I am making the world my confessor in this Portrayal. My mind is -fairly bursting with egotism and pain, and in writing this I find -a merciful outlet. I have become fond of my Portrayal. Often I lay -my forehead and my lips caressingly upon the pages. - -And I wish to let you know that there is in existence a genius--an -unhappy genius, a genius starving in Montana in the barrenness--but -still a genius. I am a creature the like of which you have never -before happened upon. You have never suspected that there is such -a person. I know that there is not such another. As I said in the -beginning, the world contains not my parallel. - -I am a fantasy--an absurdity--a genius! - -Had I been one of the beasts that perish I had been likewise a -fantasy. I think I should have been a small animal composite of a -pig, a leopard, and a skunk: an animal that I fancy would be uncanny -to look upon but admirable for a pet. - -However, I am not one of the beasts that perish. - -I am human. - -That is another remarkable point. - -I have heard persons say they can hardly believe I am quite human. - -I am the most human creature that ever was placed on the earth. The -geniuses are always more human than the herd. Almost a perfection of -humanness is reached in me. This by itself makes me extraordinary. -The rarest thing in the world, I find, is the quality of humanness. - -Humanity and humaneness are much less rare. - -"It is a brave thing to understand something of what we see." Indeed -it is. An exceeding brave thing. The one who said that had surely -gone out on the highways and byways and found how little he could -understand. - -To understand oneself is not so brave a thing. To go in among the -hidden gray shadows of the deep things is a fool's errand. It is -not from choice that I do it. No one carries a mill-stone around -her neck from choice. When I see what is among the hidden gray -shadows--when I see a vision of _Myself_--I am seized with a strange, -sick terror. - -A fool's errand--but one that I must need go--and for that matter -I myself am a fool. - -Yet to know oneself well is a rare fine art. - -I analyze myself now. I analyzed myself when I was three years old. - -The only difference is that at the age of three I was not aware -that I analyzed. It is true, that is a great difference. Now I know -that I am analyzing at nineteen, and now I know that I analyzed -at three. - -And at the age of nineteen I know that I am a genius. - -A genius who does not know that he is a genius is no genius. A -drunken man might stagger up to a piano and accidentally play music -that vibrates to the soul--that touches upon the mysteries. But he -does not know his power, and he is no genius, though men awaken -and go mad therefrom. - -I know that I am a genius more than any genius that has lived. - -I have a feeling that the world will never know this. - -And as I think of it I wonder if angels are not weeping somewhere -because of it. - - - - - March 31. - - "She only said: 'My life is dreary, - He cometh not,' she said; - She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, - I would that I were dead!'" - -All day long this heart-sickening song of Mariana has been reeling -and swimming in my brain. I awoke with it early in the morning, and -it is still with me now in the lateness. I wondered at times during -the day why that very gentle and devilishly persistent refrain did -not drive me insane or send me into convulsions. I tried vainly to -fix my mind on a book. I began reading "Mill on the Floss," but that -weird poem was not to be foiled. It bewitched my brain. Now, as I -write, I hear twenty voices chanting in a sad minor key--twenty -voices that fill my brain with sound to the bursting point. "He -cometh not--he cometh not--he cometh not." "That I were dead"--"I -am aweary, aweary,--that I were dead--that I were dead." "He cometh -not--that I were dead." - -It is maddening in that it is set sublimely to the music of my own -life. - -Now that I have written it I can hope that it may leave me. If it -follows me through the night, and if I awake to another day of it -the cords of my overworked mind will surely break. - -But let me thank the kind Devil. - -It is leaving me now! - -It is as if tons were lifted from my brain. - - - - - April 2. - -How can any one bring a child into the world and not wrap it round -with a certain wondrous tenderness that will stay with it always! - -There are persons whose souls have never entered into them. - -My mother has some fondness for me--for my body because it came of -hers. That is nothing--nothing. - -A hen loves its egg. - -A hen! - - - - - April 3. - -This evening in the slow-deepening dusk I sat by my window and -spent an hour in passionate conversation with the Devil. I fancied -I sat, with my hands folded and my feet crossed, on an ugly but -comfortable red velvet sofa in some nondescript room. - -And the fascinating man-devil was seated near in a frail willow -chair. - -He had willingly come to pass the time of day with me. He was in a -good-humored mood, and I amused and interested him. And for myself, -I was extremely glad to see the Devil sitting there and felt vividly -as always. But I sat quietly enough. - -The fascinating man-devil has fascinating steel-gray eyes, and -they looked at me with every variety of glance--from quizzical to -tender. - -It were easy--oh, how easy--to follow those eyes to the earth's -ends. - -The Devil leaned back in the frail willow chair and looked at me. - -"And now that I am here, Mary MacLane," he said, "what would you?" - -"I want you to marry me," I replied at once. "And I want it more -than ever anything was wanted since the world began." - -"So? I am flattered," said the Devil, and smiled gently, enchantingly. - -At that smile I was ravished and transported, and a spasm of some -rare emotion thrilled all the little nerves in me from my heels to -my forehead. And yet the smile was not for me but rather somewhat -at my expense. - -"But," he went on, "you must know it is not my custom to marry -women." - -"I am sure it is not," I agreed, "and I do not ask to be peculiarly -favored. Anything that you may give me, however little, will -constitute marriage for me." - -"And would marriage itself be so small a thing?" asked the Devil. - -"Marriage," I said, "would be a great, oh, a wonderful thing, and the -most beautiful of all. I want what is good according to my lights, -and because I am a genius my lights are many and far-reaching." - -"What do your lights tell you?" the man-devil inquired. - -"They tell me this: that nothing in the world matters unless love -is with it, and if love is with it and it seems to the virtuous a -barren and infamous thing, still--because of the love--it partakes -of the very highest." - -"And have you the courage of your convictions?" he said. - -"If you offered me," I replied, "that which to the blindly virtuous -seems the worst possible thing, it would yet be for me the red, -red line on the sky, my heart's desire, my life, my rest. You are -the Devil. I have fallen in love with you." - -"I believe you have," said the Devil. "And how does it feel to be -in love?" - -Sitting composedly on the ugly red velvet sofa, with my hands -folded and my feet crossed, I attempted to define that wonderful -feeling. - -"It feels," I said, "as if sparks of fire and ice crystals ran riot -in my veins with my blood; as if a thousand pin-points pierced my -flesh, and every other point a point of pleasure, and every other -point a point of pain; as if my heart were laid to rest in a bed -of velvet and cotton-wool but kept awake by sweet violin arias; as -if milk and honey and the blossoms of the cherry flowed into my -stomach and then vanished utterly; as if strange, beautiful worlds -lay spread out before my eyes, alternately in dazzling light and -complete darkness with chaotic rapidity; as if orris-root were -sprinkled in the folds of my brain; as if sprigs of dripping-wet -sweet-fern were stuck inside my hot linen collar; as if--well, you -know," I ended suddenly. - -"Very good," said the Devil. "You are in love. And you say you -are in love with me." - -"Oh, with you!" I exclaimed with suppressed violence. The effort to -suppress this violence cost me pounds of nerve-power. But I kept my -hands still quietly folded and my feet crossed, and it was a triumph -of self-control. "I want you to marry me," I added despairingly. - -"And you think," he inquired, "that apart from the opinion of the -wise world, it would be a suitable marriage?" - -"A suitable marriage!" I exclaimed. "I hate a suitable marriage! -No, it would not be suitable. It would be Bohemian, outlandish, -adorable!" - -The Devil smiled. - -This time the smile was for me. And, oh, the long, old, overpowering -enchantment of the smile of steel-gray eyes!--the steel-gray eyes -of the Devil! - -It is one of those things that one remembers. - -"You are a beautifully frank, little feminine creature," he said. -"Frankness is in these days a lost art." - -"Yes, I am beautifully frank," I replied. "Out of countless millions -of the Devil's anointed I am one to acknowledge myself." - -"But withal you are not true," said the man-devil. - -"I am a liar," I answered. - -"You are a liar, surely," he said, "but you stay with your lies. -To stay with anything is Truth." - -"It is so," I replied. "Nevertheless I am false as woman can be." - -"But you know what you want." - -"Oh, yes," I said, "I know what I want. I want you to marry me." - -"And why?" - -"Because I love you." - -"That seems an excellent reason, certainly," said the Devil. - -"I want to be happy for once in my life," I said. "I have never -been happy. And if I could be happy once for one gold day, I should -be satisfied, and I should have that to remember in the long years." - -"And you are a strangely pathetic little animal," said the Devil. - -"I am pathetic," I said. I clasped my hands very tightly. "I know -that I am pathetic: and for this reason I am the most terribly -pathetic of all in the world." - -"Poor little Mary MacLane!" said the Devil. He leaned toward me. -He looked at me with those strange, wonderfully tender, divine -steel-gray eyes. "Poor little Mary MacLane!" he said again in a -voice that was like the Gray Dawn. And the eyes--the glance of -the steel-gray eyes entered into me and thrilled me through and -through. It frightened and soothed me. It racked and comforted me. -It ravished me with inconceivable gentleness so that I bent my head -down and sobbed as I breathed. - -"Don't you know, you little thing," said the man-devil, -softly-compassionate, "your life will be very hard for you -always--harder when you are happy than when you go in Nothingness?" - -"I know--I know. Nevertheless I want to be happy," I sobbed. I -felt a rush of an old thick, heavy anguish. "It is day after day. -It is week after week. It is month after month. It is year after -year. It is only time going and going. There is no joy. There is -no lightness of heart. It is only the passing of days. I am young -and all alone. Always I have been alone: when I was five and lay in -the damp grass and tortured myself to keep back tears; and through -the long, cold, lonely years till now--and now all the torture does -not keep back the tears. There is no one--nothing--to help me bear -it. It is more than pathetic when one is nineteen in all young, -new feeling and sees Nothing anywhere--except long, dark, lonely -years behind her and before her. No one that loves me and long, -long years." - -I stopped. The gray eyes were fixed on me. Oh, they were the -steel-gray eyes!--and they had a look in them. The long, bitter -pageant of my Nothingness mingled with this look and the coming -together of these was like the joining of two halves. - -I do not know which brings me the deeper pain--the loneliness and -weariness of my sand and barrenness, or the look in the steel-gray -eyes. But as always I would gladly leave all and follow the eyes -to the world's end. They are like the sun's setting. And they are -like the pale, beautiful stars. And they are like the shadows of -earth and sky that come together in the dark. - -"Why," asked the Devil, "are you in love with me?" - -"You know so much--so much," I answered. "I think it must be that. -The wisdom of the spheres is in your brain. And so, then, you must -understand me. Because no one understands all these smouldering -feelings my greatest agony is. You must need know the very finest -of them. And your eyes! Oh, it's no matter why I'm in love with -you. It's enough that I am. And if you married me I would make you -happier than you are." - -"I am not happy at all," said the man-devil. "I am merely contented." - -"Contentment," I said, "in place of Happiness, is a horrid feeling. -Not one of your countless advocates loves you. They all serve you -faithfully and well, but with it all they hate you. Always people -hate their tyrant. You are my tyrant, but I love you absorbingly, -madly. Happiness for me would be to live with you and see you made -happy by the overwhelming flood of my love." - -"It interests me," he said. "You are a most interesting feminine -philosopher--and your philosophy is after my own heart, in its lack -of _virtue_. It is to be hoped you are not 'intellectual,' which -is an unpardonable trait." - -"Indeed, I am not," I replied. "Intellectual people are detestable. -They have pale faces and bad stomachs and bad livers, and if they -are women their corsets are sure to be too tight, and probably -black, and if they are men they are _soft_, which is worse. And -they never by any chance know what it means to walk all day in the -rain, or to roll around on the ground in the dirt. And, above all, -they never fall in love with the Devil." - -"They are tiresome," the Devil agreed. "If I were to marry you how -long would you be happy?" - -"For three days." - -"You are wise," he said. "You are wonderfully wise in some things, -though you are still very young." - -"I am wise," I answered. "Being of womankind and nineteen years, -I am more than ready to give up absolutely everything that is good -in the world's sight, though they are contemptible things enough -in my own, for love. All for love. Therefore I am wise. Also I am -a fool." - -"Why are you a fool?" - -"Because I am a genius." - -"Your logic is good logic," said the Devil. - -"My logic--oh, I don't care anything about logic," I said with sudden -complete weariness. I felt buried and wrapped round and round in -weariness. Everything lost its color. Everything turned cold. - -"At this moment," said the Devil, "you feel as if you cared for -nothing at all. But if I chose I could bring about a transfiguration. -I could kiss your soul into Paradise." - -I answered, "Yes," without emotion. - -"An hour," said the Devil, "is not very long. But we know it is -long enough to suffer in, and go mad in, and live in, and be happy -in. And the world contains a great many hours. Now I am leaving -you. It is likely that I may never come again, and it is likely -that I may come again." - -It all vanished. I still sat by my window in the gloom. "It is -dreary," I said. - -But yes. The world contains a great many hours. - - - - - April 4. - -I have asked for bread, sometimes, and I have been given a stone. - -Oh, it is a bitter thing--oh, it is piteous, piteous! - -I find that I am not far apart from human beings. I can still be -crushed, wounded, stunned, by the attitude of human beings. - -To-day I looked for human-kindness, and I was given coldness. I -repelled human beings. - -I asked for bread and I was given a stone. - -Oh, it is bitter--bitter. - -Oh, is there a thing in the wide world more bitter? - -_God_, where are you! I am crushed, wounded, stunned--and, oh--I -am alone! - - - - - April 10. - -I have a sense of humor that partakes of the divine in life--for -there are things even in this chaotic irony that are divine. My -genius is not divine. My patheticness is not divine. My philosophy -is not divine, nor my originality, nor my audacity of thought. -These are peculiarly of the earth. But my sense of humor-- - -It is humor that is far too deep to admit of laughter. It is humor -that makes my heart melt with a high, unequaled sense of pleasure -and ripple down through my body like old yellow wine. - -A rare tone in a person's voice, a densely wrathful expression in -a pair of slate-colored eyes, a fine, fine shade of comparison and -contrast between a word in a conversation and an angleworm pattern -in a calico dressing-jacket--these are things that make me conscious -of divine emotion. - -One day last summer an Italian peddler-woman stopped at the back door -and rested herself. I stood in the doorway, and the peddler-woman -and I talked. She had a dirty white handkerchief tied over her -head--as all Italian peddler-women do--and she had a telescope -valise filled with garters, and hairpins, and soap, and combs, and -pencils, and china buttons on blue cards, and bean-shooters, and -tacks, and dream-books, and mouth-organs, and green glass beads, and -jews-harps. There is something fascinating about a peddler-woman's -telescope valise. This peddler-woman wore a black satine wrapper -and an ancient cape. She said that she would like to stop and rest -a while, and I told her she might. I had always wanted to talk to -a peddler-woman, and my mother never would allow one in the house. - -"Is it nice to be a peddler?" I asked her. - -"It ain't bad," replied the peddler-woman. - -"Do you make a great deal of money?" I next inquired. - -"Sometime I do, and sometime I don't," said the woman. She spoke with -an accent that, while it sounded Italian, still showed unmistakably -that she had lived in Butte. - -"Well, do you make just enough to live on, or have you saved some -money?" I asked. - -"I got four hundred dollar in the bank," she replied. "I been -peddlin' eight year." - -"Eight years of tramping around in all kinds of weather," I said. -"Your philosophy must be peripatetic, too. Haven't you ever had -rheumatism in your knees?" - -"I got rheumatism in every joint in my body," said the woman. "I -have to lay off, sometime." - -"Have you a husband?" I wished to know. - -"I had a man--oh, yes," said the peddler-woman. - -"And where is he?" - -"Back home--in Italy." - -"Why doesn't he come out here and work for you?" I asked. - -"Yes, w'y don't he?" said the woman. "Dat-a man, he's dem lucky -w'en he can get enough to eat--he is." - -"Why don't you send him some money to pay his way out, since you've -saved so much?" I inquired. - -"Holy God!" said the peddler-woman. "I work hard for dat-a money. I -save ev'ry cent. I ain't go'n now to t'row it away--I ain't. Dat-a -man, he's all right w'ere he is--he is." - -"What did you marry him for?" I asked. - -The peddler-woman looked at me with that look which seems to convey -the information that curiosity once killed a cat. - -"What for?" I persisted--"for love?" - -"I marry him w'en I was young girl. And he was young, too." - -"Yes--but what did you do it for? Was he awfully nice, and did he -say awfully sweet things to you?" - -"He was dem sweet--oh, yes," said the peddler-woman. She grinned. -"And I was young." - -"And you liked it when you were young and he was sweet, didn't you?" - -"Yes, I guess so. I was young," she answered. - -The fact that one is young seems to imply--in the Italian peddler -mind--a lacking in some essential points. - -"And don't you like your man now?" I asked. - -"Dat-a man, he's all right, in Italy--he is," replied the woman. - -"Well," I observed, "if I had a man who had been dem sweet once, -when I had been young, but who was not sweet any more, I think I -should leave him in Italy, too." - -"You'll git a man some day soon," said the peddler-woman. - -I was interested to know that. - -"They all do--oh, yes," she said. "But you likely to be better -off peddlin', I tell you." - -"Yes, I think it would be amusing to be a peddler for a while," I -said. "But I should want the man, too, as long as he was dem sweet." - -The peddler-woman picked up the telescope valise. - -"Yes," she remarked, "a man, he's sweet two days, t'ree days, -then--holy God! he never work, he git-a drunk, he make-a rough-house, -he raise hell." - -The peddler-woman nodded at me and limped out of the yard. The -telescope valise was heavy. When she walked every muscle in her -body seemed to be pressed into the service. She had a heavy, solid -look. She seemed as though she might weigh three hundred pounds, -though she was not large. The afternoon sun shone down brightly on -her dirty white handkerchief, on her brown comely face, on her brown -brass-ringed hands, on her black satine wrapper, on her ancient -cape. - -As I watched her out of sight I thought to myself: "Two days, t'ree -days, then--holy God! he never work, he git-a drunk, he make-a -rough-house, he raise hell." - -I was conscious of an intense humor that was so far beyond laughter -that it was too deep even for tears. But I felt tears vaguely as -I watched the peddler-woman limping up the road. - -It was not pathos. It was humor--humor. My emotion was one of vivid -pleasure--pleasure at the sight of the woman, and at the telescope -valise, and at her conversation supplemented by my own. - -This emotion is divine, and I can not grasp it. - -As I looked after the Italian peddler-woman it came to me with sudden -force that the earth is only the earth, but that it is touched here -and there brilliantly with divine fingers. - -Long and often as I've sat in intense silent passion and gazed at -the red, red sunset sky, I have never then felt this sense of the -divine. - -It comes only through humor. - -It comes only with things like an Italian peddler-woman in a black -satine wrapper and an ancient cape. - -My soul--how heavily it goes. - -Life is a journeying up a spring-time hill. And at the top we wonder -why we are there. Have mercy on me, I implore in a dull idea that -the journey is so long--so long, and a human being is less than an -atom. - -The solid, heavy figure of an Italian peddler-woman with a telescope -valise, limping away in the afternoon sunshine, is more convincing -of the Things that Are than would be the sound of the wailing of -legions of lost souls, could it be heard. - -For the world must be amused. - -And the world's wind listeth as it bloweth. - - - - - April 11. - -I write a great many letters to the dear anemone lady. I send some -of them to her and others I keep to read myself. I like to read -letters that I have written--particularly that I have written to her. - -This is a letter that I wrote two days ago to my one friend: - -"To you:-- - -"And don't you know, my dearest, my friendship with you contains -other things? It contains infatuation, and worship, and bewitchment, -and idolatry, and a tiny altar in my soul-chamber whereon is burning -sweet incense in a little dish of blue and gold. - -"Yes, all of these. - -"My life is made up of many outpourings. All the outpourings have -one point of coming-together. You are the point of coming-together. -There is no other. - -"You are the anemone lady. - -"You are the one whom I may love. - -"To think that the world contains one beautiful human being for me -to love! - -"It is wonderful. - -"My life is longing for the sight of you. My senses are aching for -lack of an anemone to diffuse itself among them. - -"A year ago, when you were in the high school, often I used to go -over there when you would be going home, so that my life could be -made momentarily replete by the sight of you. You didn't know I -was there--only a few times when I spoke to you. - -"And now it is that I remember you. - -"Oh, my dearest--you are the only one in the world! - -"We are two women. You do not love me, but I love you. - -"You have been wonderfully, beautifully kind to me. - -"You are the only one who has ever been kind to me. - -"There is something delirious in this--something of the nameless -quantity. - -"It is old grief and woe to live nineteen years and to remember no -person ever to have been kind. But what is it--do you think?--at the -end of nineteen years, to come at last upon one who is wonderfully, -beautifully kind! - -"Those persons who have had some one always to be kind to them can -never remotely imagine how this feels. - -"Sometimes in these spring days when I walk miles down into the -country to the little wet gulch of the sweet-flags, I wonder why -it is that this thing does not make me happy. 'She is wonderfully, -beautifully kind,' I say to myself--'and she is the anemone lady. -She is _wondrously_ kind, and though she's gone, nothing can ever -change that.' - -"But I am not happy. - -"Oh, my one friend--what is the matter with me? What is this feeling? -Why am I not happy? - -"But how can you know? - -"You are beautiful. - -"I am a small, vile creature. - -"Always I awake to this fact when I think of the anemone lady. - -"I am not good. - -"But you are kind to me--you are kind to me--you are kind to me. - -"You have written me two letters. - -"The anemone lady came down from her high places and wrote me two -letters. - -"It is said that God is somewhere. It may be so. - -"But God has never come down from his high places to write me two -letters. - -"Dear--do you see?--you are the only one in the world. - - "=Mary MacLane.=" - - - - - April 12. - -Oh, the dreariness, the Nothingness! - -Day after day--week after week,--it is dull and gray and weary. It -is _dull_, =DULL=, DULL! - -No one loves me the least in the world. - -"My life is dreary--he cometh not." - -I am unhappy--unhappy. - -It rains. The blue sky is weeping. But it is not weeping because -I am unhappy. - -I hate the blue sky, and the rain, and the wet ground, and everything. -This morning I walked far away over the sand, and these things made -me think they loved me--and that I loved them. But they fooled me. -Everything fools me. I am a fool. - -No one loves me. There are people here. But no one loves me--no -one understands--no one cares. - -It is I and the barrenness. It is I--young and all alone. - -Pitiful Heaven!--but no, Heaven is not pitiful. - -Heaven also has fooled me, more than once. - -There is something for every one that I have ever known--some tender -thing. But what is there for me? What have I to remember out of -the long years? - -The blue sky is weeping, but not for me. The rain is persistent and -heavy as damnation. It falls on my mind and it maddens my mind. -It falls on my soul and it hurts my soul.--Everything hurts my -soul.--It falls on my heart and it warps the wood in my heart. - -Of womankind and nineteen years, a philosopher of the peripatetic -school, a thief, a genius, a liar, and a fool--and unhappy, and -filled with anguish and hopeless despair. What is my life? Oh, what -is there for me! - -There has always been Nothing. There will always be Nothing. - -There was a miserable, damnable, wretched, lonely childhood. Itself -has passed, but the pain of it has not passed. The pain of it is -with me and is added to the pain of now. It is pain that never lets -itself be forgotten. The pain of the childhood was the pain of -Nothing. The pain of now is the pain of Nothing. Oh, the pathetic -burlesque-tragedy of Nothing! - -It is burlesque, but it is none the less tragedy. It is tragedy -that eats its way inward. - -It is only I and the sand and barrenness. - -I have never a tender thing in my life. The sand and barrenness -has never a grass-blade. - -I want a human being to love me. I have need of it. I am starving -to death for lack of it. - -Bitterest salt tears surge upward--sobs are shaking themselves out -from the depths. Oh, the salt is bitter. I might lay me down and -weep all day and all night--and the salt would grow more bitter -and more bitter. - -But life in its Nothingness is more bitter still. - -It is burlesque-tragedy that is the most tragic of all. - -It is an inward dying that never ends. It is the bitterness of -death added to the bitterness of life. - -What hell is there like that of one weak little human being placed -on the earth--and left _alone_? - -There are people who live and enjoy. But my soul and I--we find -life too bitter, and too heavy to carry alone. Too bitter, and too -heavy. - -Oh, that I and my soul might perish at this moment, forever! - - - - - April 13. - -I am sitting writing out on my sand and barrenness. The sky is pale -and faded now in the west, but a few minutes ago there was the same -old-time, always-new miracle of roses and gold, and glints and gleams -of silver and green, and a river in vermilions and purples--and -lastly the dear, the beautiful: the red, red line. - -There also are heavy black shadows. - -I have given my heart into the keeping of this. - -And still, as always, I look at it--and feel it all with thrilling -passion--and await the Devil's coming. - - - - -L'ENVOI: - - - October 28, 1901. - -And so there you have my Portrayal. It is the record of three -months of Nothingness. Those three months are very like the three -months that preceded them, to be sure, and the three that followed -them--and like all the months that have come and gone with me, since -time was. There is never anything different; nothing ever happens. - -Now I will send my Portrayal into the wise wide world. It may stop -short at the publisher; or it may fall still-born from the press; -or it may go farther, indeed, and be its own undoing. - -That's as may be. - -I will send it. - -What else is there for me, if not this book? - -And, oh, that some one may understand it! - ---I am not good. I am not virtuous. I am not sympathetic. I am not -generous. I am merely and above all a creature of intense passionate -_feeling_. I feel--everything. It is my genius. It burns me like -fire.-- - -My Portrayal in its analysis and egotism and bitterness will -surely be of interest to some. Whether to that one alone who may -understand it; or to some who have themselves been left alone; or -to those three whom I, on three dreary days, asked for bread, and -who each gave me a stone--and whom I do not forgive (for that is -the bitterest thing of all): it may be to all of these. - -But none of them, nor any one, can know the feeling made of relief -and pain and despair that comes over me at the thought of sending -all this to the wise wide world. It is bits of my wooden heart -broken off and given away. It is strings of amber beads taken from -the fair neck of my soul. It is shining little gold coins from out -of my mind's red leather purse. It is my little old life-tragedy. - -It means everything to me. - -Do you see?--it means _everything_ to me. - -It will amuse you. It will arouse your interest. It will stir your -curiosity. Some sorts of persons will find it ridiculous. It will -puzzle you. - -But am I to suppose that it will also awaken compassion in cool, -indifferent hearts? And will the sand and barrenness look so -unspeakably gray and dreary to coldly critical eyes as to mine? -And shall my bitter little story fall easily and comfortably upon -undisturbed ears, and linger for an hour, and be forgotten? - -Will the wise wide world itself give me in my outstretched hand a -stone? - - -THE END - - - - -[Transcriber's Notes: - - Errors in punctuation were repaired. - Except for the following change, spelling has been preserved as - printed in the original. - On page 79, "buoyantly" was changed from "bouyantly" (float buoyantly - on air).] - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Mary MacLane, by Mary MacLane - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY MACLANE *** - -***** This file should be named 43696.txt or 43696.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/6/9/43696/ - -Produced by Marie Bartolo from page images made available -by the Internet Archive: American Libraries - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/43696.zip b/43696.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1263032..0000000 --- a/43696.zip +++ /dev/null |