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diff --git a/old/5964-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/5964-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..90d6f83 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/5964-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,22926 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Love's Pilgrimage, by Upton Sinclair + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love's Pilgrimage, by Upton Sinclair + +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: Love's Pilgrimage + +Author: Upton Sinclair + + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5964] +This file was first posted on October 1, 2002 +Last Updated: October 13, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE *** + + + + +Text file produced by Charles Franks, Charles Aldarondo, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + LOVE’S PILGRIMAGE + </h1> + <h3> + A NOVEL + </h3> + <h2> + <br /> By Upton Sinclair + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h4> + New York And London + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> <b>PART I. Loves Entanglement</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BOOK I. THE VICTIM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> BOOK II. THE SNARE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BOOK III. THE VICTIM HESITATES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> BOOK IV. THE VICTIM APPROACHES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> BOOK V. THE BAIT IS SEIZED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> BOOK VI. THE CORDS ARE TIGHTENED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> BOOK VII. THE CAPTURE IS COMPLETED </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II. Love’s Captivity</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> BOOK VIII. THE CAPTIVE BOUND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> BOOK IX. THE CAPTIVE IN LEASH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> BOOK X. THE END OF THE TETHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> BOOK XI. THE TORTURE-HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> BOOK XII. THE TREADMILL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> BOOK XIII. THE MASTERS OF THE SNARE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> BOOK XIV. THE PRICE OF RANSOM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> BOOK XV. THE CAPTIVE FAINTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> BOOK XVI. THE BREAK FOR FREEDOM </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + LOVE’S PILGRIMAGE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I. Loves Entanglement + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK I. THE VICTIM + </h2> + <p> + It was in a little woodland glen, with a streamlet tumbling through it. + She sat with her back to a snowy birch-tree, gazing into the eddies of a + pool below; and he lay beside her, upon the soft, mossy ground, reading + out of a book of poems. Images of joy were passing before them; and there + came four lines with a picture— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hard by, a cottage-chimney smokes, + From betwixt two aged oaks, + Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, + Are at their savory dinner set.” + </pre> + <p> + “Ah!” said she. “I always loved that. Let us be Corydon and Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. “They were both of them men,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Let us change it,” she responded—“just between ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well—Corydon!” said he. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a moment’s thought, she added, “But we didn’t have the + cottage.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he—“nor even the dinner!” + </p> + <p> + Section 1. It was the Highway of Lost Men. They shivered, and drew their + shoulders together as they walked, for it was night, and a cold, sleety + rain was falling. The lights from saloons and pawn-shops fell upon their + faces—faces haggard and gaunt with misery, or bloated with disease + and sin. Some stared before them fixedly; some gazed about with furtive + and hungry eyes as they shuffled on. Here and there a policeman stood in + the shelter, swinging his club and watching them as they passed. Music + called to them from dives and dance-halls, and lighted signs and + flaring-colored pictures tempted them in the entrances of cheap museums + and theatres; they lingered before these, glad of even a moment’s shelter. + Overhead the elevated trains pounded by; and from the windows one could + see men crowded about the stoves in the rooms of lodging-houses, where the + steam from their garments made a blur in the air. + </p> + <p> + Down this highway walked a lad, about fifteen years of age, pale of face, + and with delicate and sensitive features. His overcoat was buttoned + tightly about his neck, and his hands thrust into his pockets; he gazed + around him swiftly as he walked. He came to this place every now and then, + but he never grew used to what he saw. + </p> + <p> + He eyed the men who passed him; and when he came to a saloon he would push + open the door and gaze about. Sometimes he would enter, and hurry through, + to peer into the compartments in the back; and then go out again, giving a + wide berth to the drinkers, and shrinking from their glances. Once a girl + appeared in a doorway, and smiled and nodded to him; he started and + hurried out, shuddering. Her wanton black eyes haunted him, hinting + unimaginable things. + </p> + <p> + Then, on a corner, he stopped and spoke to a policeman. “Hello!” said the + man, and shook his head—“No, not this time.” So the boy went on; + there were several miles of this Highway, and each block of it the same. + </p> + <p> + At last, in a dingy bar-room, with saw-dust strewn upon the floor, and the + odor of stale beer and tobacco-smoke in the air—here suddenly the + boy sprang forward, with a cry: “Father!” And a man who sat with bowed + head in a corner gave a start, and lifted a white face and stared at him. + He rose unsteadily to his feet, and staggered to the other, and fell upon + his shoulder, sobbing, “My son! My son!” + </p> + <p> + How many times had Thyrsis heard those words—in how many hours of + anguish! They sank into the deeps of him, waking echoes like the clang of + a bell: they voiced all the terror and grief of defeated life—“My + son! My son!” + </p> + <p> + The man clung to him, weeping, and pouring out the flood of his shame. “I + have fallen again—I am lost—I am lost!” + </p> + <p> + The occupants of the place were watching the scene with dull curiosity; + and the boy was trembling like a wild deer trapped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, yes! Let us go home.” + </p> + <p> + “Home—home, my son? Will you take me home? Oh, I couldn’t bear to + go!” + </p> + <p> + “But you must come home.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that you still love me, son?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, I still love you. I want to try to help you. Come with me.” + </p> + <p> + Then the boy would gaze about and ask, “Where is your hat?” + </p> + <p> + “Hat, my son? I don’t know. I have lost it.” The boy would see his torn + and mud-stained clothing, and the poor old pitiful face, with the eyes + blood-shot and swollen, and the skin, that had been rosy, and was now a + ghastly, ashen gray. He would choke back his feelings, and grip his hands + to keep himself together. + </p> + <p> + “Come, father, take my hat, and let us go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my son. I don’t need any hat. Nothing can hurt me—I am lost! + Lost!” + </p> + <p> + So they would go out, arm in arm; and while they made their progress up + the Highway, the man would pour out his remorse, and tell the story of his + weeks of horror. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a mile or so, he would halt. + </p> + <p> + “My son!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I must stop here, son.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I must have something to drink.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>No</i>, father!” + </p> + <p> + “But, my boy, I can’t go on! I can’t walk! You don’t know what I’m + suffering!” + </p> + <p> + “No, father!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got the money left—I’m not asking you. I’ll come right with + you—on my word of honor I will!” + </p> + <p> + And so they would fight it out—all the way back to the lodging-house + where they lived, and where the mother sat and wept. And here they would + put him to bed, and lock up his clothing to keep him in; and here, with + drugs and mineral-waters, and perhaps a doctor to help, they would + struggle with him, and tend him until he was on his feet again. Then, with + clothing newly-brushed and face newly-shaven he would go back to the world + of men; and the boy would go back to his dreams. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Such was the life of Thyrsis, from earliest childhood to + maturity. His father’s was a heritage of gentle breeding and high + traditions—his forefathers were cavaliers, and had served the State. + And now it had come to this—to hall bedrooms in lodging-houses, and + a life-and-death grapple with destruction! And when Thyrsis came to study + the problem, he found that it was a struggle without hope; his father was + a man in a trap. + </p> + <p> + He was what people called a “drummer”. He was dependent for his living + upon the favor of certain merchants—men for the most part of low + ideals, who came to the city in search of their low pleasures. One met + them by waiting about in the lobbies of hotels, and in the bar-rooms which + they frequented; and always the first sign of fellowship with them was to + have a drink. And this was the field on which the battle had to be fought! + </p> + <p> + He would hold out for months—half a year, perhaps—drinking + lemonade and putting up with their raillery. And then he would begin with + ginger-ale; and then it would come to beer; and then to whiskey. He was + always devising new plans to control himself; always persuading himself + that he had solved the problem. He would not drink in the morning; he + would not drink until after dinner; he would not drink alone—and so + on without end. His whole life was drink, and all his thoughts were of + drink—the odor of it always in his nostrils, the image of it always + before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + And the grimness of his fate lay here—that it was by his best + qualities that he was betrayed. If he had been hard and mercenary, like + some of those who preyed upon him, there might have been hope. But he was + generous and free-hearted, a slave to his impulses of friendship. And this + was what made the struggle such a cruel one to Thyrsis; it was like the + sight of some noble animal basely snared. + </p> + <p> + From his earliest days the boy had watched these forces working themselves + out. The gentleman and the “drummer” fought for supremacy, and step by + step the soul of the man was fashioned to the work he did. To succeed with + his customers he must share their ideas and their tastes; and so he was + bitter against reformers, who interfered with the gaieties of the city, + with no consideration for the tastes of “buyers.” But then, on the other + hand, would come a time of renunciation, when he would be all enthusiasm + for temperance. + </p> + <p> + He was full of old-fashioned ideas, which would take the quaintest turns + of reactionism; his politics were summed up in the phrase that he “would + rather vote for a nigger than a Republican”; but then, in the same breath, + he would announce some fine and noble sentiment, out of the traditions of + a forgotten past. He was the soul of courtesy to women, and of loyalty to + friends. He worshipped General Lee and the old time “Virginia gentleman”; + and those with whom he lived, and for whose unclean profits he sold + himself, never guessed the depths of his contempt for all they stood for. + They had the dollars, they were on top; but some day the nemesis of + Good-breeding would smite them—the army of the ghosts of Gentility + would rise, and with “Marse Robert” and “Jeb” Stuart at their head, would + sweep away the hordes of commercialdom. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis saw a great deal of this forgotten chivalry. His nursery had been + haunted by such musty phantoms; and when he first came to the Northern + city, he stayed at a hotel which was frequented by people who lived in + this past—old ladies who were proud and prim, and old gentlemen who + were quixotic and humorous, young ladies who were “belles,” and young + gentlemen who aspired to be “blades”. It was a world that would have made + happy the soul of any writer of romances; but to Thyrsis in earliest + childhood the fates had given the gift of seeing beneath the shams of + things, and to him this dead Aristocracy cried out loudly for burial. + There was an incredible amount of drunkenness, and of debauchery scarcely + hidden; there was pretense strutting like a peacock, and avarice skulking + like a hound; there were jealousy, and base snobbery, and raging spite, + and a breath of suspicion and scandal hanging like a poisonous cloud over + everything. These people came and went, an endless procession of them; + they laughed and danced and gossiped and drank their way through the boy’s + life, and unconsciously he judged them, and hated them and feared them. It + was not by such that his destiny was to be shaped. + </p> + <p> + Most of them were poor; not an honest poverty, but a sham and artificial + poverty—the inability to dress as others did, and to lose money at + “bridge” and “poker”, and to pay the costs of their self-indulgences. As + for Thyrsis and his parents, they always paid what they owed; but they + were not always able to pay it when they owed it, and they suffered all + the agonies and humiliations of those who did not pay at all. There was + scarcely ever a week when this canker of want did not gnaw at them; their + life was one endless and sordid struggle to make last year’s clothing look + like new, and to find some boarding-house that was cheaper and yet + respectable. There was endless wrangling and strife and worry over money; + and every year the task was harder, the standards lower, the case more + hopeless. + </p> + <p> + There were rich relatives, a world of real luxury up above—the thing + that called itself “Society”. And Thyrsis was a student and a bright lad, + and he was welcome there; he might have spread his wings and flown away + from this sordidness. But duty held him, and love and memory held him + still tighter. For his father worshipped him, and craved his help; to the + last hour of his dreadful battle, he fought to keep his son’s regard—he + prayed for it, with tears in his eyes and anguish in his voice. And so the + boy had to stand by. And that meant that he grew up in a torture-house, he + drank a cup of poison to its bitter dregs. To others his father was merely + a gross little man, with sordid ideas and low tastes; but to Thyrsis he + was a man with the terror of the hunted creatures in his soul, and the + furies of madness cracking their whips about his ears. + </p> + <p> + There was only one ending possible—it worked itself out with the + remorseless precision of a machine. The soul that fought was smothered and + stifled, its voice grew fainter and feebler; the agony and the shame grew + hotter, the suffering more cruel, the despair more black. Until at last + they found him in a delirium, and took him to a private hospital; and + thither went Thyrsis, now grown to be a man, and sat in a dingy + reception-room, and a dingy doctor came to him and said, “Do you wish to + see the body?” And Thyrsis answered, in a low voice, “No.” + </p> + <p> + Section 3. So it was that the soul of this lad had grown sombre, and taken + to brooding upon the mysteries of fate. Life was no jest and no holiday, + it was no place for shams and self-deceptions. It was a place where cruel + enemies set traps for the unwary; a field where blind and merciless forces + ranged, unhindered by man or God. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis could not have told how soon in life this sense had come to him. + In his earliest childhood he had known that his father was preyed upon, + just as certainly as any wild thing in the forest. At first the enemies + had been saloon-keepers, and wicked men who tempted him to drink with + them. The names of these men were household words to him, portents of + terror; they peopled his imagination as epic figures, such as Black + Douglas must have been to the children of the Northern Border. + </p> + <p> + But then, with widening intelligence, it became certain social forces, at + first dimly apprehended. It was the god of “business”—before which + all things fair and noble went down. It was “business” that kept vice + triumphant in the city; it was because of “business” that the saloons + could not be closed even on Sunday, so that the father might be at home + one day in seven. And was it not in search of “business” that he was + driven forth to loaf in hotel-lobbies and bar-rooms? + </p> + <p> + Who was to blame for this, Thyrsis did not know; but certain men made + profit of it—and these, too, were ignoble men. He knew this; for now + and then his father’s employers would honor the little family with some + kind of an invitation, and they would have to swallow their pride and go. + So Thyrsis grew up, with the sense of a great evil loose in the world; a + wrong, of which the world did not know. And within him grew a passionate + longing to cry aloud to others, to open their eyes to this truth! + </p> + <p> + Outwardly he was like other boys, eager and cheerful, even boisterous; but + within was this hidden thing, which brooded and questioned. Life had made + him into an ascetic. He must be stern, even merciless, with himself—because + of the fear that was in him, and in his mother as well. The fear that + self-indulgence might lay its grisly paws upon him! The fear that he, too, + might fall into the trap! + </p> + <p> + It was not merely that he never touched stimulants; he had an instinct + against all things that were softening and enervating, all things that + tempted and enslaved. For him was the morning-air, and the shock of cold + water, and the hardness of the wild things of the open. Other people did + not feel this way; other people pampered themselves and defiled themselves—and + so Thyrsis went apart. He lived quite alone with his thoughts, he had + never a chum, scarcely even any friends. Where in the long procession of + lodging and boarding-houses and summer-resorts should he meet people who + knew what he knew about life? Where in all the world should he meet them, + save in the books of great men in times past? + </p> + <p> + There was not much of what is called “culture” in his family; no music at + all, and no poetry. But there were novels, and there were libraries where + one could get more of these, so Thyrsis became a devourer of stories; he + would disappear, and they would find him at meal-times, hidden in a clump + of bushes, or in a corner behind a sofa—anywhere out of the world. + He read whole libraries of adventure: Mayne-Reid and Henty, and then + Cooper and Stevenson and Scott. And then came more serious novels—“Don + Quixote” and “Les Misérables,” George Eliot, whom he loved, and Dickens, + whose social protest thrilled him; and chiefest of all Thackeray, who + moulded his thought. Thackeray knew the world that he knew, Thackeray saw + to the heart of it; and no high-souled lad who had read him and worshipped + him was ever after to be lured by the glamor of the “great” world—a + world whose greatness was based upon selfishness and greed. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis knew no foreign language, and fate or instinct kept him from those + writers who jested with uncleanness; so he was virginal, and pure in all + his imaginings. Other lads exchanged confidences in forbidden things, they + broke down the barriers and tore away the veils; but Thyrsis had never + breathed a word about matters of sex to any living creature. He pondered + and guessed, but no one knew his thoughts; and this was a crucial thing, + the secret of much of his aloofness. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. In one of the early boarding-houses there had been a little girl, + and the families had become intimate. But the two children disliked each + other, and kept apart all they could. Thyrsis was domineering and + imperious, and things must always be his way. He was given to rebellion, + whereas Corydon was gentle and meek, and submitted to confinements and + prohibitions in a quite disgraceful manner. She was a pretty little girl, + with great black eyes; and because she was silent and shy, he set her down + as “stupid”, and went his way. + </p> + <p> + They spent a summer in the country together, where Thyrsis possessed + himself of a sling-shot, and took to collecting the skins of squirrels and + chipmunks. Corydon was horrified at this; and by way of helping her to + overcome her squeamishness he would make her carry home the bleeding + corpses. He took to raising, young birds, also, and soon had quite an + aviary—two robins, and a crow, and a survivor from a brood of + “cherry-birds.” The feeding of these nestlings was no small task, but + Thyrsis went fishing when the spirit moved him, secure in the certainty + that the calls of the hungry creatures would keep Corydon at home. + </p> + <p> + This was the way of it, until Corydon began to blossom into a young lady, + beautiful and tenderly-fashioned. Thyrsis still saw her now and then, and + he made attempts to share his higher joys with her. He had become a lover + of poetry; once they walked by the seashore, and he read her “Alexander’s + Feast”, thrilling with delight in its resounding phrases: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Break his bands of sleep asunder, + And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder!” + </pre> + <p> + But Corydon had never heard of Timotheus, and she had not been taught to + exploit her emotions. She could only say that she did not understand it + very well. + </p> + <p> + And then, on another occasion, Thyrsis endeavored to tell her about + Berkeley, whom he had been reading. But Corydon did not take to the + sensational philosophy either; she would come back again and again to the + evasion of old Dr. Johnson—“When I kick a stone, I know the stone is + there!” + </p> + <p> + This girl was like a beautiful flower, Thyrsis told himself—like all + the flowers that had gone before her, and all those that would come after, + from generation to generation. She fitted so perfectly into her + environment, she grew so calmly and serenely; she wore pretty dresses, and + helped to serve tea, and was graceful and sweet—and with never an + idea that there was anything in life beyond these things. So Thyrsis + pondered as he went his way, complacent over his own perspicacity; and got + not even a whiff of smoke from the volcano of rebellion and misery that + was seething deep down in her soul! + </p> + <p> + The choosers of the unborn souls had played a strange fantasy here; they + had stolen one of the daughters of ancient Greece, and set her down in + this metropolis of commercialdom. For Corydon might have been Nausikaa + herself; she might have marched in the Panathenaic procession, with one of + the sacred vessels in her hands; she might have run in the Attic games, + bare-limbed and fearless. Hers was a soul that leaped to the call of joy, + that thrilled at the faintest touch of beauty. Above all else, she was + born for music—she could have sung so that the world would have + remembered it. And she was pent in a dingy boarding-house, with no point + of contact with anything about her—with no human soul to whom she + could whisper her despair! + </p> + <p> + They sent her to a public-school, where the sad-eyed drudges of the + traders came to be drilled for their tasks. They harrowed her with + arithmetic and grammar, which she abhorred; they taught her patriotic + songs, about a country to which she did not belong. And also, they sent + her to Sunday-school, which was worse yet. She had the strangest, + instinctive hatred of their religion, with all that it stood for. The + sight of a clergyman with his vestments and his benedictions would make + her fairly bristle with hostility. They talked to her about her sins, and + she did not know what they meant; they pried into the state of her soul, + and she shrunk from them as if they had been hairy spiders. Here, too, + they taught her to sing—droning hymns that were a mockery of all the + joys of life. + </p> + <p> + So Corydon devoured her own heart in secret; and in time a dreadful thing + came to happen—the stagnant soul beginning to fester. One day the + girl, whose heart was the quintessence of all innocence, happened to see a + low word scribbled upon a fence. And now—they had urged her to + discover sins, and she discovered them. Suppose that word were to stay in + her mind and haunt her—suppose that she were not able to forget it, + try as she would! And of course she tried; and the more she tried, the + less she succeeded; and so came the discovery that she was a lost soul and + a creature of depravity! The thought occurred to her, that she might go on + to think of other words, and to think of images and actions as well; she + might be unable to forget any of them—her mind might become a + storehouse of such horrors! And so the maiden out of ancient Greece would + lie awake all night and wrestle with fiends, until she was bathed in a + perspiration. + </p> + <p> + Section 5. About this time Thyrsis was making his <i>début</i> as an author. + He had discovered a curious knack in himself, a turn for making verses of + a sort which were pleasing to children. They came from some little corner + of his consciousness, he scarcely knew how; but there was a paper that was + willing to buy them, and to pay him the princely sum of five dollars a + week! This would pay for his food and his hall bedroom, or for board at + some farm in the summer; and so for several years Thyrsis was free. + </p> + <p> + He told a falsehood about his age, and entered college, and buried himself + up to the eyes in work. This was a college in a city, and a poor college, + where the students all lived at home, and had nothing to do but study; and + so Thyrsis missed all that beneficent illumination known as + “student-life.” He never hurrahed at foot-ball contests, nor did he dress + himself in honorific garments, nor stupify himself at “smokers.” Being + democratic, and without thought of setting himself up over others, he was + unaware of his greatest opportunities, and when they invited him into a + fraternity, he declined. Once or twice he found himself roaming the + streets at night with a crowd of students, emitting barbaric screechings; + but this made him feel silly, and so he lagged behind and went home. + </p> + <p> + The college served its purpose, in introducing him to the world of + knowledge; but that did not take long, and afterwards it was all in his + way. The mathematics were a discipline, and in them he rejoiced as a + strong man to run a race; and this was true also of the sciences, and of + history—the only trouble was that he would finish the text-books in + the first few weeks, and after that there was nothing to do save to + compose verses in class, and to make sketches of the professors. But as + for the “languages” and the “literatures” they taught him—in the end + Thyrsis came to forgive them, because he saw that they did not know what + languages and literatures were. On this account he took to begging leave + of absence on grounds of his poverty; and then he would go home and spend + his days and nights in learning. + </p> + <p> + One could get so much for so little, in this wonderful world of mind! For + eight cents he picked up a paper volume of Emerson’s “Essays”; and in this + shrewd and practical nobility was so much that he was seeking in life! And + then he stumbled upon a fifteen-cent edition of “Sartor Resartus”, and + took that home and read it. It was like the clash of trumpets and cymbals + to him; it made his whole being leap. Hour after hour he read, breathless, + like a man bewitched, the whole night through. He would cry aloud with + delight, or drop the book and pound his knee and laugh over the demoniac + power of it. The next day he began the “French Revolution”; and after + that, alas, he found there was no more—for Carlyle had turned his + back upon democracy, and so Thyrsis turned his back upon Carlyle. + </p> + <p> + For this was one of the forces which had had to do with the shaping of his + thought. Beginning in the public-schools he had learned about his country—the + country which was his, if not Corydon’s. He had read in its history—Irving’s + “Life of Washington,” and ten great volumes about Lincoln; so he had come + to understand that salvation is of the people, and that those things which + the people do not do—those things have not yet been done. So no one + could deceive him, or lead him astray; he might laugh with the Tories, and + even love them for their foibles—quaint old Samuel Johnson, for + instance, because he was poor and sturdy, and had stood by his trade of + bookman; but at bottom Thyrsis knew that all these men were gilding a + corpse. Wordsworth and Tennyson, Browning and Swinburne—he followed + each one as far as their revolutionary impulse lasted; and after that + there was no more in them for him. Even Ruskin, who taught him the + possibilities of English prose, and opened his eyes to the form and color + of the world of nature—even Ruskin he gave up, because he was a + philanthropist and not a democrat. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had been brought up as a devout Episcopalian. They had dressed him + in scarlet and white to carry the train of the bishop at confirmation, and + had sent him to an afternoon service every day throughout Lent. Early in + life he had stumbled on a paper copy of Paine’s “Age of Reason,” and he + read it with horror, and then conducted a private <i>auto da fé</i>. But + the questions of the book stayed with him, and as years passed they + clamored more loudly. What would have happened, astronomically, if the sun + had stood still? And how many different species would have had to go into + the ark? And what was the size of a whale’s gullet, and the probable + digestive powers of a whale’s stomach? + </p> + <p> + And then came more fundamental difficulties. Could there, after all, be + such a duty as faith in any intellectual matter? Could there be any + revelation superior to reason—must not reason have once decided that + it was a revelation, or was not? And what of all the other “revelations”, + which all the other peoples of the world accepted? And then again, if + Jesus had been God, could he really have been tempted? To be God and man + at the same time—did that not mean both to know and not to know? And + was there any way conceivable for anything to be God, in which everything + else was not God? + </p> + <p> + These perplexities and many others the boy took to his clerical adviser, a + man who loved him dearly, and who gave him some volumes of the “Bampton + lectures” to read. Here was the defense of Christianity, conducted by + authorities, and with scholarship and dignity; and Thyrsis found to his + dismay that the only convincing parts of their books were where they gave + a <i>résumé</i> of the arguments of their opponents. He learned in this + way many difficulties that had not yet occurred to him; and when he had + got through with the reading his mind was made up. If any man were to be + damned for not believing such things, then it was his duty as a thinker to + be damned; and so he bade farewell to the Church—something which was + sad, in a way, for his mother had been planning him for a bishop! + </p> + <p> + Section 6. But Thyrsis was throwing away many chances these days. He went + into the higher regions to spend his Christmas holidays; and instead of + being tactful and agreeable, he buried himself in a corner of the library + all day long. For Thyrsis had made the greatest discovery yet—he had + found out Shakespeare! At school they had taught him “English” by means of + “to be or not to be”, and they had sought to trap him at examinations by + means of “man’s first disobedience and the fruit”; and so for years they + had held him back from the two great glories of our literature. But now, + by accident, he stumbled into “The Tempest”; and after that he read every + line of the plays in two weeks. + </p> + <p> + He lost his soul in that wonderland; he walked and thought no more like + the men of earth—he dwelt with those lords and princes of the soul, + and learned to speak their language. He would dodge among cable-cars and + trucks with their heavenly melodies in his ears; and while he sung them + his eyes flashed and his heart beat fast: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Good night, sweet prince, + And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!” + </pre> + <p> + There were a few days left in those wondrous holidays; and these went to + Milton. There was a set of his works, enormously expensive, which had been + made and purchased with no idea that any human being would ever read them. + But Thyrsis read them, and so all the beauty of the binding was justified. + For hours, and hours upon hours, he drank in that thunderous music, crying + it aloud with his hands clenched tightly, and stopping to laugh like a + child with excitement: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Th’imperial ensign, which full high advanced, + Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, + With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed, + Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while + Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds!” + </pre> + <p> + And afterwards, when he came to the palace that “rose like an exhalation”, + all of Thyrsis’ soul rose with it. One summer’s day he stood on a high + mountain with a railroad in the valley, and saw a great freight-engine + stop still and pour out its masses of dense black smoke. It rose in the + breathless air, straight as a column, high and majestic; and Thyrsis + thought of that line. It carried him out into the heavens, and he knew + that a flash of poetry such as that is the meeting of man’s groping hand + with God’s. + </p> + <p> + It was about here that a strange adventure came to him. It was midwinter, + and he went out, long after midnight, to walk in a beautiful garden. A dry + powdery snow crunched beneath his feet, and overhead the stars gleamed and + quivered, so bright that he felt like stretching out his hands to them. + The world lay still, and awful in its beauty; and here suddenly, + unsuspected—unheralded, and quite unsought—there came to + Thyrsis a strange and portentous experience, the first of his ecstasies. + </p> + <p> + He could not have told whether he walked or sat down, whether he spoke or + was silent; he lost all sense of his own existence—his consciousness + was given up to the people of his dreams, the companions and lovers of his + fancy. The cold and snow were gone, and there was a moonlit glade in a + forest; and thither they came, one by one, friendly and human, yet in the + full panoply of their splendor and grace. There were Shelley and Milton, + and the gentle and troubled Hamlet, and the sorrowful knight of la Mancha, + with the irrepressible Falstaff to hearten them all; a strangely-assorted + company, yet royal spirits all of them, and no strangers to each other in + their own world. And here they gathered and conversed, each in his own + vein and from his own impulse, with gracious fancy and lofty vision and + heart-easing mirth. And ah, how many miles would one have travelled to be + with them! + </p> + <p> + That was the burden which this gift laid upon Thyrsis. He soon discovered + that these visions of wonder came but once, and that when they were gone, + they were gone forever. And he must learn to grapple with them as they + fled, to labor with them and to hold them fast, at the cost of whatever + heartbreaking strain. Thus alone could men have even the feeblest + reflexion of their beauty—upon which to feed their souls forever + after. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. These things came at the same time as another development in + Thyrsis’ life, likewise portentous and unexpected. Boyhood was gone, and + manhood had come. There was a bodily change taking place in him—he + became aware of it with a start, and with the strangest and most + uncomfortable thrills. He did not know what to make of it, or what to do + about it; nor did he know where to turn for advice. + </p> + <p> + He tried to put it aside, as a thing of no importance. But it would not be + put aside—it was of vast importance. He discovered new desires in + himself, impulses that dominated him in a most disturbing way. He found + that he took a new interest in women and young girls; he wanted to linger + near them, and their glances caused him strange emotions. He resented + this, as an invasion of his privacy; it was inconsistent with his + hermit-instinct. Thyrsis wished no women in his life save the muses with + their star-sewn garments. He had been fond of a line from a sonnet to + Milton: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart.” + </pre> + <p> + But instead of this, what awful humiliations! In a summer-resort where he + found himself, there was a girl of not very gentle breeding, somewhat + pudgy and with a languishing air. She liked to have boys snuggle down by + her; and so Thyrsis spent the whole of one evening, sitting in a + summer-house with an arm about her waist, dissolved in a sort of moon-calf + sentimentalism. And then he passed the rest of the night wandering about + in the forest cursing himself, with tears of shame and vexation in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + He was so ignorant about these matters that he did not even know if the + changes that had taken place in him were normal, or whether they were + doing him harm. He made up his mind that he must have advice; as it was + unthinkable that he should speak about such shameful things with any grown + person, he bethought himself of a classmate in college who was an earnest + and sober man. This friend, much older than Thyrsis, was the son of an + evangelical clergyman, and was headed for the ministry himself. His name + was Warner, and Thyrsis had helped him in arranging for some religious + meetings at the college. Warner had been shocked by his theological + irregularities; but they were still friends, and now Thyrsis sought a + chance to exchange confidences with him. + </p> + <p> + The opportunity came while they were strolling down an avenue near the + college, and a woman passed them, a woman with bold and hard features, and + obviously-painted cheeks. She smiled at a group of students just ahead, + and one of them turned and walked off arm in arm with her. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” exclaimed Warner. “Did you see that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Thyrsis. “Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She comes from a house just around the corner.” + </p> + <p> + “But who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—she’s a street-walker.” + </p> + <p> + “A street-walker!” + </p> + <p> + This brought to Thyrsis’ mind a problem that had been haunting him for a + year or two. Always when he walked about the streets at night there were + women who smiled at him and whispered. And he knew that these were bad + women, and shrunk from them. But just what did they mean? + </p> + <p> + “What does she do?” he asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t you know what a street-walker is?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + It took some time for him to get the desired information, because the + other could not realize the depths of his ignorance. “They sell themselves + to men,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But what for?” asked Thyrsis. “You don’t mean that they—they let + them—-” + </p> + <p> + “They have intercourse together. Of course.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was almost dumb with dismay. “But I should think they would have + children!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, man!” laughed the other. “Where do you keep yourself, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + But Thyrsis was too much shaken to think of being ashamed. This was a most + appalling revelation to him—it opened quite a new vista of life’s + possibilities. + </p> + <p> + “But why should they do such things?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “They earn their living that way,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “But why <i>that</i> way?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. They are that kind of women, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + And so Warner went on to expound to him the facts of prostitution, and all + the abysses of human depravity that lie thereabouts. And incidentally the + boy got a chance to ask his questions, and to get a common-sense view of + his perplexities. Also he got some understanding of human nature, and of + the world in which he lived. + </p> + <p> + Here was Warner, a man of twenty-four, and of a devout, if somewhat dull + and plodding conscientiousness; and the last eight or nine years of his’ + life had been one torment because of the cravings of lust. He had never + committed an act of unchastity—or at least he told Thyrsis that he + had not. But he was never free from the impulse, and he had no conception + of the possibility of being free. His desire was a purely brute one—untouched + by any intellectual or spiritual, or even any sentimental color. He + desired woman, as woman—it mattered not what woman. How low his + impulses took him Thyrsis realized with a shudder from one remark that he + made—that his poverty did not help him to live virtuously, for about + the docks and in the workingmen’s quarters there were women who would sell + themselves for fifty cents a night. + </p> + <p> + This man’s whole life was determined by that craving; in fact it seemed to + Thyrsis that his God had made the universe with relation to it—a + heaven to reward him if he abstained, and a hell to punish him if he + yielded. It was because of this that he clung to the church, and shrunk + from any dallying with “rationalism”. He disapproved of the theatre, + because it appealed to these cravings; he disapproved of all pictures and + statues of the nude human form, because the sight of them overmastered + him. For the same reason he shrunk from all impassioned poetry, and from + dancing, and even from non-religious music. He was rigid in his + conformance to all the social conventions, because they served the purpose + of saving him and his young women-friends from temptation; and he looked + forward to the completion of a divinity-course as his goal, because then + he would be able to settle down and marry, and so at last to gratify his + desires. He stated this quite baldly, quoting the authority of St. Paul, + that it was “better to marry than to burn.” + </p> + <p> + This conversation brought Thyrsis to a realization that there was a great + deal in the world that was not found in the poetry of Tennyson and + Longfellow; and so he began to pry into the souls of others of his + fellow-students. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. Warner had given him the religious attitude; and now he went + after the scientific. There was a tall, eager-faced young man, who + proclaimed himself a disciple of Haeckel and Herbert Spencer, and even + went so far as to quote Schopenhauer in class. Walking home together one + day, these two fell to arguing the freedom of the will, and the nature of + motives and desires, and what power one has over them; and so Thyrsis made + the startling discovery that this young man, having accepted the doctrine + of “determinism,” had drawn therefrom the corollary that he had to do what + he wanted to do, and so was powerless to resist his sex-impulses. For the + past year this youth, a fine, intellectual and honest student, had gone at + regular intervals to visit a prostitute; and with entirely scientific and + cold-blooded precision he outlined to Thyrsis the means he took to avoid + contracting disease. Thyrsis listened, feeling as he might have felt in a + slaughter-house; and when, returning to the deterministic hypothesis, he + asked how it was that he had managed to escape this “necessity”, he was + told that it must be because he was of a weaker and less manly + constitution. + </p> + <p> + And there was yet another type: a man with whom there was no difficulty in + bringing up the subject, for the reason that he was always bringing it up + himself. Thyrsis sat next to him in a class in Latin, and noticed that + whenever the text contained any hint at matters of sex—which was not + infrequent in Juvenal and Horace—this man would look at him with a + grin and a sly wink. And sometimes Thyrsis would make a casual remark in + conversation, and the man would twist it out of its meaning, or make a pun + out of it—to find some excuse for his satyr’s leer. So at last + Thyrsis was moved to say to him—“Don’t you ever realize what a state + you’ve got your mind into?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked the man. + </p> + <p> + “Why, everything in the world seems to suggest obscenity to you. You’re + always looking for it and always finding it—you don’t seem to care + about anything else.” + </p> + <p> + The other was interested in that view of it, and he acknowledged with mild + amusement that it was true; apparently it was a novelty to him to discuss + such matters seriously. He told Thyrsis that he could not remember having + ever restrained a sexual impulse in his life. He thought of lust in + connection with every woman he met, and his mind was a storehouse of smut. + And yet he was not a bad fellow, in other ways; he handsome, and a good + deal of an athlete, and was planning to be a physician. “You’ll find most + all the fellows are the same,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Not long after this, Thyrsis was selected to represent his college on a + debating-team, and he went away to another city and was invited to a + fraternity-house; and here, suddenly, he discovered how much of + “college-life” he had been missing. This was a fashionable university, and + he met the sons of wealthy parents. About a score of them lived in this + fraternity-house, without any sort of supervision or restraint. They ate + in a beautiful oak-panelled dining-room adorned with drinking-steins; and + throughout the meal they treated their visitor to such an orgy of + obscenity as he had never dreamed of in his life before. Thyrsis was + trapped and could not get away; and it seemed to him when he rose from the + table that there was nothing left clean in all God’s universe. These boys + appeared to vie with each other in blasphemous abandonment; and it was not + simply wantonness—it was sprawling and disgusting filthiness. + </p> + <p> + One of this group took Thyrsis driving, and was led to talk. Here was a + youth whose father was the president of a great manufacturing-enterprise, + and supplied him with unlimited funds; which money the boy used to divert + himself in the pursuit of young women. Sometimes he had stooped so low as + manicure-girls and shop-clerks and stenographers; but for the most part he + sought actresses and chorus-girls—they had more intelligence and + spirit, he explained, they were harder to win. He had his way with them, + partly because he was handsome and clever, but mainly because he was the + keeper of the keys of opportunity. It was his to dispense auto-rides and + champagne-suppers, and flowers and jewels, and all things else that were + desirable in life. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was appalled at the hardness and the utter ruthlessness of this + man—he saw him as a young savage turned loose to prey in a civilized + community. He had the most supreme contempt for his victims—that was + what they were made for, and he paid them their price. Nor was this just + because they were women, it was a matter of class; the young man had a + mother and sisters, to whom he applied quite other standards. But Thyrsis + found himself wondering how long, with this contagion raging among the + fathers and the sons, it would be possible to keep the mothers and the + daughters sterilized. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. These discoveries came one by one; but Thyrsis saw enough at the + outset to make it clear that the time had come for him to gird up his + loins. The choice of Hercules was before him; and he did not intend that + the course of his life was to be decided by these cravings of the animal + within him. + </p> + <p> + From the grosser sorts of temptation he was always saved by the + fastidiousness of his temperament; the thought of a woman who sold herself + for money could never bring him anything but shuddering. But all about his + lodging-house lived the daughters of the poor, and these were a snare for + his feet. It seemed to him as if this craving came to a man in regular + pulses; he could go for weeks, serene and happy in his work—and then + suddenly would come the restlessness, and he would go out into the night + and wander about the streets for hours, impelled by a futile yearning for + he knew not what—the hope of something clean in the midst of + uncleanliness, of some adventure that would be not quite shameful to a + poet’s fancy. And then, after midnight, he would steal home, baffled and + sick at heart, and wet his pillow with hot and bitter tears! + </p> + <p> + So unbearable to him was the thought of such perils that he was impelled + to seek his old friend the clergyman, who had lost him over the ancient Hebrew + mythologies, and now won him back by his living moral force. With much + embarrassment and stammering Thyrsis managed to give a hint of what + troubled him; and the man, whose life was made wholly of love for others, + opened his great heart and took Thyrsis in. + </p> + <p> + He told him of his own youthful struggle—a struggle which had + resulted in victory, for he had never known a woman. And he put all the + facts before the boy, made clear to him the all-determining importance of + the issue: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Choose well, your choice is + Brief and yet endless!” + </pre> + <p> + On the one hand was slavery and degradation and disease; and on the other + were all the heights of the human spirit. For if one saved and stored this + mighty sex-energy, it became transmuted to the gold of intellectual and + emotional power. Such was the universal testimony of the masters of the + higher life— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My strength is as the strength of ten + Because my heart is pure.” + </pre> + <p> + And this was no blind asceticism; it was simply a choosing of the best. It + was not a denial of love, but on the contrary a consecration of love. Some + day Thyrsis would meet the woman he was to cleave to, and he would expect + her to come to him a virgin; and he must honor her as much—he must + save the fire and fervor of his young desire for his life’s great + consummation. + </p> + <p> + Such was the ideal; and these two men made a compact between them, that + once every month Thyrsis would write and tell of his success or failure. + And this amateur confessional was a mighty motive to the lad—he knew + that he could never tell a lie, and the thought of telling the truth was + like a sword hanging over him. There were hours of trial, when he stood so + close to the edge of the precipice that this alone was what kept him + clear. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. The summer had come, and Thyrsis had gone away to live in a + country village, and was reading Keats and Shelley, and the narrative + poems of Scott. There came a soft warm evening, when all the world seemed + a-dream; and he had been working hard, and there came to him a yearning + for the stars. He went out, and was strolling through the streets of the + village, when he saw a girl come out of one of the houses. She was younger + than he, graceful of form, and pretty. The lamp-light flashed on her + bright cheeks, and she smiled at him as she passed. And Thyrsis’ heart + gave a great leap, and the blood surged to his face; he turned and looked, + and saw that she was gazing over her shoulder at him. + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and turned to follow, his meditations all gone, and gone his + resolutions. A trembling seized him, and every nerve of him tingled. He + could feel his heart as if it were underneath his throat. + </p> + <p> + In a moment more he was beside the girl. “May I join you?” he asked, and + she replied with a nod. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis moved beside her and took her arm in his. A moment later they came + to a place where the road was dark, and he put his arm about her waist; + she made no resistance. + </p> + <p> + “I—I’ve seen you often before,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, “I have seen you.” And he suddenly remembered a remark + that he had heard about her. There was a large summer-hotel in this + neighborhood, which as usual had brought all the corruptions of the city + in its train; and a youth whom Thyrsis had met there had pointed out the + girl with the remark, “She’s a little beast.” + </p> + <p> + And this idea, as it came to him, swept him away in a fierce tide of + madness; he bent suddenly down and whispered into her ear. They were words + that never in Thyrsis’ life had passed his lips before. + </p> + <p> + The girl pushed him away; but she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mind, do you?” exclaimed Thyrsis, his heart thumping like a + hammer. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he whispered, bending towards her. “Let us go and take a walk. + Let us go where no one will see us.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Out into the country,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” she replied. “Some other time.” + </p> + <p> + “No, now!” exclaimed Thyrsis, desperately. “Now!” + </p> + <p> + They had been moving slowly; they came to a place where a great tree hung + over the road, shadowing it; and there they stopped, as by one impulse. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me,” he whispered, swiftly. “Listen. You don’t know how anxious + I have been to meet you. It’s true—indeed it’s true!” + </p> + <p> + He paused. “Yes,” said the girl, “and I have been wanting to meet you. + Didn’t you ever see me nod to you?” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly Thyrsis put his arms about her, and pressed her to him. The + touch of her bosom sent the blood driving through his veins in torrents of + fire; he no longer knew or cared what he said, or what he did. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me,” he raced on. “Listen to me! Nobody will know! And you are + so beautiful, so beautiful! I love you!” The words burned his lips, but he + forced himself to say them, again and again—“I love you!” + </p> + <p> + The girl was gazing around her nervously. “Not now,” she exclaimed. “Not + to-night. To-morrow I will meet you, to-morrow night, and go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Thyrsis, “not to-morrow night, but now!” And he clasped her + yet more tightly, with all his strength. “Listen,” he panted, his breath + on her cheek. “I love you! I cannot wait till to-morrow—I could not + bear it. I am all on fire! I should not know what to do!” + </p> + <p> + The girl gazed about her again in uncertainty, and Thyrsis swept on in his + swift, half-incoherent exclamations. He would take no refusal; for half + his madness was terror of himself, and he knew it. And then suddenly, as + he cried out to her, the girl whispered, faintly, “All right!” And his + heart gave a throb that hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you,” she went on, hastily, “I was going to the store for + something, and they expect me home. But wait here till I get back, and + then I’ll go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean it?” whispered Thyrsis. “You mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “And it will be soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, soon.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said he. “But first give me a kiss.” As she held up her face, + Thyrsis pressed her to him, and kissed her again and again, until her + cheeks were aflame. At last he released her, and she turned swiftly and + darted up the street. + </p> + <p> + Section 11. And after she was gone the boy stood there motionless, not + stirring even a hand. A full minute passed, and the color went out of his + cheeks, and the fire out of his veins, and he could hardly stand erect. + His head sunk lower and lower, until suddenly he whispered hoarsely, under + his breath, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at the sky, his face ghastly white; and there came from his + throat a low moan, like that of a wounded animal. Suddenly he turned, and + fled away down the street. + </p> + <p> + He went on and on, block after block; but then, all at once, he stopped + again and faced about. He gripped his hands until the nails cut him, and + shut his teeth together like a steel-trap. “No, no!” he muttered. “No—you + coward!” + </p> + <p> + He turned and began to march, grimly, as a soldier might; he went back, + and stopped on the spot from which he had come; and there he stood, like a + statue. So one minute passed, then another; and at last a shadow moved in + the distance, and a step came near. It was the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” she whispered, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Thyrsis. “I have something I must say to you, please.” + </p> + <p> + She noticed the change in a flash, and she stopped. “What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know just how to tell you,” said Thyrsis, in a low, quivering + voice. “I’ve been a hound, and now I don’t want to be a cad. But I’m sorry + for what we were talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean what <i>you</i> were talking about, don’t you?” demanded the + girl, her eyes flashing. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis dropped his glance. “Yes,” he said. “I am a cur. I beg your + pardon. I am so ashamed of myself that I don’t know what to do. But, oh, I + was crazy. I couldn’t help it! and I—I’m so sorry!” There were tears + in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Humph,” said the girl, “it’s all right.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Thyrsis, “it’s all wrong. It’s dreadful—it’s horrible. I + don’t know what I should have done—-” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you better not do it any more, that’s all,” said she. “I’m sure you + needn’t worry about me—I’ll take care of myself.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis looked at her again; she was no longer beautiful. Her face was + coarse, and her anger did not make it any better. His humility made no + impression. + </p> + <p> + “It is so wrong—-” he began; but she interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Preaching won’t help it any,” she said. “I don’t want to hear it. + Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + So she turned and walked away; and Thyrsis stood there, white, and + shuddering, until at last he started and strode off. Clear through the + town he went, and out into the black country beyond, seeing nothing, + caring about nothing. He flung himself down by the roadside, and lay there + moaning for hours: “My God, my God, what shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + Section 12. It was nearly morning when he came back and crept upstairs to + his room; and here he sat by the bedside, gazing at the haggard face in + the glass. At such times as this he discovered a something in his features + that filled him with shuddering; he discovered it in his words, and in the + very tone of his voice—the sins of the fathers were being visited + upon the children! What an old, old story it was to him—this anguish + and remorse! These ecstasies of resolution that vanished like a + cloud-wrack—these protestations and noble sentiments that counted + for naught in conduct! And his was to be the whole heritage of impotence + and futility; he, too, was to struggle and agonize—and to finish + with his foot in the trap! + </p> + <p> + This idea was like a white-hot goad to him. After such an experience there + would be several months of toil and penance, and of savage + self-immolation. It was hard to punish a man who had so little; but + Thyrsis managed to find ways. For several months at a time he would go + without those kinds of food that he liked; and instead of going to bed at + one o’clock he would read the New Testament in Greek for an hour. He would + leap out of bed in the morning and plunge into cold water; and at night, + when he felt a longing upon him, he would go out and run for hours. + </p> + <p> + He took to keeping diaries and writing exhortations to himself. Because he + could no longer use the theological prayers he had been taught, he + fashioned new invocations for himself: prayers to the unknown sources of + his vision, to the new powers of his own soul—“the undiscovered + gods,” as he called them. Above all he prayed to his vision of the maiden + who waited the issue of this battle, and held the crown of victory in her + keeping— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Somewhere beneath the sun, + Those quivering heart-strings prove it, + Somewhere there must be one + Made for this soul to love it— + + Some one whom I could court + With no great change of manner, + Still holding reason’s fort, + While waving fancy’s banner!” + </pre> + <p> + All of which things made a subtle change in his attitude to Corydon, whom + he still met occasionally. Corydon was now a young lady, beautiful, even + stately, with an indescribable atmosphere of gentleness and purity about + her. All things unclean shrunk from her presence; and so in times of + distress he liked to be with her. He would drop vague hints as to + sufferings and temptations, and told her that she seemed like a “goddess” + to him. + </p> + <p> + Corydon received this with some awe, but with more perplexity. She could + not understand why anyone should struggle so much, or why a youth should + take such a sombre view of things. But she was perfectly willing to seem + like a “goddess” to anyone, and she was glad if that helped him. She was + touched when he read her a poem of his own, a poem which he held very + precious. He called it + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A song of the young-eyed Cherubim + In the days of the making of man.” + </pre> + <p> + And in it he had set forth the view of life that had come to him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The quest of the spirit’s gain— + Lured by the graces of pleasure, + And lashed by the furies of pain. + Thy weakness shall sigh for an Eden, + But the sword shall flame at the gate; + For far is the home of thy vision + And strong is the hand of thy fate!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 13. Though Thyrsis had no time to realize it, it was in this long + and bitter struggle that he won whatever power he had in his future life. + It was here that he learned “to hold his will above him as his law”, and + to defy the world for the sake of his ideal. And then, too, this toil was + the key that opened to him the treasure-house of a new art—which was + music. + </p> + <p> + Until he was nearly out of college Thyrsis had scarcely heard any music at + all. Church-hymns he had learned, and a few songs in school. But now in + poetry and other books he met with references to composers, and to the + meaning of great music; and the things that were described there were the + things he loved, and he began to feel a great eagerness to get at them. As + a first step he bought a mandolin, and set to work to teach himself to + play, a task at which he wrought with great diligence. At the same time a + friend had bought a guitar, and the two set to work to play duets. The + first preliminary was the getting of the instruments in tune; and not + knowing that the mandolin is an octave higher than the guitar, they spent + a great deal of time and broke a great many guitar-strings. + </p> + <p> + As the next step, Thyrsis went to hear a great pianist, and sat perplexed + and wondering. There was a girl next to him who sobbed, and Thyrsis + watched her as he might have watched a house on fire. Only once the + pianist pleased <i>him</i>—when he played a pretty little piece + called somebody’s “impromptu”, in which he got a gleam of a “tune.” Poor + Thyrsis went and got that piece, and took it home to study it, with the + help of the mandolin; but, alas, in the maze of notes he could not even + find the “tune.” + </p> + <p> + But if he could not understand the music, he could read books about it; he + read a whole library—criticism of music, analysis of music, + histories of music, composers of music; and so gradually he learned the + difference between a sarabande and a symphony, and began to get some idea + of what he went out for to hear. At first, at the concerts, all he could + think of was to crane his neck and recognize the different instruments; he + heard whole symphonies, while doing nothing but watching for the + “movements,” and making sure he hadn’t skipped any. One heartless composer + ran two movements into one, and so Thyrsis’ concert came out one piece + short at the end, and he sat gazing about him in consternation when the + audience rose to go. Afterwards he read long dissertations about each + symphony before he went, and he would note down the important points and + watch for them. The critic would expatiate upon “the long-drawn dissonance + <i>forte</i>, that marks the close of the working-out portion”; and + Thyrsis would watch for that long-drawn dissonance, and be wondering if it + was never coming—when suddenly the whole symphony would come to an + end! Or he would read about a “quaint capering measure led off by the + bassoons,” or a “frantic sweep of the violins over a trombone melody,” and + he would watch for these events with eyes and ears alert, and if he found + them—<i>eureka</i>! + </p> + <p> + But such things could not last forever; for Thyrsis had a heart full of + eagerness and love, and of such is the soul of music. And just then was a + time when he was sick and worn—when it seemed to him that the burden + of his life was more than he could bear. He was haunted by the thought + that he would lose his long battle, that he would go under and go down; + and then it was that chance took him to a concert which closed with the + great “C-Minor Symphony.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had read a life of Beethoven, and he knew that here was one of the + hero-souls—a man who had grappled with the fiends, and passed + through the valley of death. And now he read accounts of this titan + symphony, and learned that it was a battle of the human spirit with + despair. He read Beethoven’s words about the opening theme—“So + knocks fate upon the door!” And a fierce and overwhelming longing + possessed him to get at the soul of that symphony. + </p> + <p> + He went to the concert, and heard nothing of the rest of the music, but + sat like a man in a dream; and when the time came for the symphony, he was + trembling with excitement. There was a long silence; and then suddenly + came the first theme—those fearful hammer-strokes that cannot be + thought without a shudder. They beat upon Thyrsis’ very heart-strings, and + he sat appalled; and straight out he went upon the tide of that mighty + music-passion—without knowing it, without knowing how. He forgot + that he was trying to understand a symphony; he forgot where he was, and + what he was; he only knew that gigantic phantoms surged within him, that + his soul was a hundred times itself. He never guessed that an orchestra + was playing a second theme; he only knew that he saw a light gleam out of + the storm, that he heard a voice, pitiful, fearful, beautiful beyond + utterance, crying out to the furies for mercy; and that then the storm + closed over it with a roar. Again and again it rose; Thyrsis did not know + that this was the “working-out portion” that had forever been his bane. He + only knew that it struggled and fought his fight, that it pleaded and + sobbed, and rose higher and higher, and began to rejoice—and that + then came the great black phantom-shape sweeping over it; and the iron + hammer-strokes of Fate beat down upon it, crushed it and trampled it into + annihilation. Again and again this happened, while Thyrsis sat clutching + the seat, and shaking with wonder and excitement. Never in his experience + had there been anything so vast, so awful; it was more than he could bear, + and when the first movement came to an end—when the soul’s last hope + was dead—he got up and rushed out. People who passed him on the + streets must have thought that he was crazy; and afterwards, that day and + forever, he lived all his soul’s life in music. + </p> + <p> + As a result of this Thyrsis paid all his bank-account for a violin, and + went to see a teacher. + </p> + <p> + “You are too old,” the teacher said. + </p> + <p> + But Thyrsis answered, “I will work as no one ever worked before.” + </p> + <p> + “We all do that,” replied the other, with a smile. And so they began. + </p> + <p> + And so all day long, with fingers raw, and arms and back shuddering with + exhaustion, Thyrsis sat and practiced, the spirit of Music beckoning him + on. It was in a boarding-house, and there was a nervous old man in the + next room, and in the end Thyrsis had to move. By the time he went away to + the country, he was able to play a melody in tune; and then he would take + some one that had fascinated him, and practice it and practice it night + and day. He would take his fiddle every morning at eight and stride out + into the forest, and there he would stay all day with the squirrels. They + told him once how a new arrival, driving over in the hotel ‘bus at early + dawn, had passed an old Italian woman toiling up a hill and singing for + dear life the “Tannhauser March.” It chanced that the new arrival was a + musician, and he leaned out and asked the old woman where she had learned + it. And this was her explanation; + </p> + <p> + “Dey ees a crazy feller in de woods—he play it all day for tree + weeks!” + </p> + <p> + Section 14. By this time Thyrsis had finished at college, passing + comfortably near the bottom of his class, and had betaken himself to a + university as a graduate student. He was duly registered for a lot of + courses, and spent his time when he should have been at the lectures, + sitting in a vacant class-room reading the book that had fascinated him + last. His note-book began at that time to show two volumes a day on an + average, and once or twice he stopped at night to wonder how it had + actually been possible for him to read poetry fourteen hours a day for a + whole week and not be tired. + </p> + <p> + He taught himself German, and that led to another great discovery—he + made the acquaintance of Goethe. The power of that mighty spirit took hold + of him, so that he prayed to him when he was lonely, and kept the + photograph of the young poet in his pocket, to gaze at it as at a lover. + The great eyes came to haunt him so that one night he awoke crying out, + because he had dreamed he was going to meet Goethe. + </p> + <p> + In the catalog of the university there were listed a number of courses in + “rhetoric and English composition”. They were for the purpose of teaching + one how to write, and the catalog set forth convincingly the methods + whereby this was done. Thyrsis wished to know all there was to know about + writing, and so ne enrolled himself for an advanced course, and went for + an hour every day and listened to expositions of the elements of + sentence-structure by Prof. Osborne, author of “American Prose Writers” + and “The Science of Rhetoric”. The professor would give him a theme, and + bid him bring in a five-hundred word composition. Perhaps it was that + Thyrsis was lacking in the play-spirit; at any rate he could not write + convincingly on the subject of “The Duty of the College Man to Support + Athletics.” He struggled for a month against his own impotence, and then + went to see his instructor. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said, “I shall have to drop Course A.” + </p> + <p> + The professor gazed over his spectacles at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I am getting any good out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you tell what good you are getting?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t seem to feel that I am,” said Thyrsis, deprecatingly. + </p> + <p> + “It is not to be supposed that you would feel it,” said the other—“not + at this early stage. You must wait.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t like the method, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s wrong with the method?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was embarrassed. He was not sure, he said; but he did not think + that writing could be taught. Anyway, one had first to have something + worth saying— + </p> + <p> + “Are you laboring under the delusion that you know anything about + writing?” demanded the professor. (He had written across Thyrsis’ last + composition the words, “Feeble and trivial”.) + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” began the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Because if you are, let me disabuse your mind at once. There is no one in + the class who knows less about writing than yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Thyrsis, “it’s because I can’t bring myself to write in + cold blood. I have to be interested. I’m sure that is the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure,” said the other, “that the trouble is that you think you know + too much.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry, sir,” said Thyrsis, humbly. “I’ve tried my best—-” + </p> + <p> + “It is my business to teach students to write. I’ve given my life to that, + and I think I know something about it. But you think you know more than I + do. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + And so they parted. Thyrsis kept a vivid recollection of this interview, + for the reason that at a later stage of his career he came into contact + with Prof. Osborne again, and got another glimpse of the authoritarian + attitude towards the art of letters. + </p> + <p> + Section 15. Thyrsis had not many friends at college, and none at all at the + university. He had no time to make any; and besides, there was a certain + facetious senior who had caught him hurrying through the corridors one + day, declaring in excitement that— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Banners yellow, glorious, golden, + On its roof did float and flow!” + </pre> + <p> + But he had long ago ceased to hope for a friend, or to care what anybody + thought about him; it was clear to him by this time that he had made + himself into a poet, and was doomed to be unhappy. His mother had given up + all hope of seeing him a bishop, and they had compromised upon a + judgeship; but here at the university there was a law-school, and he met + the students, and saw that this, too, could not be. These “lawyers” were + not seeking knowledge for the love of it—they were studying a trade, + by which they could rise in the world. They were not going out to do + battle for truth and justice—they were perfecting themselves in + cunning, so that they might be of help in money-disputes; they were + sharpening their wits, to make them useful tools for the opening of + treasure-chests. And this attitude to life was written all over their + personalities; they seemed to Thyrsis a coarse and roistering crew, and he + shrunk from them in repugnance. + </p> + <p> + He went his own impetuous way. He stayed at the university until he had + taught himself French and Italian, as well as German, and had read all the + best literature in those languages. And likewise he heard all the best + music, and went about full of it day and night. By this time he had + definitely beaten his devils, and had come to be master of himself; and + though nobody guessed anything about it, there was a new marvel going on + within him—he had, in a spiritual sense, become pregnant. + </p> + <p> + There were many signs by which this state might have been known. He went + quite alone, and spoke to no man; he was self-absorbed, and walked about + with his eyes fixed on vacancy; he was savage when disturbed, and guarded + his time unscrupulously. He had given up the very last of the formalities + of life—he no longer attended any lectures, or wore cuffs, and he + would not talk at meal-times. He took long walks at impossible hours, and + he was fond of a certain high hill where the storms blew. These things had + been going on for a year; and now the book that had been coming to + ripeness in his mind was ready to be born. + </p> + <p> + It had its origin in the reading of history, and the fronting of old + tyranny in its cruel forms. Thyrsis had come to hate Christianity for many + things by that time, but most of all he hated it because it taught the + bastard virtue of Obedience. Thyrsis obeyed no man—he lived his + life; and the fiery ardor with which he lived it was taking form in his + mind as a personality. He was dreaming a hero who should be <i>Resistance</i> + incarnate; the passionate assertion of man’s right and of man’s defiance. + </p> + <p> + It was in the days of ferocity in Italy, the days of the despot and the + bravo; and Thyrsis’ hero was a minstrel, a mighty musician whose soul was + free. And he sung in the despot’s hall, and wooed the despot’s daughter. + This was the minstrel of “Zulieka”—- + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “His ladder of song was slight, + But it reached to her window’s height; + Each verse so frail was the silken rail, + From which her soul took flight.” + </pre> + <p> + Thyrsis went about quite drunk with the burning words with which the + minstrel won the lady, and tore her free from the mockeries of convention, + and that divinity that doth hedge about a princess. He bore her away, + locked tightly in his arms, and all his own—into the great lonely + mountains; and there lived the minstrel and the princess, the lord and the + lady of an outlaw band. But the outlaws were cruel, and the minstrel + sought goodness; and so there was a struggle, and he and the lady went yet + deeper into the black forest, where they dwelt alone in a hut, he a prince + of hunters and she a princess of love. But the outlaws led the despot to + the place, and there was a battle; the princess was slain, and the + minstrel escaped in the darkness. All night he roamed the forest, and in + the morning he lay by the roadside with a bow in his hand, and when the + despot rode by he rose and drove the shaft through his heart. Then they + captured him, and tortured him, and he died with a song of mockery and + defiance upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + Section 16. Now, when these things first came to Thyrsis, he whispered in + awe that it would be a life-time before he could write them. And a year + passed thus, while every emotion of his life poured itself into some part + of that story, and every note of music that he heard came out of the + minstrel’s heart. At last the time came when he was so full of it that he + could no longer find peace; when the wonder of it was such that he walked + along the street laughing, and with tears in his eyes. Then he said to + himself, “It must be done! Now! Now!” And he looked about him as a woman + might, seeking some place for her labor. + </p> + <p> + That was in the late winter, when the professors at the university, and + all his relatives and acquaintances, had given him up as a hopeless case. + He had stopped all his writing for money—he had a hundred dollars + laid by, and that would suffice him; and he was wandering about whispering + to himself: “The spring-time! The spring-time! For it must be in the + country!” When April had come he could stand it no longer—he must + go! So he left all behind him, and set out for a place in the wilderness. + </p> + <p> + When he reached it, he found a lake that was all ice, and mountains that + were all snow; the country people, who had never seen a poet, and knew not + the subtle difference between inspiration and insanity, heard with wonder + that he was going out into the woods. But he set out alone, through the + snowy forest and along the lake-shore, to find some place far away, where + he could build a hut, or even put up a tent; and when he was miles from + the village, he came suddenly on a little wonderland that made his heart + leap like the wild deer in the brake. Here was a dreamland palace, a + vision beyond all thinking—a little shanty built of logs! It stood + in a pretty dell, with a mountain streamlet dashing through it, and the + mighty forest hiding it, and the lake spread out in front of it. It was + all wet snow, and freezing rain, and mud and desolation; but Thyrsis saw + the summer that was to be, and he sat down upon a stone and gazed at it, + and laughed and sang for wonder and joy. + </p> + <p> + Then he fled back to the village, and found the owner of the earthly + rights to this paradise, and hired it for a little gold; and then he moved + out, in spite of the snow. At last his soul was free! + </p> + <p> + Twice a week they brought him provisions, and there he stayed. At first he + nearly froze at night, and he had to write with his gloves on; but he did + not feel the cold, because of the fire within. He climbed the mountains + and yelled with the mad wind, and tramped through the bare, rocking + forest, singing his minstrel songs. And all these days he walked with God, + and there was no world at all save the world of nature. Millions of + young-hearted things sprang up out of the ground to welcome him; the + forests shook out their dazzling sheen, and the wild birds went mad in the + mornings. All the time Thyrsis was writing, writing—thrilling with + his ecstasy, and pouring out all his soul. He kept a little diary these + days, and for weeks there was but one entry—“The book! The book!” + </p> + <p> + And then one day came a letter from his mother, saying that she was coming + to the village nearby to spend the summer; also that Corydon’s mother was + coming, and that Corydon would be with her! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II. THE SNARE + </h2> + <p> + <i>The streamlet tinkled on. She sat, gazing about her at each familiar + tree and rock. And meanwhile he was reading again from the book— + </i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Here, too, our shepherd-pipes we first assay’d!” + </pre> + <p> + “Is that from ‘Thyrsis’?” she asked. “Read me those lines that we used, to + love so much.” + </p> + <p> + And so he turned the page, and read again— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, + Shy to illumine; and I seek it, too. + This does not come with houses or with gold, + With place, with honor, and a flattering crew: + ‘Tis not in the world’s market bought and sold— + But the smooth-slipping weeks + Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired; + Out of the heed of mortals he is gone, + He wends unfollow’d, he must house alone; + Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired.” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. On the train Corydon was writing a letter to a friend, to say + where she was going, and that Thyrsis was there. “I don’t expect to see + anything of him,” she wrote. “He grows more egotistical and more + contemptuous every day, and I cordially dislike him.” + </p> + <p> + But when a man has spent three or four weeks with no company save the + squirrels and the owls, there comes over him a mood of sociability, when + the sight of a friendly face is an event. Thyrsis had now written several + chapters of his book, and the first fury of his creative impulse had spent + itself. So when Corydon stepped from the train, she found him waiting + there to greet her; and he told her that he was laying in supplies for a + feast, and that on the morrow she and her mother were to come out and see + his fairy-palace and have a picnic dinner. + </p> + <p> + They came; and the May put on her finest raiment for their greeting. The + sun shone warm and bright, and there was a humming and stirring in grass + and thicket; one could feel the surge of the spring-time growth as a + living flood. There was a glory of young green over the hill-sides, and a + quivering sheen of white in the aspens and birches. Corydon clasped her + hands and cried out in rapture when she saw it. + </p> + <p> + And Thyrsis, picturesque in his old corduroy trousers and his grey flannel + shirt, played the host. He showed them his domestic establishment—wherein + things were set in order for the first time since he had come. He told all + his adventures: how the cold had crept in at night, and he had to fiddle + to keep his courage up; how he had slept in a canvas-cot for the first + time, and piled all the bedding on top, and wondered that he was cold; how + he had left the pail with the freshly-roasted beef on the piazza, and a + wild cat had carried off pail and all. He made fun of his amateur + house-keeping—he would forget things and let them burn, or let the + fire go out; and he had tried living altogether on cold food, to the great + perplexity of his stomach. + </p> + <p> + Then he gave a demonstration of his hard-won culinary skill. He boiled + rice and raisins, and fried bacon and eggs; and they had fresh bread and + butter, and jam and pickles, and a festive cake. And after they had + feasted, Thyrsis stretched himself and leaned back against the trunk of a + tree, and gazed up at the sky, quoting the words of a certain one-eyed + Kalandar, son of a king, “Verily, this indeed is life! ‘Tis pity ‘tis + fleeting!” + </p> + <p> + Afterwards he took Corydon for a walk. They climbed the hill where he came + to battle with the stormwinds, and to watch the sunsets and the moon + rising over the lake. And then they went down into the glen, where the + mountain streamlet tumbled. Here had been wood-sorrel, and a carpet of the + white trillium; and now there was adder’s tongue, quaint and saucy, and + columbine, and the pale dusty corydalis. There was soft new moss + underfoot, and one walked as if in a temple. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis pointed out a seat beside a deep bubbling pool. “Here’s where I + sit and write,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And how comes the book?” asked Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m hammering at it—that’s the best I can say.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—it’s a story. I suppose it’ll be called a romance, though I + don’t like the word.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon pondered for a moment. “I wouldn’t expect you to be writing + anything romantic,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis, occupied with his own thoughts, observed, “I might call it a + revolutionary romance.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it about?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated. “It happens in the middle ages,” he said. “There’s a + minstrel and a princess.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds interesting,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + Now in the period of pregnancy the artist’s mood is one of secretiveness. + But afterwards there comes a time for promulgation and rejoicing; and + already there had been hints of this in the mind of Thyrsis. The great + secret that he was cherishing—what would be the world’s reception of + it? And now suddenly a wild idea came to him. He had heard somewhere that + it is the women who read fiction. And was not Corydon a perfect specimen + of the average middle-class young lady, and therefore of that mysterious + potentiality, “the public”, to which he must appeal? Why not see what she + would think of it? + </p> + <p> + He took the plunge. “Would you like me to read it to you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly,” she replied, and then added, gently, “If it wouldn’t be + a desecration.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Thyrsis. “You see, when it’s been printed, all sorts of + people will read it.” + </p> + <p> + So he went back to the house and brought the precious manuscript; and he + placed Corydon in the seat of inspiration, and sat beside her and read. + </p> + <p> + In many ways this was a revolutionary romance. Thyrsis had not spent any + of his time delving into other people’s books for “local color”; he was + not relying for his effects upon gabardines and hauberks, and a sprinkling + of “Yea, sires,” and “prithees.” His castle was but the vaguely outlined + background of a stage upon which living hearts wrought out their passions. + One saw the banquet-hall, with its tapestries and splendor, and the master + of it, the man of force; there were swift scenes that gave one a glimpse + of the age-long state of things— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Right forever on the scaffold, + Wrong forever on the throne.” + </pre> + <p> + There was a quarrel, and a cruel sentence about to be executed; and then + the minstrel came. His fame had come before him, and so the despot, in + half-drunken playfulness, left the deciding of the quarrel to him. He was + brought to the head of the table, and the princess was led in; and so + these two met face to face. + </p> + <p> + Here Thyrsis paused, and asked, “Are you interested?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, go on,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + So he read about his princess, who was the embodiment of all the virtues + of the unknown goddess of his fancy. She was proud yet humble, aloof yet + compassionate, and above all ineffably beautiful. And as for the minstrel— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The minstrel was fair and young. + His heart was of love and fire.” + </pre> + <p> + He took his harp, and first he pacified the quarrel, and then he sang to + the lady. He sang of love, and the poet’s vision of beauty; but most of + all he sang of the free life of the open. He sang of the dreams and the + spirit-companions of the minstrel, and of the wondrous magic that he + wields— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Secrets of all future ages + Hover in mine ecstasy; + Treasures never known to mortals + Hath my fancy hid for thee!” + </pre> + <p> + He sang the spells that he would weave for her, the far journeys she + should take— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For thy soul a river flowing + Swiftly, over golden sands, + With the singing of the steersman + Stealing into wonderlands!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 2. This song was as far as Thyrsis had written, and he paused. + Corydon was sitting with her hands clasped, and a look of enthrallment + upon her face. “Oh, beautiful! beautiful!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + A thrill of pleasure went through the poet. “You like it, then?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I like it!” she answered. And then she gazed at him, with wide-open + eyes of amazement. “But you! You!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not I?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “How in the world did you do it? Where did you get it from?” + </p> + <p> + “It is mine,” said Thyrsis, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t imagine it! I had no idea you were interested in such + things!” + </p> + <p> + “But how could you know what I am interested in?” + </p> + <p> + “I see how you live—apart from everybody. And you spend all your + time in books!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis suddenly recollected something which had amused him very much. + Corydon had been reading “Middlemarch,” and had told him that Dr. Casaubon + reminded her of him. “And so I’m still just a bookworm to you!” he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But isn’t your interest in things always intellectual?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Then you suppose I’m doing this just as an exercise in technique?” he + countered. + </p> + <p> + “It’s taken me quite by surprise,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “We have three faculties in us,” Thyrsis propounded—“intellect, + feeling, and will; and to be a complete human being, we have to develop + all of them.” + </p> + <p> + “But you spend so much time piling up learning!” + </p> + <p> + “I need to know a great many things,” he said. “I’m not conscious of + studying anything I don’t need for my purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the purpose?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He touched the precious manuscript. “This,” he said. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “But you lose so much when you cut yourself off from the world,” said + Corydon. “And there are other people, whom you might help.” + </p> + <p> + “People don’t need my help; or at least, they don’t want it.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you know that—if you never go among them?” + </p> + <p> + “I can judge by the lives they live.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed Corydon, quickly, “but people aren’t to blame for the + lives they live!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because—they can’t help them. They are bound fast.” + </p> + <p> + “They should break loose.” + </p> + <p> + “That is easy for you to say,” said Corydon. “You have no ties.” + </p> + <p> + “I did have them—I might have them still. But I broke them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you are a man!” + </p> + <p> + “What difference does that make?” + </p> + <p> + “It makes all the difference in the world. You can earn money, you can go + away by yourself. But suppose you were a girl—shut up in a home, and + told that that was your ‘sphere’?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d fight,” said Thyrsis—“I’d break my way out somehow, never fear. + If one doesn’t break out, it simply means that his desire is not strong + enough.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had been surprised at the depth of Corydon’s interest in his + manuscript; he had not supposed that she would be so susceptible to + anything of the imagination. And now he was surprised to see that her + hands were clenched tightly, and that she sat staring ahead of her + intently. + </p> + <p> + “Are you dissatisfied with your life?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything in it that I could be satisfied with?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea of that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied; “that only shows how stupid you can be!” + </p> + <p> + “But—you never showed any signs—” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you know that I was trying to prepare for college last year?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but you gave it up.” + </p> + <p> + “What could I do? I had no help—no encouragement. I was groping like + a blind person. And I told you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I told you what to study,” objected Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl; “but how could I do it? You know how to study—you’ve + been taught. But I don’t know anything, and I don’t know how to find + anything out. I began on the Latin, but I didn’t even know how the words + should be pronounced.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody else knows that,” observed Thyrsis, somewhat inconsequently. + </p> + <p> + “It was all so dull and dreary,” she went on—“everything they would + have had me learn. I wanted things that had life in them, things that were + beautiful and worth while—like this book of yours, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I am really delighted that you like it,” said Thyrsis, touched by that. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the rest of it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Thyrsis told his story at some length; in the ardor of her + sympathy his imagination took fire, and he told it eloquently, he + discovered new beauties in it that he had not seen before. And Corydon + listened with growing delight and amazement. + </p> + <p> + “So that is the way you spend your time!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “That is the way,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And that is why you live like a hermit!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is why.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think that you would lose your vision if you went among people?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that I should.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I know because I have tried. You don’t realize how hard I have to work + over a thing like this. I have carried it in my mind for a year; I have + lived for nothing else—I have literally had no other interest in the + world. Every sentence I have read to you has been the product of work + added to work—of one impulse piled upon another—of thinking + and criticizing and revising. Just the little bit I have done has taken me + a whole month, and I have hardly stopped to eat; it’s been my first + thought in the morning and my last at night. And when the mood of it comes + to me, then I work in a kind of frenzy that lasts for hours and even days; + and if I give up in the middle and fall back, then I have to do it all + over again. It’s like toiling up a mountain-side.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” whispered Corydon. “And then, do you expect to have no human + relationships as long as you live?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis pondered for a moment. “Did you ever read Mrs. Browning’s poem, ‘A + Musical Instrument’?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a most beautiful poem,” he said; “and it’s hardly ever quoted or + read, that I can find. It tells how the great god Pan came down by the + river-bank, and cut one of the reeds to make himself a pipe. He sat there + and played his music upon it— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! + Piercing sweet by the river! + Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! + The sun on the hill forgot to die, + And the lilies reviv’d, and the dragon-fly + Came back to dream on the river. + + ‘Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, + To laugh as he sits by the river, + Making a poet out of a man. + The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,— + For the reed which grows nevermore again + As a reed with the reeds in the river.’” + </pre> + <p> + Thyrsis paused. “Do you see what it means?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Corydon, “I see.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Making a poet out of a man!’ That is one of the finest lines I know. And + that’s the way I feel about it—I have given up all other duties in + the world. If I can write one book, or even one poem, that will be an + inspiration to men in the future—why, then I have done far more than + I could do by a lifetime given to helping people around me.” + </p> + <p> + “I never understood before,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “That is the idea the minstrel tries to voice to the princess. At first he + pours out his soul to her; but then, when he finds that she loves him, he + is afraid, and tries to persuade her not to come with him. He tells her + how lonely and stern his life is; and she has been born to a gentle life—she + has her station and her duty in the world. But the more he pleads the + hardness of his life, the more she sees she must go with him. Even if the + end be death to her, still she will be an inspiration to him, and give + wings to his music. ‘Be silent,’ she tells him—‘let me fling myself + away for a song! To do one deed that the world remembers, to utter one + word that lives forever—that is worth all the failure and the agony + that can come to one woman in her lifetime!’” + </p> + <p> + Corydon sat with her hands clasped. “Yes,” she said, “that is the way she + would feel!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad to hear you say that,” remarked the other. “I must make it real; + and I’ve been afraid about it. Would she really go with him?” + </p> + <p> + “She would go if she loved him,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “If she loved him. But she must love his art still more.” + </p> + <p> + “She must love <i>him,”</i> said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis shook his head. “It would not do for her to go with him for that,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Doesn’t he love her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but he is afraid to tell her so. They dare not let that sway them.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because personal love is a limited thing, and comparatively an ignoble + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how there can be anything more noble than true love between a + man and a woman,” declared Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “It depends on what you mean by ‘true’ love,” replied Thyrsis. “If two + people love each other for their own sakes, and go together, they soon + come to know each other, and then they are satisfied—and their + growth is at an end. What I conceive is that two people must lose + themselves, and all thought of themselves, in their common love for + something higher—for some great ideal, some purpose, some vision of + perfection. And they seek this together, and they rejoice in finding it, + each for the other; and so they have always progress and growth—they + stand for something new to each other every day of their lives. To such + love there is no end, and no chance of weariness or satiety.” + </p> + <p> + “I had never thought of it just so,” said the girl. “But surely there must + be a personal love in the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” he responded. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’m afraid I’m + impersonal by nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “that’s what has puzzled me. Don’t you love human + beings?” + </p> + <p> + “Not as a rule,” he confessed. + </p> + <p> + “But then—what is it you are interested in? Yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “People tell me that’s the case. And there’s a sense in which it’s true—I’m + wrapped up in the thought of myself as an art-work. I’ve a certain vision + of the possibilities of my own being, and I’m trying to realize it. And if + I do, then I can write books and communicate it to other people, so that + they can judge it, and see if it’s any better than the vision they have. + It is a higher kind of unselfishness, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Corydon. “It’s not easy to understand.” + </p> + <p> + “No one understands it,” he replied. “People are taught that they must + sacrifice themselves for others; and they do it, blindly and stupidly, and + never ask if the other person is worthy of the sacrifice—and still + less if they themselves have anything worth sacrificing.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon had clenched her hands suddenly. “How I hate the religion of + self-sacrifice!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Mine is a religion of self-development,” said Thyrsis. “I am sacrificing + myself for what other people ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + Section 4. They came back after a time, to the subject of love; and to the + ideal of it which Thyrsis meant to set forth in the book. It was the duty + of every soul to seek the highest potentiality of which it had vision; and + as one did that for himself, so he did it for the person he loved. There + could be no higher love than this—to treat the thing beloved as + one’s self, to be perpetually dissatisfied with it, to scourge it to new + endeavor, to hold it in immortal discontent. + </p> + <p> + This was a point about which they argued with eager excitement. To + Thyrsis, love itself was a prize to be held before the loved one; whereas + Corydon argued that love must exist before such a union could be thought + of. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone as she maintained the thesis + that the princess could not go with the minstrel unless his love was given + to her irrevocably. + </p> + <p> + “If you mean by love a sense of oneness in the pursuit of an ideal, then I + agree with you,” said Thyrsis. “But if you mean what love generally means—a + mutual admiration, the worshipping of another personality—then I + don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “And are lovers not even to be interesting to each other?” cried Corydon. + </p> + <p> + But the poet did not shrink even from that. “I don’t think a woman could + be interesting to me—except in so far as she was growing. And she + must always know that if she stopped growing, she would cease to be + interesting. That is not a matter of anybody’s will, it seems to me—it + is a fact of soul-chemistry.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you will find many women to love you on that basis,” said + Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “I never expected to find but one,” was Thyrsis’ reply; “and I may not + find even one.” + </p> + <p> + She sat watching him for a moment. “I had never realized the sublimity of + your egotism,” she said. “It would never occur to you to judge anyone else + by your own standards, would it?” + </p> + <p> + “That is very well put,” laughed Thyrsis. “As a matter of fact, I have a + maxim that I count all things lost in the world but my own soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I can depend on my own soul; and I have not yet met anything else + in life of which I can say that.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a pause. “You are as hard as iron!” exclaimed the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I am harder than anything you can find for your simile,” he answered. “I + know simply that there is no force existing that can turn me from my + task.” + </p> + <p> + “You might meet some woman who would fascinate you.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” he replied. “I have done things I’m ashamed of, and I’ve a + wholesome fear of doing more of them. But I know that that woman, whoever + she might be, would wake up some morning and find me missing.” + </p> + <p> + Then for a while he sat staring at the eddies in the pool below. “I have a + vision of another kind of woman,” he said—“a woman to whom my ideal + would be the same compelling force that it is to me—a living thing + that would drive her, that she was both master of, and slave to, as I am. + So that she would feel no fears, and ask no favors! So that she would not + want mercy, nor ask pledges—but just give herself, as I give myself, + and take the chances of the game. Don’t you think there may be just one + such woman in the world?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” was the reply. “But then—mightn’t a woman be sure of your + ideal, but not of you?” + </p> + <p> + “As to that,” said Thyrsis, “she would have to know me. + </p> + <p> + “As to that,” said Corydon, “she would have to love you.” + </p> + <p> + And Thyrsis smiled. “As in most arguments,” he said, “it’s mainly a matter + of definitions.” + </p> + <p> + Section 5. At this point there came a call from the distance, and Corydon + started. “There is mother,” she exclaimed. “How the afternoon has flown!” + </p> + <p> + “And must you go home now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid so,” she replied. “We have a long row.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted to advise you about books to read. You + must let me help you to find what you are seeking.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Corydon, “if you only will!” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything I can,” he said. “I am ashamed of not having helped + you before.” + </p> + <p> + They had risen and started towards the house. “Can’t you come to-morrow, + and we can talk it over,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you were going to work,” she objected. + </p> + <p> + “I can spare another day,” he replied. “A rest won’t hurt me, I know. And + it’s been a real pleasure to talk to you this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + So they settled it; and Thyrsis saw them off in the boat, and then he went + back to the little cabin. + </p> + <p> + On the steps he stood still. “Corydon!” he muttered. “Little Corydon!” + </p> + <p> + That was always the way he thought of her; not only because he had known + her when she was a child, but because this expressed his conception of her—she + was so gentle and peaceable and meek. She was now eighteen, and he was + only twenty, but he felt towards her as a grandfather might. But now had + come this new revelation, that astonished him. She had been deeply stirred + by his work—she had loved it; and this was no affectation, it was + out of her inmost heart. And she was not really contented at all—she + had quite a hunger for life in her! + </p> + <p> + It had been like an explosion; the barriers had been destroyed between + them, and he saw her as she really was. And he could hardly believe it—all + through the adventures that followed he would find himself standing in the + same kind of daze, whispering to himself—“Corydon! Little Corydon!” + </p> + <p> + He did not try to do any work that evening. He thought about her, and the + problem of her life. She had stirred him strangely; he saw her beautiful + with a new kind of beauty. He resolved that he would put her upon the way + to some of the joy she sought. + </p> + <p> + She came early the next morning, and they sat by the lake-shore and + talked. They talked about the things she needed to study, and how she + should study them; about the books she had read and the books she was to + read next. And from this they went on to a hundred questions of literature + and philosophy and life. They became eager and excited; their thoughts + took wings, and they lost all sense of time and place. There were so many + things to be discussed! + </p> + <p> + Corydon, in spite of all her anti-clericalism, believed in immortality; + she laid claim to intuitions and illuminations concerning it. And to + Thyrsis, on the other hand, the idea of immortality was the consummation + of all unfaith. To him life was a bubble upon the stream of time, a shadow + of clouds upon the mountains; there was nothing about it that could be or + should be immortal. + </p> + <p> + “The act of faith,” he cried, “is to give ourselves into the arms of life, + to take it as it comes, to rejoice in its infinite unfoldment, the + ‘plastic dance of circumstance’; to behold the budding flower and the + new-born suns as equal expressions of the joy of becoming. But people are + weak, they love themselves, and they set themselves up as the centre of + existence!” + </p> + <p> + But Corydon was personal, and loved life; and she stood out that death was + unthinkable—that she had the sense of infinity within her. Thyrsis + strove to make her see that one was to wreak one’s hunger for infinity at + each moment, and not put it off to any future age; that life was a thing + for itself, and needed no sequel to justify it. “It is a free gift, and we + have no claim upon it; we must take it on the terms of the giver.” + </p> + <p> + From that they came to religion. Thyrsis loved the forms of the old + faiths, because of the poetry there was in them; and so he wrestled with + Corydon’s paganism. He tried to show her how one could read “Paradise + Lost” and the English prayer-book, precisely as one read Virgil and Homer; + to which Corydon answered that she had been to Sunday-school. + </p> + <p> + “But you once believed in Santa Claus!” he retorted. “And does that make + you quarrel with him now? Every time you read a novel, don’t you pretend + to believe in people who never existed?” + </p> + <p> + He went on to show her how much she lost of the sublime and inspiring + things of the past. He took the story of Jesus. It mattered not in the + least if it was fiction or fact—it was there, as an achievement of + the human spirit. He showed her the man of the gospels—not the + stained-glass god with royal robes and shining crown, but the humble + workingman, with his dream of a heaven nearby, and a father who loved his + children without distinction. He went about among the poor and humble, the + world’s first revolutionist; teaching the supremacy of the soul—a + doctrine which was to be as dynamite beneath the pillars of all + established institutions. He lived as a tramp and an outcast, and he died + the death of a criminal; and now those who had murdered him were using his + doctrines to enslave the world!—All this was a new idea to Corydon, + and she resolved forthwith that she would begin her readings with the New + Testament. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. So it went, until Thyrsis looked up with a start, and saw that + the shadows were falling. It was five o’clock, and they had not stopped to + eat! Even so, they had no time to cook, but made a cold meal—and + talked all the time they were eating. + </p> + <p> + Then Corydon said, “I must start for home.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t want any supper,” said Thyrsis. “Let’s see the sunset first.” + </p> + <p> + “But mother will be expecting me,” she objected. + </p> + <p> + “She’ll know you’re all right,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + So they climbed the hill, and sat and watched the sunset and the rising + full moon. The air was clear, and the sky like opal, and the pale, pearly + tints of the clouds were ravishing to behold. To Thyrsis it seemed that + these colors were an image of the soul that was disclosed to him. He would + have been at a loss for words to describe the extraordinary sense of + purity that Corydon gave to him; it was not simply her maidenhood—it + was something far more rare than that. Here was an utterly perfect human + soul; a soul without speck or blemish—without a base idea, with no + trace of a vanity, unaware what a pretense might be. The joy and wonder of + life welled spontaneously in her, she moved to a noble impulse as a cloud + moves before the wind. She was like a creature from the skies they were + watching. + </p> + <p> + And here, in the silver moonlight, a memorable hour came to them. Thyrsis + told her of his consecration, and why he lived his hermit-life. He had + known for years that he was not as other men; and now every hour it was + becoming clearer to him. He shrunk from the word, because it had been + desecrated by the world; but it was Genius. More and more frequently there + was coming to him this strange ecstasy, the source of which he could not + guess; it was like the giving way of flood-gates within him—the + pouring in of a tide of wonder and joy. It made him tremble like a leaf, + it made him cry aloud and fall down upon the ground exhausted. And yet, + whatever the strain might be, he never lost his grip upon himself; rather, + all the powers of his mind seemed to be multiplied—it seemed as if + all existence became one with his soul. + </p> + <p> + Never before had he uttered a word of this to anyone. No one could + understand the burden it had laid upon him. For this was the thing that + all the world was seeking, for the lack of which the world was dying; and + it was his to give or to withhold, to lose or to save. He had to forge it + and shape it, he had to embody it, to set it forth in images and symbols. + And that meant a terrific labor, a feat of mental and emotional endurance + quite indescribable. He must hold it, though it burned like fire; he must + clutch it to his bosom, though it tore at his heart-strings. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” he said, “I fail and have to give up; and then I have nothing + but a memory without words—or perhaps a few broken phrases that seem + mere nonsense. Then I am like a man who has seen some loved one drowned or + burned to death before his eyes. It is a thing so ineffable, so precious; + and some power seeks to tear it away from me, to bear it into oblivion + forever. I can’t know, of course—it might come to some one else—or + it might never come again. The feeling I have is like that of a mother for + an unborn child; if I do not give it life, no one ever will. And don’t you + see—compared with that, what does anything else count? I would lie + down and be crushed to pieces, if that would help; truly, I would suffer + less than I suffer in what I try to do. And so, the things that other men + care for—they simply don’t exist for me. I must have a little money, + because I have to have something to eat, and a place to work in. But I + don’t want position or fame—I don’t shrink from any ridicule or + humiliation. It seems like a mad thing to say, but I have nothing to do + either with men’s evil or with their good. I am not bound by any of their + duties; I can’t have any country or any home, I can’t have wife or + children—I can hardly even have any friends. Don’t you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” whispered Corydon, deeply moved, “I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Look,” he went on—“see all the vice and misery in the world—the + cruelty and greed and hate. And see all the stupid and petty things, the + narrow motives, the vanities and the jealousies! And all that is because + people haven’t this thing that has come to me; they don’t know the + possibilities of life, they lack the sense of its preciousness and + sacredness. And they seek and seek—and go astray! Take drunkenness, + for instance; that brings them joy, but it’s a false scent, it leads them + over a precipice. I’ve been down at the bottom of it—you know why I + have to go there, and what I’ve seen. And that is where the best of men’s + faculties go—yes, it’s literally true! The men who are dull and + plodding, they are contented; it’s the men who are adventurous and + aspiring who come to that precipice. I walk down an avenue and see the + lines of saloons with their gleaming lights, and that thought is like a + scream of anguish in my soul; there came a phrase to me once, that I + wanted to cry out to people—‘the graveyards of your genius! the + graveyards of your genius!’” + </p> + <p> + Corydon was gazing at his uplifted face. She said, “That is how Jesus must + have felt, when he wept over Jerusalem.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Thyrsis. “It is a new religion trying to be born. Only + nowadays they don’t persecute you, they just ignore you. They don’t hang + you up on a cross and make you conspicuous and picturesque—they + ridicule you and let you starve. And that is what I face, you see. I’ve + saved a hundred dollars—just barely enough to buy me food until I’ve + written the book!” + </p> + <p> + “And other people have so much!” cried Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “So much—and no idea what to do with it. They just fling it away, in + a drunken frenzy. And down below are the poor, who slave to make + civilization possible. Such lives as they have to live—I can’t ever + get the thought out of my mind, not in any happiest moment! I feel as if I + were a man who had escaped from a beleaguered city, and it all depended + upon me to carry the tidings and bring relief. I’m their one hope, and if + I fail them I’m a traitor, an accursed being! They are ignorant and + helpless, and their cry comes to me like some great storm-wind of grief + and despair. Oh, some day I mean to utter words that will reach them—I + can’t fail! I can’t fail!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” whispered Corydon. “You must not fail!” + </p> + <p> + They sat in silence for a while. + </p> + <p> + “How I wish that I could help you!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Who can tell?” he answered. “Perhaps you may. A true friend is a rare + thing to find.” + </p> + <p> + “I would do anything in the world to share in such a work.” + </p> + <p> + “You really mean that? As hard as it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I would bear anything,” she said. “I would go to the ends of the earth + for it. I would fling away the whole world—just as you have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but are you strong enough? Could you stand it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that—I’m only a child. But I wouldn’t mind dying.” + </p> + <p> + And so it came. It came as the dawn comes, unheralded, unheeded—spreading + wider, till the day is there. Months afterwards they talked about it, and + Thyrsis asked, “When did I propose to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you ever proposed to me,” she answered. “It just came. It + had to come—there was no other way.” + </p> + <p> + “But when did I first kiss you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know even that,” she said, and pondered. + </p> + <p> + “Did I kiss you that night when we sat on the hill?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t have known it if you had,” said Corydon. “It was as natural + for you to kiss me as it was for me to draw my breath.” + </p> + <p> + Section 7. The moon was high when they went down the hill, and he rowed her + home. They were silent with the awe that was upon them. They found the + people at home in a panic, but they scarcely knew this—and they + scarcely troubled to explain. + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrsis went home, and spent half the night roaming about in + excitement. And early in the morning he was sitting on the edge of his + canvas-cot, whispering to himself again, “Corydon! Little Corydon!” + </p> + <p> + He could not think of work that day, but set out to walk to the village by + the lonely mountain-road; and half-way there he met the girl, coming in + the other direction. There was a light of wonder in her eyes; and also + there was perplexity. For all that morning she had been whispering to + herself, “Thyrsis! Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + They sat by the roadside to talk it over. + </p> + <p> + “Corydon,” he began, “I’ve been thinking about what we said last night, + and it frightens me horribly. And I want to ask you please not to think + about it any more. I could not take anyone else into my life—before + God, I couldn’t be so cruel. I have been shuddering at the thought of it. + Oh please, please, run away from me—before it is too late!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way it seems?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Corydon!” he cried. “I am a tormented man! There can’t be any happiness + in the world for me. And you are so beautiful and so pure and so good—I + simply dare not think of it! You must be happy, Corydon!” + </p> + <p> + “I have never yet been happy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he went on—“there is a stanza of Walter Scott’s that came + to me this morning—an outlaw song. It seemed to sum up all my + feeling about it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Maiden! a nameless life I lead, + A nameless death I’ll die; + The fiend whose lantern lights the mead + Were better mate than I!’” + </pre> + <p> + Corydon sat staring ahead. “You can’t frighten me away from you,” she + said, in a low voice. “It isn’t worth your while to try. But let me tell + you what I came to say. I’m so ignorant and so helpless—I didn’t see + how I could be of any use to you. And so I wanted to tell you that you + must do whatever seemed best to you—just don’t count me at all. You + see what I mean—I’m not afraid for myself, but just for you. I + couldn’t bear the thought that I might be in your way. I felt I had to + come and tell you that, before you went back to your work.” + </p> + <p> + Now Thyrsis had set out with mighty battlements reared about him; and not + all the houris and the courtesans of all the ages could have found a way + to breach them. But before those simple sentences of Corydon’s, uttered in + her gentle voice, and with her maiden’s gaze of wonder—the + battlements crumbled and rocked. + </p> + <p> + And that was always the way of it. There were endless new explanations and + new attitudes, new excursions and discoveries. They would part with a + certain understanding, but they never knew with what view they would meet + in the morning. They were swung from one extreme to the other, from + certitude to doubt, from joy to dismay and despair. And so, day after day + they would sit and talk, for uncounted hours. Corydon would come to the + little cabin, or Thyrsis would come to the village, and they would wander + about the roads or the woods, forgetting their meals, forgetting all the + world. Once they wandered away into the mountains, and they sat until the + dusk closed round them; they were almost lost that night. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Thyrsis had been saying, “we should not be married like other + men and women.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Corydon, “of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “We should be brother and sister,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she assented. + </p> + <p> + “And it would not be real marriage—I mean, it would be just for the + world’s eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “So I don’t see how it could hinder you,” Corydon added. “Whatever I did + that was wrong, you would tell me. And then too, about money. I shouldn’t + be any burden; for I have twenty-five dollars a month of my own.” + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea of that,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve only had it for a year,” said Corydon. “An aunt left me nearly four + thousand dollars. I can’t touch the principal until I’m thirty, but I have + the income, and that will buy me everything I need. And so it would be + just as if you didn’t have me to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think the money side matters so much,” was his reply. “It’s only + this summer, you see—until I’ve finished the book.” + </p> + <p> + Section 8. The key to all the future was the book; but alas, the book was + not coming on. How could one write amid such excitement? This was a new + kind of wine in Thyrsis’ blood. This was reality! And before it his + dream-phantoms seemed to have dissolved into nothingness. + </p> + <p> + They would make a compact for so many days, and he would start to work; + but he would find himself thinking of Corydon, and new problems would + arise, and he would take to writing her notes—and finally realize in + despair that he might as well go and see her. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Corydon would be wrestling with tasks of her own. They had talked + over her development, and agreed that what she needed was discipline. And + because Thyrsis had read her some of Goethe’s lyrics, she had decided to + begin with German. Thyrsis had wasted a great deal of time with German + courses in college, and so he was able to tell her everything not to do. + He got her a little primer of grammar, just enough to make clear the + language-structure; and then he set her to acquiring a vocabulary. He had + little books full of words that he had prepared for himself, and these she + drilled into her brain, all day and nearly all night. She stopped for + nothing but to eat—in the woods when the weather was fair and in her + room when it rained, she studied words, words, words! And she made amazing + progress—while Thyrsis was wrestling with his angels she read + Grimm’s fairy tales, and some of Heyse’s “Novellen,” and “Hermann and + Dorothea,” and “Wilhelm Tell.” + </p> + <p> + But these were children’s tasks, and her pilgrimage was one of despair. + Above were the heights where Thyrsis dwelt, inaccessible, almost + invisible; and how many years must she toil to reach them! She would come + to him with tears in her eyes—tears of shame for her ignorance and + her stupidity. And then Thyrsis would kiss the tears away, and tell her + how many brilliant and clever women he had met, who had the souls of dolls + behind all their display of culture. + </p> + <p> + So Corydon would escape that unhappiness—but alas, only to fall into + another kind. For she was a maiden, beautiful and tender, and ineffably + precious to Thyrsis; and when they met, their hands would come together—it + was as natural for them to embrace as for the flowers to grow. And this + would lead to moods of weakness and satisfaction—not to that divine + discontent, that rage of impatience which Thyrsis craved. It seemed to him + that Corydon grew more and more in love with him, and more willing to + cling to him; and he was savage because of his own complaisance. They + would spend hours, exchanging endearments and whispering youthful + absurdities; and then, the next day, he would write a note of protest, and + Corydon would be wild with misery, and would tear up his love-notes, and + vow in tears that he should never touch her hand again. Now and then he + would try to suggest to her that what she needed for the fulfillment of + her life was not a madman like himself, but a husband who would love her + and cherish her, as other women were loved and cherished; and there was + nothing in all the world that galled her quite so much as this. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. There came a time when all these happenings could no longer be + hid from parents. This unthinkable “engagement” had to be announced, and + the furies of grief and rage and despair unchained. No one could realize + the change that had come over Corydon—Cory-don, the meek and + long-suffering, who now was turned to granite, and immovable as the + everlasting hills. As for Thyrsis, all kinds of madness had come from him, + and were expected from him. But even he was appalled at the devastation + which this thunderbolt caused. + </p> + <p> + “You have ruined your career! You have ruined your career!” was the cry + that rang in his ears all day. And he knew what the world meant by this. + Young men of talent who wished to rise in the world did not burden + themselves with wives at the age of twenty; they waited until their + careers were safe—and meantime, if they felt the need, they + satisfied their passions with the daughters of the poor. And it was for + some such “eligible man” as this that the world had been preparing + Corydon; it was to save her for his coming that her sheltered life had + been intended. Her beauty and tenderness would appeal to him, her + innocence would bring a new thrill to his jaded passions; and when he + offered his hand, there would be no whisper of what his past might have + been, there would be no questions asked as to any vices or diseases he + might bring with him. There would be trousseaus and flowers and + wedding-cake, rice and white ribbons and a honeymoon-journey; and then an + apartment in the city, or perhaps even a whole house, with a butler and a + carriage—who could tell? With wealth pouring into the metropolis + from North and West and South, such things fell often to beautiful and + innocent maidens in sheltered homes. + </p> + <p> + And here was this one, flinging herself away upon a penniless poet who + could not support her, and did not even propose to try! “Does he mean to + get some work?” was the question; and gently Corydon explained that they + intended “to live as brother and sister.” And that capped the climax—that + proved stark, raving madness, if it did not prove downright knavery and + fraud. + </p> + <p> + In the end, being utterly baffled and helpless with dismay, the mothers + turned upon each other; for to each of them, the virtues of her own + offspring being so apparent, it was clear that this hideous tragedy must + have come from the machinations of the other. One day Thyrsis and his + mother, walking down a road, met Corydon and her mother, upon a high hill + where the winds blew wildly; and here they poured out their grief, and + hurled their impeachments against the storm. To Thyrsis they assumed + heroic proportions, they towered like queens of tragedy; in after-history + this was known as the Meeting of the Mothers, and he likened it to the + great contest in the Nibelungenlied between Brunhild and Kriemhild. + </p> + <p> + Then, on top of it all, there came another calamity. In the boarding-house + with Corydon lived some elderly ladies, who had a remarkable faculty for + divining the evil deeds of other people. They had divined the evil deeds + of Corydon and Thyrsis, and one of them was moved to come to Corydon’s + mother one day, and warn her lest others should divine them too. And so + there was more agony; the discovery was made that Corydon had become a + social outcast to all the maids and matrons of the summer population—a + girl who went to visit a poet in his lonely cabin, and stayed until + unknown hours of the night. And so there came to Thyrsis a note saying + that Corydon must come no more to the cabin; and later in the day came + Corydon herself, to bring the tidings that a telegram had come from the + city, and that she and her mother were to leave the place the next day. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was aflame with anger, and was for going to the nearest parson and + having the matter settled there and then. But Corydon dissuaded him from + this. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking it over,” she said, “and it’s best that I should go. + You must finish the book—everything depends upon that, and you know + that if I came here now you couldn’t do it. But if I go away, there’ll be + nothing to disturb you. I can study meantime; and when we meet in the city + in the fall, everything will be clear before us.” + </p> + <p> + She came and put herself in his arms. “You know, dear heart,” she said, + “it won’t be easy for me to go. But I’m sure it’s for the best!” + </p> + <p> + And Thyrsis saw that she was right, and so they settled it. She spent that + day with him—their last day; and floods of tenderness welled up in + their hearts, and the tears ran down their cheeks. It was only now that + she was going that Thyrsis realized how precious she had become to him, + and what a miracle of gentleness and trust she was. + </p> + <p> + They agreed that here, and not in the village, was the place for their + parting. So they poured out their love and devotion, and made their + pledges for the future; and towards sundown he kissed her good-bye, and + put her in the boat, and stood watching until it was a mere speck down the + lake. Then he went back to the house, with a great cavern of loneliness in + his soul. + </p> + <p> + And in spite of all resolves, he was up with the dawn next day, and + walking to the village—he must see her once again! He went to the + depot with her, and upon the platform they said another farewell; thereby + putting a seal upon Corydon’s damnation in the eyes of the maids and + matrons of the summer population. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III. THE VICTIM HESITATES + </h2> + <h3> + <i>They had opened a wooden box which lay beside them. </i> + </h3> + <p> + “Ten years!” she said. “How they have faded!” + </p> + <p> + “And the creases are tight,” said he; “they will be hard to read.” + </p> + <p> + “Letters! letters!” she exclaimed—“some of them sixty pages long! + How much would they make?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps a quarter of a million words,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What is to be done about it?” + </p> + <p> + “They must be selected, and then cut, and then trimmed and pruned.” + </p> + <p> + “And will that leave any idea of it?” + </p> + <p> + He answered with a simile. “You wish to convey to a man how it feels to + pound stone for twelve hours in the sun. The only way you could really do + it would be to take him and let him pound for twelve hours. But he + wouldn’t stand for that.” + </p> + <p> + “So you let him pound for one hour,” said she, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I will put up a sign,” he said— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘HERE BEGINS THE STONE-POUNDING!’ +</pre> + <p> + <i>And then those who are interested will come in and try it; and the rest + will peer through the fence and pass on.” </i> + </p> + <p> + To which she responded, “I would make the sign read, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘ADMISSION TO LOVERS ONLY!’” + </pre> + <h3> + MY THYRSIS! + </h3> + <p> + Oh, if I might only stay in a convent until you are ready to take me! + Since I left you I find myself possessed of cravings, which, if I indulged + them, might bring me the fate of the Maid of Neidpath! + </p> + <p> + Truly I have known some miserable moments. But I am trying very hard to + cultivate a happy, confident activity. The people here are aggressive, and + I am afraid I have been rude, which I never like to be. I just succeeded + in getting away from a young man who wanted to walk to the village with + me. Do you know, it would drive me absolutely mad to talk to anyone now! + </p> + <p> + My soul has only one cry, and I could sometimes go out on the + mountain-side and scream it aloud to the winds. I fear I shall be a trifle + wild, in fact utterly in pieces, until you come, with that wonderful + recipe of yours for binding me together, and making me complete. I think + of you in your house, and wish to God I were there, or out in the desert + even, if you were with me. + </p> + <p> + When I passed through the city I felt exactly as if I were in Hades. The + glaring lights and the fearful rattle, the lazy, lounging men—I had + dinner in a restaurant, in which all the people seemed to be feeding + demons! It has been distinctly shown me why so many people have thought + you a rude unmannerly boy! I don’t know what people would think, if I had + to be amongst them long. + </p> + <p> + I have begun so many letters to you in my mind, and oh, the times I have + told myself how much I loved you! I have read your letters and slept with + them under my pillow, like the veriest love-lorn maiden. But all my happy + thoughts are gone at present. It is distracting to me to have to come into + such close contact with people. + </p> + <p> + Oh, tell me, dearest one, what I shall have to do to control myself and + preserve the peace of my soul, until I go to you forever? I must not long + to see you, it prevents me from studying. If you might only come to me at + one moment in the day, and give me one kiss, and then go away! You see, I + am conducting myself in a very unwise manner—and it is necessary I + should study! I should love to have an indomitable capacity for work, and + eat only two meals a day, and never have to think about my body. + </p> + <p> + I want to tell you what I feel, how utterly and absolutely I am yours, and + how any image that comes between you and me enrages me. If only you knew + how I give myself up to you in thought, word, and deed!—My one + reason for acting now, is that I may show you something I have done, my + one thought is to be what you would wish me. No one, no one understands, + or ever will, what is in your heart and in mine—to be locked there + for ages. There I have placed all my power of love and religion and hope + of the life that is to be. To you I give all my trust, all my worship, you + are the one link that binds me to myself and to God. Without you I feel + now that I should be a poor wanderer. + </p> + <p> + You give me my feeling of wholeness, of the possibility of completion, + that I never had before. In my best and truest moments I know that with + you I can be what I have hoped. With you before my eyes I have a grim + resolution to conquer or die. The one thing I am sure of always is my love + for you. It might be possible for you to stop loving me; but I, now that I + have begun, shall continue to love you to the day I die—and after, I + hope. I do not love you for what you can give me, I love you because you + are you, I must love you now no matter what you are. I believe Shakespeare + was right when he said that “love is not love which alters, when it + alteration finds.” I do not believe that a person can really love more + than once. + </p> + <p> + I must go to my German again and leave you. Do you love me? Do you love + me? Do you love me? + </p> + <p> + II. My dearest Corydon: + </p> + <p> + I received a letter from you before dinner, and as usual had one of my + flights of emotion, and thought of many things to write to you. Now I am + up on the mountain-side, trying to recall them. Dearest, you are, as + always, more precious to me. I am glad to see that you are suffering some, + and I think that it is well that you have to be away from me for awhile, + to fight some of your own soul’s battles. You see that I am in my stern + humor; as convinced as ever that the soul is to be deepened only by + effort, and that the great glory of life cannot be bought or stolen, or + even given for love, but must be earned. + </p> + <p> + I will tell you what I have been doing since you left. I spent three whole + days in the most unimaginable wretchedness; I had no hindrances like yours—only + the most fearful burden of dullness and sloth, that had crept upon me and + mastered me, during all the weeks that I had let myself be so upset and + delayed. I cannot picture what I go through when I lose my self-command in + that way, but it is like one who is tied down upon a railroad track and + hears a train coming. He gets just as desperate as he pleases, and suffers + anything you can imagine—but he does not get free. And always the + book would be hanging before me, a kind of external conscience, to show me + what I ought to have been. + </p> + <p> + Now I have gotten myself out of that, by an effort that has quite worn me + out. When I found myself at work again, I felt a kind of savage joy of + effort, a greater power than I ever knew before. In the reckless mood that + I had got to, it seemed to me that I could keep so forever. + </p> + <p> + Now dearest, you must get the same unity in your life; you must + concentrate all your faculties upon that—get for yourself that + precious habit of being “instant in prayer”, and “strenuous for the bright + reward”. As Wordsworth has it, “Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness!” + Let it come to you with a pang that hurts you, that for one minute you + have been idle, that you have admitted to yourself that life is a thing of + no consequence, and that you do not care for it. I shall have to talk to + you that way—perhaps not so often as I do to myself, because I do + not think you are really in your heart such a very dull and sodden + creature as I am. + </p> + <p> + I think the greatest trial we shall have will be our fondness for each + other, and the possibility of being satisfied simply to hold each other in + our arms. But we shall get the better of that, as of everything else; and + that is not the problem now. You must learn to strive, learn to master + yourself; you must prove your power so. Do not care how rude you have to + be to those people; look upon the things about you as a kind of + dream-world, and know that your own soul’s life is the one real thing for + you. And don’t write any more about how circumstances hold you back. When + you have got to work you will know that you are given your soul for no + purpose but to fight circumstances; that they are the things to make you + fight. When they are removed, as I know to my cost, there is still the + same necessity of fighting; only it is like a horse who has to win a race + without the spurs. + </p> + <p> + You must talk to yourself about this, night and day, until this desire is + so awake in you that you can’t go idle many moments without its rushing + into your mind, and giving you a kind of electric shock. And when that + happens you fling aside every thing else, every idea but the work that you + ought to be doing, and put all your faculties upon that; and every time + that you catch them wandering, you do the same thing again, and again. + Some times when I become very keenly aware of myself, and of what a + shallow creature I really am, it seems to me that it is only by wearing + myself out in that grim and savage way that I can make myself even + tolerable. + </p> + <p> + I <i>must</i> stop. Do you know that for five precious hours by my watch I + have sat up here thinking about you and writing to you? Dear me—and + I am tired, and frozen, for there is a cold wind. I shall have, I see, to + prove some of <i>my</i> powers, by not writing letters to you when I + should be at the book. + </p> + <p> + I see that it takes four or five days for letters to come and go between + us; and so if we write often, our letters will be crossing. Four or five + days is time enough for us to change our moods a dozen times, so our + correspondence will be apt to be complicated! + </p> + <h3> + III. MY DEAREST THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + It has worried me somewhat to-day that you might be utterly disappointed + in the letter I wrote you. It was a wild jumble of words, but I was + fighting all sorts of uncomfortable things within me. To-day I have been + anything but despairing, and have “gone at” the German. In fact, I quite + lost myself in it, and believe I understand thoroughly the construction of + the first poem. Wonderful accomplishment! + </p> + <p> + Your words, as I read them again, dear heart, are full of a great beauty + and fire and energy, and I only hope you may keep them always. I believe + that the possibility of the marriage we both desire, depends greatly if + not entirely on <i>your</i> sternness. You must realize it. + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell with the proper conditions and training what energy I might + be able to accumulate for myself, but in the meanwhile the thing that + makes me most wretched is my utter incapacity at times, and my inability + to share with you your work. In my weaker and more helpless moods, I ask + myself with a pang, whether I ought to go with you at all, when I cannot + help you. But I must stop fuming. I have come out of my mudpuddle for good + and for all, and that is the main consideration. I don’t intend to go + back. + </p> + <p> + We must not think of each other in any way but as co-workers in a great + labor; we must simply know that our love is rooted deeply, and the harder + we work the more firm it will be. There is no reason why we should not go + to the altar with just this sternness, and from now on preserve this + attitude until the day when we have earned the right to consider what love + means. Can you do it? I will prove to you that I can. + </p> + <h3> + IV. MY DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I am trying very dreadfully, and go away alone and pound at the German as + if my life depended upon it. I go to bed every night with a tight feeling + in my head, but I do not mind, as I take it for a guarantee that I have + not rested. + </p> + <p> + And oh, my dearest, dearest and best, I am trying not to think of you too + much—that is too much in a way that does not help me to study. But I + love you really, yes, truly, and I know I would follow you anywhere. I am + not particularly joyful, but then I do not expect to be for a great many + years. + </p> + <h3> + V. DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + Only a few words. I have been hovering to-day between spurts of hopeful + energy, and the most indescribable despair. It positively freezes my + heart, and I have been on the point of writing to you and telling you to + relieve yourself of the responsibility of me. The reason is because it + seems a perfectly Herculean task to read “Egmont”. I have to look up words + in the dictionary until I am absolutely so weary I care not about + anything; and then I think of you, and what you are able to do, and at one + word from you I would give up all idea of marrying you. + </p> + <p> + I tell you I am up and down in this mood. Great God, I could work all day + and all night if I could do what you do, but to strain at iron fetters—a + snail! Oh, I cannot tell you—I simply groan under it. At such times + I have no more idea of marrying you than of journeying to the moon. I + repeat to you, to be constantly choked back, while you are rapidly + advancing, will kill me. I don’t know what you will say to this, but it is + intolerable, unendurable, to me. When I think of your ability and mine, I + simply laugh about it—Thyrsis, it is simply ridiculous. I do not ask + you to take me with you, Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + Do you wonder at my writing all this? You would not if you understood. It + is so hard for me to keep any joy in my heart, and I get tired of repeated + failures, that is all. I thought I must write you this, and have it over + with. This is the style of letter I have always torn up, but this time it + goes. I think I will practice the piano now, and try to get some gladness + into my soul again. + </p> + <h3> + VI. MY DEAR, DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + There is a dreadful sort of letter which I wrote you last night which I + haven’t sent you yet. + </p> + <p> + I have been studying, or trying to most of the day, and my mind has + wandered most painfully. There were two days in which I seemed to have + hold of myself, but with an effort that was a fearful strain. I must try + so, that it almost kills me, if I wish to accomplish even a little of what + I ought. The heat here is almost insupportable, it is stifling, and I + spent an hour or so in the water this afternoon. + </p> + <p> + And the thought is always torture to me—that you are accomplishing + so much more than I! I was thinking of your letters to-night, and I + recalled some words that seemed to speak more of your love for me. Oh, + Thyrsis, if your letters are fiery and passionate, is it for love of <i>me</i> + that they are? I’m almost afraid at times, when I read your letters—when + you tell me of the kind of woman you <i>want</i> to love. + </p> + <p> + I at present am certainly not she. And do you know that when we are + married we shall be united forever? I don’t know why I write you these + things, they are not at all inspiring thoughts to me. + </p> + <p> + And yet I was able to go in swimming this afternoon, and forget everything + and frolic around as happily as any water-baby! + </p> + <h3> + VII. MY DEAR CORYDON: + </h3> + <p> + I came off to write my poem, but I have been thinking about you, and I + must write a long letter. It is one of the kind that you do not like. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, you complain of the contradictions in my letters. I am + sorry. I live so, struggling always with what is not best in me, and + continually falling down. Also, in this matter I am an utter stranger, + groping my way; and there is an element of passion in it, a dangerous + element, which leads me continually astray. + </p> + <p> + I can only say that in my ideal of love, which is utter love and spiritual + love, I think of living my life with you in entire nakedness of soul. + Therefore, I shall always be before you exactly as I should be by myself. + And I shall write you now exactly what I have been thinking, what is hard + and unkind in it, as well as the rest. You will learn to know me as a man + far from perfect, often going astray himself, often feeling wrong things, + often leading you astray and making you wretched. But behind all this + there is the thing often lost sight of, but always present—the iron + duty that I have, and the force in me which drives me to it. + </p> + <p> + All this morning I have been thinking of my book, losing myself in it and + filling myself with its glory. This afternoon I fell to thinking about us; + and thoughts which have been lurking in my mind for a long time got the + upper hand for the first time. They were that I did not love you as I + ought to, that I could not; that the love which I felt was a thing from my + own heart, and that it had carried me away because I was anxious to + persuade myself I had found my ideal upon earth; that you <i>could</i> not + satisfy the demands upon life that I made, and that if I married you it + would be to make you wretched, and myself as well; that you had absolutely + nothing of the things that I needed, and that the life which your nature + required was entirely different from mine; that you had no realization of + the madness that was driving me, could find and give me none of the power + I needed; and that I ought to write and tell you this, no matter what it + cost—that I owed it to the sacred possibility of my own soul, to + live alone if I could live better alone. And when I had said these words, + I felt a sense of relief, because they were haunting me, and had been for + a long time. + </p> + <p> + How they will affect you I cannot tell, it depends upon deep your love for + me is; certainly they mean for me that <i>my</i> love is not deep, that + you have not made yourself necessary to me. I think that in that last + phrase I put the whole matter in its essence—you have not <i>bound</i> + yourself to me; I am always struggling to keep my love firm and right, to + hold myself to you. The result is that there is no food for my soul in the + thought of our love, in my thought of you; and therefore, I am continually + dissatisfied and doubting, continually feeling the difference between the + love I have dreamed and our love. + </p> + <p> + I tried to think the matter out, and get to the very bottom of it. The + first thing that came to me on the other side was your absolute <i>truth</i>; + your absolute devotion to what was right and noble in our ideal. So that, + as I was thinking, I suddenly stopped short with this statement—“If + you cannot find right love with that girl, it must be because you do not + honor love, or care for it.” And then I thought of your helplessness, of + your lack of training and opportunity for growth; and I told myself how + absurd it was of me to expect satisfying love from you—when all that + I knew about in life, and thought of, was entirely unknown to you. I + realized that I was a man who had tasted more or less of all knowledge, + and had an infinite vision of knowledge yet before him, and an infinite + hunger for it; and that you were a school-girl, with all of a + school-girl’s tasks on your hands. So I said to myself that the reason for + the dissatisfaction was a fault of my own, that it had come from my own + blindness. I had gone wrong in my attitude to you; I had failed in my + sternness and my high devotion to perfection; I had contented myself with + lesser things, had come down from my best self, and had failed to make you + see what a task was before you, if you ever meant to know my best self. + You perceive that this is a return to my old-time attitude; I am sorry if + it makes you wretched, but I cannot help it. It is a surgical operation + that must be borne. I shall not make it necessary again, I hope. + </p> + <p> + Now, dear Corydon, I am not trying to choose pleasant words in this + letter, this is the way I talk to <i>myself</i>. And if anything good + comes from our love, it will be because of this letter. I challenge what + is noblest in you to rise to meet the truth of it. I should not care to + write to you if I did not feel that it would. + </p> + <p> + You have had a possibility offered to you, and because you are very hungry + for life you have clasped it to you, placed all your happiness in it. The + possibility is the love of a man whose heart has been filled with the fire + of genius. There are few men whom life takes hold of as it does me, who + sacrifice themselves for their duty as I do, who demand <i>experience</i>—knowledge, + power, beauty—as I do. There are very few men who will wrest out of + existence as much as I will, or know and have as much of life. I am a boy + just now, and only beginning to live; but I have my purpose in hand, and I + know that if I am given health and life, there is nothing that men have + known that I shall not know, nothing that is done in the world that I + shall not do, or try to. I have a strong physique, and I labor day and + night, and always shall. I shall always be hungry and restless, always + dissatisfied with myself, and with everything about me, and acting and + feeling most of the time like a person haunted by a devil. I make no + apologies to you for the conceit of what I am saying; it is what I think + of myself, without caring what other people think. I know that I have a + tremendous temperament, tremendous powers hidden within me, and they have + got to come out. When they do, the world will know what I know now. + </p> + <p> + Now Corydon, as you understand, I dream love absolute, and would scorn any + other kind. I can master my passion, if it be that upon earth there is no + woman willing or able to go with me to the last inch of my journey. I + dream a life-companion to follow wherever my duty drives me; to feel all + the desperateness of desire that I feel, to be stern and remorseless as I + must be, wild and savage as I must be; to race through knowledge with me + and to share my passion for truth with me; a woman with whom I need have + no shame in the duty of my genius! As I tell you, if I marry you, I expect + to give myself to you as your own heart; and then I think of the gentle + and mild existence you have led! + </p> + <p> + It is very hard for me even to tell about my life, or to explain this + thing that drives me mad. But I am writing this letter to you for the + purpose of making clear to you that there are two alternatives before you, + and that you must choose one or the other and stick by it, and bear the + consequences. It is painful to me to think that I have fascinated you by + what opportunities I have, even by what power and passion and talents I + have, and filled you with a hunger for me—when really you do not + realize at all what I am, or what I must be, and when what I have to do + will terrify you. I write in the thought of terrifying you <i>now</i>, and + making you give up this red-hot iron that you are trying to hold on to; or + else to show you my life so plainly that never afterwards can you blame + me, or shrink back except by your own fault. + </p> + <p> + You must not blame me for writing these words, for wondering if a woman, + if <i>any</i> woman has power to stand what I need to do. And when I talk + to you about giving me up, you must not think that is cold, but know that + it is my faithfulness to my vision, which is the one thing to which I owe + any duty in the world. Nor is it right that you should expect to be + essential to me, when I have labored to be all to myself. You could become + necessary to me in the years to come; if I marry you to-day I shall marry + you for what you are to become, and for that <i>alone</i>—at any + rate if I am true to myself. + </p> + <p> + If you are to be my wife you are to be my soul—to live my soul’s + life and bear its pain. You are to understand that I talk to you as I talk + to myself, call you the names I call myself, and if you cry, give you up + in disgust; that I am to deny you all pleasure as I do myself, and what + God knows will be ten thousand times harder, let you take pleasure, and + then spring up in the very midst of it—you know what I mean! That I + am to be ever dissatisfied with you, ever inconsiderate of your feelings, + and ever declaring that you are failing! That however much I may love you, + I am to be your conscience, and therefore keep you—just about as you + are now, miserable! You told me that you would gladly be whipped to learn + to live; and this can be the only thing to happen to you. + </p> + <p> + You must understand why I act in this way. I am a weak and struggling man, + with a thousand temptations; and when I marry you, you will be the + greatest temptation of all. You are a beautiful girl, and I love you, and + every instinct of my nature drives me to you; for me to live with you + without kissing you or putting my arms about you, will remain always + difficult. It will be so for you, as for me, and it will always be our + danger, and always make us wretched. Your soul rises in you as I write + this, and you say (as you’ve said before) that if I offered to kiss you + after it, it would be an insult. But only wait until we meet! + </p> + <p> + This is the one thing that has become clear to me: just as soon as there + comes the least thought of satisfaction in our love, just so soon does it + cease to satisfy my best self. You cannot satisfy my best self, you do not + even know it; and if it were a question of that, I should never dream of + marrying you! I love you for this and for this alone—because you are + an undeveloped soul, the dream of whose infinite possibilities is my one + delight in the matter. I think that you are <i>perfect</i> in character, + that you are truth itself; and therefore, no matter how helpless you may + be, I have no fear of failing to make you “all the world to me”, provided + only that I am not false to my ideal. You must know from what I have + written before that I <i>can</i> love, that I do know what love is, and + that you may trust me. I am not trying to degrade passion—I simply + see how passion throws the burden on the woman, and therefore it is + utterly a crime with us—the least thought of it! I ought to consider + you as a school-girl, really just that; and instead of that I write you + love letters! + </p> + <p> + I tell you there is nothing more hateful for me to look back upon than + that childish business of ours, that time when we went upstairs that we + might kiss each other unseen. I tell you, it revolts my soul, from love + and from you! I should be perfectly willing to take all the blame—I + do; only I have led you to like that (or to act as if you did) and I must + stop it. Can you not understand how hateful it is to me to think of making + you anything that I should be disgusted with? + </p> + <p> + I expect you to read over this letter until you realize that it is, every + word of it, completely true and noble, and until you can write me so. You + and I are to feel ourselves two school-children and live just so. It is + not usual for school-children to marry, but that we dare upon the strength + of our purpose, and in defiance of all counsel, and of every precedent. We + are to feel that we owe our duty to our ideal; and that simply <i>because</i> + of the strength and passion of our love for each other, we demand + perfection, each of the other. My setting this stern challenge before you + is nothing but my determination to give you my right love, to demand that + you be a perfect woman. + </p> + <p> + I promise you therefore no quarter; I shall make no sacrifice of my ideal + for your sake. As I wrote you, I mean to be absolutely one with you, and I + expect you to be the same. You shall have (if you wish it) all of my soul—I + shall live my life with you and think all my thoughts aloud—study to + give you <i>everything</i> that I have. And God only, who knows my heart, + knows what utter love for you lies in those words, what utter trust of you—how + I think of you as being purity and holiness itself. To offer to take any + other being into my soul, to lay bare all the secret places of it to its + gaze, all the weaknesses as well as all the strength, and all that is vain + as well as all that is sacred! You cannot know how I feel about my heart, + but this you may know, that no one else has had a glimpse of it, you are + the first and the last; and so sure am I of you that I dare to say it, <i>all</i> + my life will I live in your presence, and trust to your sympathy and truth—and + feel that I am false to love if I do not. If there were anything in my + heart so foul that I feared to speak of it, I should give you that first, + as the sacrifice of love; or any vanity or foible—such things are + really hardest to have others know, so great is our conceit. + </p> + <p> + If I could talk to you to-night, I should do just as I did up on the hill + in the moonlight—frighten you, and make you wonder if there was <i>any</i> + woman who wished to bear such a burden; and perhaps the saddest thing of + all to me is that I do not bear it—instead I bear the gnawing of a + conscience bitter and ashamed of itself. And could you bear <i>that</i> + burden? For Corydon, as I look at myself to-night, I am before God, a + coward and a dastard! I have not done my work! I have not borne the pain + He calls me to bear, I have not wrested out the strength He put in my + secret heart! And here I am chattering, <i>talking</i> about work to you! + And these things are like a nightmare to me; they turn all my life’s + happiness to gall. And you are taking upon yourself this same burden—coming + to help me to get rid of it. Or if you do not wish to, for God’s sake, and + mine, and yours, don’t come near me—you have come too near as it is! + Can you not see that when I am face to face with these fearful things—and + you come and ask me to give my life to you, to worship you with the best + faculties I possess—that I have no right to say yes? + </p> + <p> + You once told me you were happy because I called you “mein guter Geist, + mein bess’res Ich”; well, you are not in the least that. The name that I + give you, and that you may keep, is “the beautiful possibility of a soul”. + Remember a phrase I told you at the very beginning of our love, of the + peril of “ceasing to love perfection and coming to love a woman.” And read + Shelley’s sad note to “Epipsychidion”! + </p> + <p> + VIII. Dear Corydon: + </p> + <p> + You tell me in your last letter that you are leaving all who love you; and + you ask “How do you know that because you love beauty, you will love <i>me</i>?” + </p> + <p> + I have been thinking a good deal about this; I do not believe, Corydon, + that a man more haunted by the madness of desire ever lived upon earth + than I. And when I get at the essence of myself, I do not believe that I + am a kind man; I think that a person with less patience for human hearts + never existed, perhaps with less feeling. There is only one thing in the + world that I can be sure of, or that you can, my fidelity to my ideal! I + know that however often I may fail or weaken, however many mistakes I may + make, my hunger for the things of the soul will <i>never</i> leave me, and + that night and day I shall work for them. I do not believe I have the + right to promise you anything else, I have no right to dream of anything + else; this is not my pleasure, as I feel it, it is a frenzy, it is that to + which some blind and nameless and merciless impulse drives me. And I may + try to persuade myself all my life that I love you, Corydon, and nothing + else, and want nothing else; and all the time in the depths of my heart I + hear these words from my conscience—“You are a fool.” I love power, + I love life, and seek them and strive for them, and care for nothing else + and never have; and nothing else can satisfy me. And I cannot give any + other love than this, any other promise. + </p> + <p> + IX. My dear Corydon: + </p> + <p> + I have been taking a walk this morning, thinking about us, and that I had + treated you fearfully. The whole truth of it all is this—that I am + so raw and so young and so helpless (and you are as much, if not more so) + that I cannot, to save my life, be sure if my love for you is what it + ought to be, or even if I could love any one as I ought. And I am so + wretchedly dissatisfied! Do you know that for two weeks I have been trying + to write a passage of my book—and before God, I <i>cannot!</i> I + have not the power, I have not the life! + </p> + <p> + Dear Corydon, it comes to me that you are <i>miserable</i> to be in love + with me—that I had no right to put this burden on your shoulders. I + would say better things if I could, but I think that our marriage will be + a setting out across a wild ocean in the dark! It is for you to be the + heroine, to dare the voyage if you choose. These sound like wild words, + but they are the truth of my life, and I dare not say any others. Can a + girl who has been brought up in gentleness and sweetness, in innocence of + life and of pain—can she say things, feel things like these? + </p> + <p> + X. Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + God did not endow me with your tongue, or else it would not be the great + effort it is to me to tell you some of the thoughts that have rushed + through my mind in the last hour. + </p> + <p> + It is an hour since I began to read your letter of Horrible Truth. Now it + seems to me it might have been in the last year, in the last century. + Actually I feel like a stranger to myself; and my movements are very slow. + First, I will tell you that I believe in God, oh, so implicitly—this + thought gives me infinite hope. I long to let you know as much of my heart + as I can, if I am to be your life-companion, as I firmly believe I am to + be. I have such a strange calmness now, and I imagine that I must feel + very much the way Rip Van Winkle did when he awoke. I want to try to show + you my heart—it is right that I should try, is it not? + </p> + <p> + Know that I have placed much faith and trust in you, in anything that you + did. If you opened one door to me and told me it led to the great and + permanent truth, I believed you absolutely. If you hauled me back and put + me through an opposite one, telling me that there my road lay, I believed + you with equal faith. Now, now, at the end of an hour, I am, through you, + convinced of one door, the only and true entrance; and I am as sure as I + am that the sun is shining at this moment, that nothing in God’s world can + ever again make me lose sight of it. I have found that <i>you</i> can lose + sight of it, Thyrsis,—something shows me that I have in the last + month been more right than you. Yes, I have, Thyrsis, though you may not + know it. And the reason I couldn’t stay right was because I am not strong + enough to grasp my good impulses, and keep hold of them: because I have + not enough faith in the soul within me. + </p> + <p> + I will try to tell you what I have felt since reading your letter. All is + so disgustingly calm in me now. But listen, I believe I have had a little + glimpse this afternoon of what it is to <i>feel</i>; and because of that + knowledge I now am not afraid to tell you that I claim something of God + and life—that I can get it if you can. This has been very strong in + me at moments, but, as I tell you, I have not yet learned to hold my + glimpses of truth—they seem to come to me, and as quickly disappear. + </p> + <p> + I began to read your letter, and I cannot describe to you the convulsion + that came over me. It seemed that I had the feeling of an empty skull on a + desert; such a feeling—you can never have it! All the horror and + despair! I tried to form my thoughts and tell myself it was not true. I + tried to pray, and I did pray—out loud—and asked God to give + me strength to read the letter. + </p> + <p> + I tried to use all the penetration I was capable of, to find out one + thing, whether you were purely and unreservedly sincere in it. I wondered + whether you really wished to live your life alone, but could not find the + courage to tell me so. I firmly believe that no failure in the future, no + disgust or helplessness, could ever bring me the complete anguish of those + moments. + </p> + <p> + Can you realize what such a thing meant to me, Thyrsis? + </p> + <p> + Last spring, I had succeeded in bringing myself into an almost complete + state of coma—I saw that I could do nothing, and because I would not + endure such profitless pain I drugged myself to sleep. And you, you fiend, + waked me up; and may your soul be thrice cursed if you have only pulled + the doll to pieces <i>to see what it was made of!</i> Know, you that have + a soul which says it lives and suffers—that I can’t go to sleep + again! There is no joy for me in mother or father, in friends or + admiration—I can tolerate nothing that I tolerated before you came + with your cursed or blessed fire! + </p> + <p> + Also, if you do not marry me, or if I do not find some man who has your + strength and desire for life, and who will take me and help me to learn, I + shall die without having lived.—And I cried out in misery—only + forty-two years, only forty-two little years, and I shall be an old woman + of sixty! Only forty-two years in which to learn to live! + </p> + <p> + I believe if I had you here now I could almost strangle you. We may kill + each other some day. I sometimes feel that there is nothing that will give + me any relief, that I cannot breathe, I cannot support my body. But these + are foolish and unprofitable feelings—and I believe I will yet be + saved, if not by you, perhaps by myself. I think some heavenly aid came to + me to-day. I asked for it, I simply said it <i>must</i> come—and now + I am able to bear myself and look around me, and say that the secret of my + liberation is not death but life. + </p> + <p> + Please realize, Thyrsis, that I know you do not need me, that I cannot + either entertain you or help you. My dear, do you not know that I have + been conscious of this from the very beginning—and it has been this + thought that has often made me worry, and doubt, and question. And then I + have told myself that you had found <i>something</i> in me to love; and + that I also was very hungry to know about life and God; and that if you + loved me enough to believe I was not dross, we might, with our untiring + devotion—well, we might be right in going with each other. And now—would + you rather I should tell you I will not marry you, be my desire, or + effort, what it may? I do not know—even though I want to live so + terribly. I have no word, no proof to give! + </p> + <p> + And now, Thyrsis, I have no more strength to write. I only wish I had some + power to make you know what I have felt this afternoon—I think if I + could, you would have no more doubt of me. And I believe it is my + God-given right not to doubt myself. + </p> + <p> + I will write no more—I have written enough to make you answer one of + two things. “Come with me,” or, “I would rather go alone.” I know which + one it will be, even now in my wretchedness. The sky is so blue this + evening, and everything is so beautiful—and I am trying so hard to + be right, to feel strong and confident! + </p> + <p> + XI. Dear Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + I have just arisen. I woke in the middle of the night, and there was a + spectre sitting by my bedside to frighten me; he succeeded at first, but I + managed finally to get rid of him, and to find some peace. Many of your + sentences came to me, and I was able to get behind the words, and I saw + plainly that the letters were just what you should have written, and that + they could not but benefit me. They have accomplished their purpose, I + believe—they are burned into my soul, and have placed me rightly in + our relation. I shall simply never trust the permission you may give me, + in the future, to rest or be satisfied. I shall only hate you, for the + pain of some of your words I shall <i>never</i> forget. + </p> + <p> + The memory of the first two pages of your letter will always put me in + mortal terror of you. For the rest, I am very grateful, and I will try to + show you how I love your ideal. I can never repay you as long as I live + for letting me come with you. Oh Thyrsis, I am sure that I will never + think or care whether you love me or not, if only I may go with you and + learn how to strive! + </p> + <p> + I tore up all your love-letters this morning. I kept the last letter—though + I do not think I could bear to read it over. I should be afraid of again + going through with that despair. Oh, I beg for the time when I shall be + obliged to waste none of my minutes—and when I shall have no + opportunity of writing you! What <i>time</i> I have spent over your + letters and mine! + </p> + <p> + XII. Dear Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + I am restlessly waiting for the supper-bell to ring, and my head is aching + intensely, and I am generally topsy-turvy. Alas! alas! the distance that + separates us and our understanding! + </p> + <p> + I received a letter to-day while I was studying—but said I would not + open it for a week, that I wanted strength to study. Well, I studied all + the afternoon and found it none too easy. When I came home, I thought + perhaps it was better to read your letter, which I grimly did. + </p> + <p> + Do you know, you are keeping me on the rack, literally on the rack, and my + flesh and blood do not seem to be able to stand it—my body seems to + be the organ that first fails me, my brain is never so tired as my body. I + love to think that you are not less merciful to me than you would be to + yourself, I feel that you could not have used more cruel whips to + yourself. Do you suppose that any disgust, scolding, or malediction to me + could, as your wife, hurt me, as your doubt of me hurts me now? + </p> + <p> + And I just begin to read your letter again, and I tell you, you are a + fool. You say you do not know whether you could love any one as you ought—well, + I, with all my weakness, know whether <i>I</i> can love, and I love you a + thousand times more than you have given me cause to. And you are so <i>hungry!</i> + Will you always starve because you are blind? As to being <i>satisfied,</i> + how could you be? But you say you will love me as much as I deserve. How + much do I deserve—do you know? I sometimes cry out against you and + long to get hold of you. If you have genius, why doesn’t it give you some + inkling whether you are a man with a heart, not only a stupid boy? And + then I see it all plainly, or think I do, and know that you are trying so + hard to be right towards us, because you think you love me the way other + people love; and you know if I am weak, it would degrade your genius; and + you cannot be sure of my character or strength. You cannot know whether I + realize the life I am selecting—you have found it hard, and you have + every reason to think that I will find it ten times harder; and you love + me in a way that is not the highest,—but yet you love me enough, + thank God, to tell me the whole truth! + </p> + <p> + I have come to a pass where I can say to myself with truth, that I do not + care how much or how little you love me. That depends upon <i>you</i>, as + well as myself. I believe the time will come, when you will love me as you + ought, and I say this in perfect calm conviction, in all my weakness, and + with all my maudlin habits clinging to me. Strangely enough your doubt of + me has made me rise up in arms to champion my cause, or else I should lie + down forever in the dust, and deny my God. + </p> + <p> + I wonder whether it is my love for you that makes me believe? I cling to + you, as a mother might cling to her child; I cling to you as the + embodiment, the promise, of all I will ever find true in life. I look to + live in you, to fulfil all my possibilities in you, and if you die or + forsake me, all my hope is gone, and I am dead. This is a letter in which + I have no scorn or doubt, or ridicule of myself, as formerly. + </p> + <p> + And then you ask me, “Can a girl brought up in gentleness and sweetness, + and innocence of life and of pain, can she say things, feel things like + these?” It is the gentleness and sweetness and innocence that are galling + to me. I can tolerate no more of them. They have warped me, they have + given me no chance. But I have had some pain in my life, and since I have + known you I have known more about pain and what it brings, and leaves.—And + now I am feeling ill, and I cannot control that. Oh, God! + </p> + <p> + XIII. Dearest Corydon: + </p> + <p> + I have a chance to finish the first part of my book to-day, and save + myself from Hades; and here I am writing to you—just a line. (Of + course it turned out to be six pages!) + </p> + <p> + Your last letter was very noble; I can only say to you, that the treatment + which makes you upbraid me is not done for <i>my</i> sake; that the life + which I live is not lived for <i>my</i> sake. You say perhaps you are + better than I; it is very possible—I often think so myself; but that + is nothing to the point. I should be very wretched if I sat down to think + what I am. Oblige me by being better than my ideal—if you can! You + must understand, dearest, that behind all that I am doing, there is truth + to the soul; and that truth to the soul is love, and the only love. I am + seeking for nothing but the privilege of treating you as myself; and rest + assured, that if I treat you any differently it will be better than I + treat myself! There is no peril in our life except that! + </p> + <p> + Some day you will understand that I can sometimes feel about myself that I + am utterly hateful, utterly false, utterly shallow and <i>bad</i>; and + that to get away from myself would be all that I desire in life. I cannot + imagine my having such opinion of you; but some dissatisfaction—just + a little—I may have. Only let us love perfection, you and I, with + all our souls, and I think our love for each other may safely be allowed + to take care of itself. Remember the two ships in Clough’s poem, which + parted, but sailed by the compass, and reached the same port. + </p> + <p> + I shall spend no more time comforting you about this. + </p> + <p> + And dear Corydon, when you are angry at my doubting your power, and say + that I do not know you, I can only reply—Why of course I don’t, and + neither do you. You find your own self out little by little—why get + angry with me because I don’t know it until you tell me? You are a grown + woman compared to what you were three months ago; and this character that + you ask me to know—well, it takes years of hard labor to prove a + character. + </p> + <p> + XIV. Dearest Corydon: + </p> + <p> + Do you ever realize how much <i>faith</i> in you I have? As utterly + different is your whole life, as if you had been in another world; and + through all the wilderness that I have travelled, I hope to drag you. But + I cannot carry you, or take you; I must trust in the frenzy of your grip + upon me. There is nothing else you could have that I would trust. You + might be wonderfully clever and wonderfully wise—and I could do + nothing with you. Do you remember Beethoven’s saying, that he would like + to take a certain woman, if he had time, and marry her and break her + heart, so that she might be able to sing? + </p> + <p> + Ah dear heart, I wish you could read in my words what I feel! I wonder if + I am dreaming when I live in this ideal of what a woman’s love can be—so + complete and so utter a surrender, so complete a forgetting, a losing of + the self, so complete a living in another heart! I am not afraid to ask + just this from a woman—from you! For I have enough heart’s passion + to satisfy every thirst that you may feel. Ah, Corydon, I want you! I am + drunk with the thought of <i>making</i> a woman to love. I wonder if any + man ever thought of that before! Artists go about the world with the great + hunger of their hearts, and expecting to find by chance another soul like + the one they have spent years in making beautiful and swift and strong; + but has anyone ever thought that instead of writing books that no one + understands, he might be making another kind of an artwork—one that + would be alive, and with sacred possibilities of its own? + </p> + <h3> + XV. DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + Your last letters have been very beautiful. I see one thing—though + you inform me that you believe you are a hard man, your natural gentleness + and sympathy of heart would be the ruin of both of us in the future if I + would permit it. But I think you can trust me, not ever as long as I live + to lead you into weakness. My desperateness, before I received your letter + saying that I might come with you, was rather dreadful; it made me doubt + myself, for it was so difficult to keep myself from going to pieces. I + have been wicked enough, to wonder whether I could ever make you feel as I + felt for two days—if I could only bring to your heart that one pang, + the only real one I ever felt in my life! But it taught me one thing, that + the only road toward realization of life and one’s self is through + suffering. I found out that I could bear, for it seems to me as I look + back at that horrible nightmare, that it was almost by a superhuman effort + I was able to read the letter at all. But enough of that! + </p> + <p> + I think I have effectually cured myself of any weak yearning for your + love. I go to you in gratefulness, knowing what I lack and what you need. + Anything my love can do for you, it shall do. It may have some power—I + sometimes think that it could have more than you realize. + </p> + <p> + I suppose every woman has thought that the man she loved was her very + life, but I do not think it of you, I simply <i>know</i> it. I must go + with you, whether I loved you or not. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile my love has assumed a strength to me that I never felt before. I + don’t know how my wild and incoherent letters have affected you, but there + were many times when I longed to get hold of you, literally, and simply + shake into you some recognition of my soul. Oh, I am afraid you couldn’t + get away from me; the more merciless you are to me, the wilder I get. + </p> + <p> + I am possessed by so many opposite moods and influences. I am afraid of + you a little. I never know what you are going to do to me. + </p> + <p> + I feel, I cannot help but feel, that I am part of your life, now, you + could not neglect me any more than you could your own soul. I consider you + just as responsible for mine as you are for your own. I say this with no + doubts, but know that it is true, and you must know it. + </p> + <h3> + XVI. DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + You certainly have a wonderful task in store for me, and I pray God to + give me strength for it. I can see very plainly that you expect to find + the essence of my soul better than yours, because it seems that you are + making my task harder than yours. + </p> + <p> + Do you know, I have actually found myself asking, at times, with a certain + defiant rage—if you were actually going to give love to your + princess before you had made her suffer! So far you have not made her + suffer at all. I had become quite excited over this idea—though + perhaps I had no right to. I suppose it is all right, because she is an + imaginary person, and you can endow her with all the perfections you + please. She is triumphant and thrilling, and worthy of love—whereas + I am just little Corydon, whom you have known all your life, and who is + stupid and helpless, and impossible to imagine romances about! Is that the + way of it? + </p> + <h3> + XVII. MY DEAREST THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + A long letter has just come to me. I always receive your letters with many + palpitations, and by the time I get through reading, my cheeks are + flaming. It is too bad it takes letters so long to go to and fro. + </p> + <p> + I have finally come to bear the attitude towards myself, that I would to a + naughty child. I will have no nonsense, and all my absurdities and + inefficiencies <i>must</i> be cured. I think I have come to know myself a + little better within the last few days. I know that I have no right to + quick victories, or any happiness at all, even your love. I tell you + truly, if it were only possible, I would go away this minute—do you + hear?—oh! to some lonely place, and then I would do something with + myself. I want to be alone, alone—I want to be face to face with + myself, and God, if possible! I have come to the conclusion that I can do + anything I must do. I think (I am not sure) I could give you up, if I were + obliged to, and go away by myself and try alone. If I do not have you, I + must have solitude. + </p> + <h3> + XVIII. MY DEAREST CORYDON: + </h3> + <p> + Thinking about my work this morning, and how hard it was, and how much + strength it would take, my thoughts turned to you, and I discovered, as + never before, just how I like to think of you. It seemed to me that you + were part of the raw material that I had to use; that I had mastered you, + and was going to make you what you had to be. And there woke in my heart + at those words a fierceness of purpose that I had never felt in my life + before—I was quite mad with it; and you cried out to escape me, but + I would not let you go, but held you right tightly in my arms. And so—I + do not mean to let you go! I shall bear you away with me, and make you + what I wish. And the promise of marriage that I make you is just this: not + that I love you—I do not love you; but what I wish the woman to be + whom I am to love—that I will make you! + </p> + <p> + And do not ever dare to ask me for any other promise, for you will not get + it. You will come with this. + </p> + <h3> + XIX. MY THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I had an <i>iron grip</i> at my heart just now, as I was trying to study. + I had a foreboding of something—and then I came home and found your + letter telling me I was yours, and I <i>must.</i> At last I may go to you + the way I wish! My love, my love, I do not care what you are, or what you + do to me, as long as I may go with you. + </p> + <p> + How I laugh at myself as I say it! You have mastered me to worship your <i>life</i>—not + you. I shall not work for your love, I shall work to live. Our love will + be one of the incidents of our life. Meanwhile, I may go with you, that is + all that I say—I sing it. I may go with you, not to happiness, but + to necessity! + </p> + <p> + And now that cursed German! It hangs over my head like a sword of Damocles + I have heard of—though I don’t know why it was held over his head! + </p> + <p> + You think our love was settling into the cooing state! Dear me, Thyrsis, I + hope I will not always have to yell to you over a foggy ocean! + </p> + <h3> + XX. DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + Can you imagine what it must be to be shut up in a little room on a rainy + night, with the children and people screaming under your window? That is + my position now. + </p> + <p> + I find myself hard to manage at times. I want to become discouraged or + melancholy or disgusted, but I drive myself better than I used to. I even + was happy a little for a few moments to-night. I was playing one of my + piano-pieces, and I found myself imagining all sorts of things. But this + happens very seldom, and only lasts for a moment. I often wonder at + myself. Two months ago I did not love you one particle; I love you now, so + that—so that it is impossible for me to do anything else. In fact I + did not realize how much I loved you until that terrible moment when I + read you did not love me. I saw how impossible it will be to cease to love + you, no matter what you do to me. I do not know <i>why</i> it is; I simply + know it is, and perhaps some day I may teach <i>you</i> how to love. I do + not imagine you know how very well, at present—no, Thyrsis, I don’t. + </p> + <p> + I know your true self now, and I love it better than ever I loved the + other. I say it with a certain grimness. I know you, your real self, and I + love it. + </p> + <p> + Know, oh, my Beloved, that in the last three months you have grown to me + from a boy into a man, into my husband! When I think of you as you were at + first you seem a child compared to what you are now. + </p> + <h3> + XXI. DEAREST LOVE: + </h3> + <p> + Last night, as I went to sleep, I was thinking of you and our problem, and + there were all sorts of uncertainties; but one thing I have to tell you, + my Corydon—that it came to me how sweet and true, and how pure and + good you have been; and I loved you very, very much indeed. I thought: I + should like to tell her that, and ask her always to be so noble and + unselfish. Can you not realize how all your deficiencies are as nothing to + me, in the sight of that one unapproachable perfection? For my Corydon is + all devotion and love, and pure, pure, maiden goodness! And there is quite + a whole heart full of feeling for you in that, and I wish I had you here + to tell you. + </p> + <h3> + XXII. MY CORYDON: + </h3> + <p> + I am coming more and more to realize myself, and what is the single + faculty I have been given. I think of a dear clergyman friend I used to + have, and I realize what a <i>loving</i> heart is—what it is to + delight in a human soul for its own sake, and to be kind to it, fond of + it. And I know that there could not be a man with less of that than I + have. Certainly I know this, I never did love a soul for its own sake, and + don’t think I could. I love beauty, and truth, and power, and I hate + everything else, if it come across my way. If I had to live the life of + that clergyman friend I should be insane in a month. I see this as + something very hateful; but there is only one thing I can do, to see that + I hate my own self more than I hate any other self—and work, work, + for the thing I love. + </p> + <p> + You asked me once to tell you if your death would make any difference to + me. If you were to die to-morrow I should feel that a sacred opportunity + was gone out of my life, that all my efforts must have less result forever + after. But I do not think I should stop working a day. + </p> + <p> + I love you because you are something upon which I may exert the force of + my will. I honestly believe that the truest word, the nearest to my + character, I ever spoke. If I care about you it is for one thing, and one + only—because you are a soul hungry for life, because you are capable + of sacrifice and high effort, because you are sensitive and eager. I love + you and honor you for this; I take you to my bosom, I give all my life to + your service; and I shall make you a perfect woman, or else kill you. + </p> + <p> + You must understand what I want; I want no concrete thing, no dozen + languages to throw you into despair. I want effort, effort, <i>effort!</i> + That’s all. And I believe that you might be a stronger soul than I at this + moment, if only you chose to hunt yourself out and fight! That is truly + what I feel about you, and that is why I love you. + </p> + <h3> + XXIII. DEAREST THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I have no more to say, my precious one; I bow in joy before your will, + your certainty, your power. Let it be so, I shall adore you as I so long + to do. + </p> + <p> + You are giving me all I could ask for. What more could I wish from you, + dear Thyrsis, than to know you will never leave my side? I will try not to + do any more bemoaning of my shortcomings. To-night I reached a wonderful + security and almost sublimity, until I could have fallen on my face and + praised God for His mercy. I talked out loud to myself, I exhorted myself, + I explained to myself what is my beauty and possibility in life—the + <i>reason</i> for which I was born. I was quite lifted out of myself, by a + conviction that came like a benediction, that the essence of my soul was + good and pure, and that if anybody upon earth had the power to reach God, + it was myself. + </p> + <p> + Dear God, <i>how</i> I have spent the years of my life! like an imbecile! + But you—if you take me, I shall go mad—I shall love you like a + tigress! I shall implore you to invent any way that will enable me to + realize life! Oh, if you take me, how madly I shall love you! I fancy + myself seeing you now, and I don’t know what I should do—I love you + so dreadfully! I think of you, and everything about you seems so + wondrously beautiful to me! + </p> + <p> + I almost have a feeling that I have no right to love you so much. Oh, tell + me, do you want me to love you as I can? Already you seem part of me, mine—mine! + And it is wonderful how you help me. + </p> + <p> + XXIV. Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + I spent the whole day in the park without a bite to eat, because I did not + want to take the trouble to come home after it, and I only had five cents. + I have tried, oh, tried to control myself and make myself saner. I am + seized with occasional fits of the horrors, and of wild cravings for you, + until I could scream. It is so unbearable, and I almost want to die. Oh, + but I do <i>not</i> want to die! My imagination has become so fevered in + the last few days—if I do not see you soon, I know not what will + become of me! + </p> + <p> + I have never loved you so wildly—though I have always longed for + you. I sometimes feel now as if my brain were utterly wrecked. I know not + what is the matter; I gasp, when I think of you. I am convinced of heaven + and hell almost in the same breath—experience each in rapid + succession. One touch of your hand and one look, I think would cure me. I + seem as if in a thunder-storm—pitchy blackness with flashes of light—and + in the flashes I see you, my beloved! + </p> + <p> + XXV. Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + I am atrociously weary of being able to depend upon myself not at all; but + oh, how marvellously sweet and good you are to me! I shall never be able + to pay you for your help! + </p> + <p> + Dear Heaven, what a cup of bitterness I have drunk, since I last saw you! + Dearest, you have really torn me to pieces, unwittingly. But now I am + healed, and I may go on in your blessed sight, with my terrors gone + forever. + </p> + <p> + And then I actually wonder if you have an earthly form! It will be very + strange to see you and touch you, I sometimes wake up with a start at the + thought of it! + </p> + <p> + XXVI. Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + Here I am, the most restless and miserable and uncomfortable and pining of + creatures—a very Dido! Are you satisfied, now that you have made it + almost impossible for me to put my mind on anything but you, you? I spend + hours reading one page of my book. + </p> + <p> + I was reading peaceably just now, and I suddenly thought how I would feel + if I saw you coming in at the door. I started and could hardly believe + that I will really see you—in something besides visions. When night + comes I usually get fidgety, and can hardly realize I do not need to worry + over phantoms. Then I go on with “Classicism and Romanticism in Music,” + and I think of you—and read a line and think of you! You see, it + doesn’t do for me to be too intense, for I just devour myself, and that is + all. My only idea of a vent is to knock my head against something. + </p> + <p> + I suppose it is the inevitable result of caring for someone you cannot + see. Here I might be studying now, but what do I do? I go around seeking + rest—and I write you a dozen times a day, and use up all the stamps + in the house. + </p> + <p> + Oh well, I dare say if you wished me to love you, you have accomplished + your purpose most successfully. There is nothing in life but you, and to + suddenly acquire a new self is most startling, and something hard to + believe. Thyrsis, I simply cannot realize that I may go to you and find + peace and security. + </p> + <h3> + XXVII. MY DEAREST CORYDON: + </h3> + <p> + I have just a few words to say. I have two weeks left in which to shake + off my shoulders the fearful animal that has been tearing me. <i>For just + three weeks to-day,</i> not a line written! + </p> + <p> + The task seems almost beyond my powers. God, will people ever know how I + have worked over this book! + </p> + <p> + But unless you develop some new doubt, or I persist in writing letters, I + ought to get it done now. I shall see you as soon as I have finished, and + meantime I shall write no letters. + </p> + <h3> + XXVIII. DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I would give a great deal to let you know how I have struggled and + suffered. + </p> + <p> + I have had almost <i>more</i> than I could bear—the more horrible + because the more unreasonable. You must know it. If it disturbs you, + please put the letter away until a favorable time. I account my trouble + greatly physical—I have never been in such a nervous state. The + murky despair that has come over me—that I have writhed and + struggled in, as in the clutches of some fiend! It seems to me I have + experienced every torment of each successive stage of Dante’s Inferno. I + know what is the emotion of a soul in all the bloom and hope of youth, + condemned <i>to die</i>. + </p> + <p> + I woke up in the middle of the night last night—and felt as if a + monster sat by to throw a black cloth over me and smother me. I got up and + shook myself, and my heart was beating violently. + </p> + <p> + I managed to get myself free. This morning I am better. God in Heaven only + knows—I would rather be torn limb from limb, yes, honestly, than + endure the blackness of soul that I have had through all these years of + strife and failure by myself. + </p> + <p> + Dearest Thyrsis: + </p> + <p> + Perhaps if I have written to you a few words, I shall be able to put my + mind on study—as so far I have not done. I actually to-night have + been indulging in all sorts of romantic moods about you. I felt in a + singing mood, and when I came up from dinner I put on a beautiful dress, + just for fun, and I looked quite radiant. I dreamed of you, and imagined + that you were at my feet, in true Romeo fashion—and I was your + Juliet. I imagined—I couldn’t help thinking of this, and I knew I + ought to be doing something else! Oh, but how I want a poor taste of joy! + You were my Romeo to-night—you were beautiful and young and loving; + and well, I had one dream of youth and happiness before my miseries begin. + </p> + <p> + I have felt that we were very near to each other lately. You have shown me + the tenderness of your heart, and I love you quite rapturously. I love + your goodness, your sympathy—perhaps when I see you I can tell you! + </p> + <h3> + XXX. DEAREST THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I received a postal just now, saying that you were coming soon. I had my + usual queer faintness. It was like receiving word from the dead—it + seemed such centuries—aeons—since I heard from you! I send you + this batch of notes I have written you at various times, a sort of mental + itinerary, for my mind has traveled into all sorts of queer places, back + and forth. I tell you that without your continual influence, I am lost in + doubt and uncertainty. Please try to understand these notes and my fits of + love and fear. + </p> + <h3> + XXXI. DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I am in one of my cast-iron moods, this morning—in a fighting mood, + I do not care with whom or what. You, even you, have not altogether + understood me—you have often given me a dog’s portion. I have been a + slave, a cowering kitten before you, and you (unwittingly I know) have + done much to destroy all my courage and hope and love—by what you + call making me aware of your higher self. Fortunately I <i>know</i> what + your higher self is, quite as well as you do, if not a little better—and + I know that it is the self that most strengthens my love and courage, the + self that most fills me with life. I have a right to life as well as you, + and a right to the love in you that most inspires me. I feel I am capable + of judging this, in spite of all my lack of education, and my inability to + follow you in your intellectual life. + </p> + <p> + I have thought lately that you were able to make yourself believe that you + were anything you wished to think yourself. Whenever you wring my heart + and deprive me of strength, I shall go somewhere alone, and when I have + controlled myself, come back to you. + </p> + <p> + You say you are master—but it must be master of the right. I want + strength, and why you should think it right ever to have helped to throw + me into more despair, I do not know. The reason I have written all this is + because such ideas have come to me lately, and a fear that sometimes you + might resort to your unloving methods, with the thought of its being + right. I tell you I would rather stay at home, than ever go through with + some of the pangs you have cost me, in what you called your higher moods. + You must not gainsay me, that I am also capable of respecting high moods + and bowing before them; but it would seem to me that they are only high if + they are a source of inspiration and joy to me. + </p> + <p> + Because we love each other, would that be any reason why we must dote upon + each other, or sink from our high resolves? I cannot see why our love for + each other should not always be a means of our reaching our higher selves. + You need not answer this letter—but when you come back, tell me + whether what I say impresses you as being right or wrong—if there is + not some justification in it. But perhaps I should wait. I have no right + to disturb you now. + </p> + <h3> + XXXII. THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I woke up this morning with the feeling that I did not love you. That same + thing has happened to me two or three times, and I do not understand it. + </p> + <p> + It must be because at the present moment you do not love <i>me!</i> You + are writing your book, and telling yourself that you cannot love me as you + ought! Is this so? It is only a surmise on my part, and I do not know, but + I should not be surprised if you were. I only know that the one thing that + can bring us together is love, and I do not love you now. Perhaps you can + explain it to me. I write this absolutely without emotion. + </p> + <p> + I tell you there have been things horribly wrong about you. You have done + anything but inspire love in my heart—you have never seen me with + love in my heart. Until lately, I never have felt any love for you; + before, I simply compelled myself to think I loved you, because my life + seemed to depend upon it. There have been many times when, as I look back, + you seem to me to have been base. + </p> + <p> + Well may you preach, while you are alone, and are monarch of yourself. I + shall have to have more of a chance than has ever come to me, before I + will bear your displeasure or your exhortations. If you come to me and + speak to me of the high, proud self that I must reach, every vestige of + love for you will leave my heart, and I would as soon marry a stone + pillar! + </p> + <p> + Great Heaven, what strange moods I have! I picture our meeting each other, + unmoved by love; you determined, energetic, indifferent to all things, + myself included; and I disappointed, but with a hardness in my heart—no + tears! + </p> + <p> + I am indulging now in the most lifeless and gloomy of broodings; if you do + not come back to me, the only soul I can love, if you are not joyful and + strong, sincere, sympathetic, and loving, all of these—I shall know + it is a farce for me to ever hope to gain any life with <i>you</i>. I do + not believe that any woman can grow without love, and a great deal of it. + Why do you suppose I am writing all this—I, who have felt such deep + and true love for you? I have no courage—the dampness of the day has + settled into my soul—and I shall be joyless until there is no more + cursed doubt of you and your love for me. + </p> + <p> + XXXIII. Dear Corydon: Against resolutions, I am writing to you again. I + thought of you—there is a boat up the lake to-day with some hunters, + and if I finish this letter, I can send it in by them as they pass. I have + many things to tell you, and you must think about them. + </p> + <p> + This is one of my paralyzing letters. It will reach you Monday. I can’t + tell where I may be then. I have been wrestling with the end of the book, + and I am wild with rage at my impotence. The fact has come to me that no + amount of will is enough, because all my life is cowardly and false. I + have found myself wanting <i>to sneak through this work</i>, and come home + and enjoy myself; and you can’t sneak with God, and that’s all. I cannot + come home beaten, and so here I am, still struggling—and with snow + on the ground, and the shack so cold that I sit half in the fire-place. + </p> + <p> + I think of you, and at times when my soul is afire, I imagine I can do + anything. I see that you are helpless, but I think that I can change your + whole being, and <i>make</i> you what I wish. But then that feeling dies + out, and I think of you as you <i>are</i>, and with despair. I do not + allude to any of your “deficiencies”—music, learning, and other + stuff. I mean your life-force, or your lack of it. I see that you have + learned nothing of the unspeakable, unattainable thing for which I am + panting. And it has come to me that I dare not marry you, that I should be + binding my life to ruin. My head is surging with plans, and a whole + infinity of future, and I simply cannot carry any woman with me on this + journey. + </p> + <p> + As I say this, I see the tears of despair in your eyes. I can only tell + you what I am—God made me for an <i>artist,</i> not a <i>lover!</i> + I have not deep feelings—I do not care for human suffering; I can <i>work,</i> + that is all. Art is no respecter of persons, and neither am I—I + labor for something which is not of self, and requires denial of self. And + as I think about you, the feeling comes to me that it is not this you + want, that I should make you utterly wretched if I married you. You love + <i>love;</i> you do not wish to fling yourself into a struggle such as my + life must be. I see that in all your letters—your terror of this + highest self of mine. If you married me, you would have to fight a battle + that would almost kill you. You would have to wear your heart out, night + and day—you would have to lose yourself and your feelings—fling + away everything, and live in self-contempt and effort. You would have to + know it—I can’t help it—that I love life, and that to human + hearts I owe no allegiance; that to me they are simply impatience and + vexation. + </p> + <p> + Do you want such a life? If you can learn to love it for what it is—a + wild, unnatural, but royal life—very well. If you are coming to me + with pleading eyes, secretly wishing for affection, and in terror of me + when you don’t get it, then God help you, that is all! + </p> + <p> + You are a child, and you can not dream what I mean. But every day I learn + something more of a great savage force of mine, that will stand out + against the rest of this world, that is burning me up, that is driving me + mad. One of two things it will do to you—it will make you the same + kind of creature, or it will tear the soul out of you. Do you understand + that? And nothing will stop it—it cares for nothing in the world but + the utterance of itself! And if you wish to marry me, it will be with no + promise of mine save to wreak it upon you! To take you, and make you just + such a creature, kill or cure—nothing else! Not one instant’s + patience—but just one insistent, frantic demand that you succeed—and + fiery, writhing disgust with you when you do not succeed—disgust + that will make you scream—and make you live! Do you understand this—and + do you get any idea of the temper behind this? And how it seems to you, I + don’t know—it is the only kind of truth I am capable of; I shall + simply fling naked the force of my passionate, raging will, and punish you + with it each instant of your life—until you understand it, and love + it, and worship it, as I do. + </p> + <p> + Now, I don’t know what you will think about this letter—and I don’t + care. It is here—and you must take it. It does not come to you for + criticism, any more than it would come for criticism to the world. It will + rule the world. If I marry you I must live all my soul before you, and you + must share it; if you think you can do this without first having suffered, + having first torn loose your own crushed self, you are mistaken. But + remember this—I shall demand from you just as much fire as I give; + you may say you <i>cannot</i>, you may weep and say you cannot—I + will gnash my teeth at you and say you <i>must</i>. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I’m a fool to think I can do this. At any rate, I don’t want to do + anything else; I am a fool to think of doing anything else, and you to let + me. + </p> + <p> + I <i>cannot</i> be false to my art without having a reaction of disgust, + and you cannot marry me, unless you understand that. When I sat down to + this letter I called myself mad for trying to tie my life to yours. Now I + am interested in you again. You may wish to make this cast still; and oh, + of course I shall drop back as usual, and you’ll be happy, and I’ll be + your “Romeo”! + </p> + <p> + <i>Ugh</i>—how I hated that letter! <i>“Romeo”</i> indeed! Wouldn’t + we have a fine sentimental time—you with your prettiest dress on, + and I holding you in my arms and telling you how much I loved you! + </p> + <h3> + XXXIV. MY DEAR THYRSIS: + </h3> + <p> + I shall be your wife. This thought takes hold of me firmly and calmly, and + I have no tears, nor fright, nor uncertainty. I suffered, of course, while + I read your letter, and my self-control toppled, but no “tears of despair” + came into my eyes. I am not despairing—I shall be your wife, and I + shall feel that for many years one of my greatest efforts will be to + prevent you from becoming my “Romeo.” I am very weak and human, and you + become that easily—do you know it? + </p> + <p> + Rejoice, I have gained my self-control, and well, I am going to be your + wife. Or else (it comes to me quite as a matter of course, without any + feeling of it being unnatural or unusual) I shall not care to live. But + after all, I do not fear that I shall die—I shall be your wife. You + may even gainsay it, you may <i>even</i> tell me I shall ruin your life, + you may <i>even</i> tell me that you refuse to take me—but sooner or + later I shall be your wife. I say it with perfect certainty, and almost + composure. + </p> + <p> + It is unfortunate that at such a time as this I cannot see you—it is + quite cruelly wicked. There is so much to say, not all in <i>your</i> + favor either. Some day I shall learn to bring out and keep before me that + higher self of yours, which <i>now</i> I do not fear. I also have a higher + self, though it does not show itself very often. It is a self which can + meet that self of yours without flinching, but which loves it, and + stretches out its arms to it—which knows that without that self of + yours it cannot, <i>will</i> not live. It is hard to realize such a thing, + but I beseech you no longer, I am going with you. You see now, I have no + fear of your not taking me—I simply have no fear of this. + </p> + <p> + If I had, I could not write you this way. But you have been the means of + showing me I <i>can</i> awaken, and that I was not meant to live the life + of the people around me. Chance tried hard to put me to sleep forever, but + you have roused me. Dear me, how I smile to myself at my confidence! But I + am so sure—this feeling would not be in my heart if it had no + meaning! I was not meant for this life I am leading. I am not afraid + because I have no proof that I am a genius, and no prospect of being one + at present. I do not know whether what you have must come as an + inspiration direct from God, I do not know whether I am <i>capable</i> of + winning any of this life that you are seeking; but I do know this—I’m + going to have the chance to try, and you are going to give it to me. Do + you suppose I could tell you that I am willing to stay at home and let you + leave me? + </p> + <p> + I have not even any fear now of your wishing to leave me. Why, I wouldn’t + hold my life at a pennyworth if you were out of it! + </p> + <p> + “You are my only means of breathing, you fool,” I thought. I sometimes + wonder how you could think of leaving me, when I feel as I do at present. + I ask myself why it is that you know nothing of it, and why it does not + make you put out your hand in gladness to me—how you could write me + that all my letters showed you I did not want to struggle to lead your + life! + </p> + <p> + My words are failing me now—this is probably the reason you know + nothing about me. + </p> + <p> + Besides, when I have written you before this, I have been worrying and + doubting and afraid. I am none of these now; and I do not believe I am + deluding myself—in fact I <i>know</i> I am not. <i>I shall be your + wife.</i> It is indeed a pity I cannot talk to you now—yes, a very + great pity. It is also rather incomprehensible, that you can imagine + leaving me <i>now.</i> And all my letters have told you that I wish to be + petted and cuddled, did they? If you were here, I do not know that it + would do any good to give my feelings vent, it would profit me nothing to + strike you, and what could I do? I cannot hate you—it is not natural + that one should hate one’s husband. + </p> + <p> + Some day, oh, <i>some</i> day, I tell myself—you will no lonnger + play and trifle with me and my soul! + </p> + <p> + Did you really think you are going to put me to sleep again? Surely my + life is something; and you have given me some reason for its existence. I + can hardly tell you what I wish to say; people run in and out, and I am + bothered—I suppose this is one of my tasks. But do you not see that + you have taken the responsibility of a soul into your hands? I cannot live + without you. What is it—do creatures go around the world struggling + and saying they must live, and are they only pitiful fools for trying? + </p> + <p> + And are you one of God’s chosen ones? Will you tell me, “Corydon, you + simply cannot live my life—you are not fit?” Dear Thyrsis, I + actually believe that if you should tell me that now, I should laugh with + joy, for I would see that I had gained one victory, that of proving to you + your own weakness and stupidity. And I should not let you discourage me. I + should throw my arms around your neck, and cling to you until you had + promised to take me. After all, it is a small boon to ask the privilege of + trying to live, it cannot but be a glory to you to help me; and if I do + not make you waste your time or money, how can I hinder you? + </p> + <p> + Ask yourself how you have treated me—have I not suffered a little? + Though I may have been miserably weak, have I not now a little courage? + Why do the moments blind you so, that you can speak to me as though I were + a sawdust doll? + </p> + <p> + There is only one thing that I will let myself do. I know that you are + strong and brave, and that I can be if I go with you; and I am going with + you—there simply is no other alternative—for I love you! Yes, + dear, I saw it very plainly as I read your letter to-day. I seem to feel + very differently about it all now. I know we <i>cannot</i> sit still and + love each other—this costs me no pang. You need not love me one bit; + I may simply belong to you, we may simply belong to each other. + </p> + <p> + I see how I fall into blindness of the high things at home. How almost + impossible it is for me to do anything, while I have the earthly ties of + love! I study—but how? How is it possible to live the physical life + of other people—to be sympathetic and agreeable and conciliatory, + and gain anything for your own soul? How is such a creature as myself to + get what it wants, unless it goes away where there are no contrary and + disturbing influences—where it has no ties, no obligations? The + souls that have won, how did they do it—did they go alone, or did + they stay in the parlor and serve tea? + </p> + <p> + Such thoughts as these would make me grovel at your feet, if need be, in + an agony of prayer. The means, I cry—and you are the means! What is + there for me, then, but to beseech you to have faith in me? I suppose, as + yet, you have little or no cause—though once or twice I have risen + to you, even though perhaps you did not know it. I am almost happy now—for + I feel that this <i>useless</i> strife is at an end, this craving and + wondering if you wish to leave me. And for all that, I despise you, too—for + your blind and wanton cruelty in wishing to crush what you have created! + How do you expect God to value your soul, when you so lightly value mine? + </p> + <p> + But after all, will it help me to beseech you? The thing I honor in you is + your desire to be right—and I know that you will act toward me as + your sense of right prompts you. You will act toward me as you feel you <i>must</i> + do, to be true. Yes, be true to yourself, please; I am happy to trust in + yourself so. If you believe that I will mar your life, I do not wish to go + I with you. I do not know why, but I feel that something has come to me to + prevent my despair from returning; I shall take care of my soul—there + <i>must</i> be something for me in this life. I have a feeling that + perhaps you will think I am writing this last mute acceptance of your + will, without knowing what I am doing. But I <i>know</i> that I shall + struggle without you, I shall not die. + </p> + <p> + And I wish that you would do one thing—see me as soon as you can; + let it be early in the morning, and it shall be decided <i>on</i> <i>that</i> + <i>day</i> whether I am to marry you or not. I shall leave you, not to see + you again—or knowing that I am to be your wife. I am sick unto death + of fuming and sighing, tears and fears. + </p> + <p> + What will you do, Thyrsis? I cannot write any more. + </p> + <p> + I unfold the letter again. <i>What, in the name of God, are you going to + do?</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV. THE VICTIM APPROACHES + </h2> + <p> + <i>A silence had fallen upon them. She sat watching where the light of the + sun flickered among the birches; and he had the book in his hand, and was + turning the pages idly. He read— </i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I know these slopes; who knows them if not I?” + </pre> + <p> + And she smiled, and quoted in return— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Here cam’st thou in thy jocund youthful time, + Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime! + And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields.” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. It was early one November afternoon, in his cabin in the forest, + that Thyrsis wrote the last of his minstrel’s songs. He had not been able + to tell when it would come to him, so he had made no preparations; but + when the last word was on the paper, he sprang to his feet, and strode + through the snow-clad forest to the nearest farm-house. The farmer came + with a wagon, and Thyrsis bundled all his belongings into his trunk, and + took the night-train for the city. + </p> + <p> + He came like a young god, radiant and clothed in glory. All the creatures + of his dreams were awake within him, all his demons and his muses; he had + but to call them and they answered. There was a sound of trumpets and + harps in his soul all day; he was like a man half walking, half running, + in the midst of a great storm of wind. + </p> + <p> + He had fought the good fight, and he had conquered. The world was at his + feet, and he had no longer any fear of it. The jangling of the street-cars + was music to him, the roar and rush of the city stirred his pulses—this + was the life he had come to shape to his will! + </p> + <p> + And so he came to Corydon, glorious and irresistible. His mind was quite + made up—he would take her; he was master now, he had no longer any + doubts or fears. He was thrilled all through him with the thought of her; + how wonderful it was at such an hour to have some one to communicate with—some + one in whose features he could see a reflection of his own exaltation! He + recollected the words of the old German poet— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Der ist selig zu begrussen Der ein treues Herze weiss!” + </pre> + <p> + He went to Corydon’s home. In the parlor he came upon her unannounced; and + she started and stared at him as at a ghost. She did not make a sound, but + he saw the pallor sweep over her face, he saw her tremble and sway. She + was like a reed shaken by the wind—so fragile and so sensitive! He + got a sudden sense of the storm of emotion that was shaking her; and it + frightened him, while at the same time it thrilled him strangely. + </p> + <p> + He came and took her hands in his, and gently touched her cheek with his + lips. She stared at him dumbly. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” And she + closed her eyes, and it seemed as if to breathe was all she could do. + </p> + <p> + “Come, dearest,” he said. “Let us go out.” + </p> + <p> + And half in a daze she put on her hat and coat, and they went out on the + street. He took her arm to steady her. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, dearest,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You got my letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I got it. And it was a wonderful letter. It couldn’t have been + better.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “And there’s no more to be said. There’s no refusing such a challenge. You + shall come with me.” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis! Do you <i>want</i> me to come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I want you.” + </p> + <p> + And he felt a tremor pass through her arm. He pressed it tightly to his + side. “I love you!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Ah Thyrsis!” she exclaimed. “How you have tortured me!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, dear!” he replied. “Let’s not think of that. It’s all past now. We + are going on! You have proven your grit. You are wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + They went into the park, and sat upon a bench in the sun. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve finished the book!” he said. “And in a couple more days it’ll be + copied. I’ve a letter of introduction to a publisher, and he wrote me he’d + read it at once.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems like a dream to me,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “We won’t have to wait long after that,” he said. “Everything will be + clear before us.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you do in the meantime?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mother wants me to stay with her,” he said. “I’ve only got ten dollars + left. But I’ll get some from the publisher.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you can?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Corydon!” he cried, “you’ve no idea how wonderful it is—the + book, I mean. You’ll be amazed! It kept growing on me all the time—I + got new visions of it. That was why it took me so long. I didn’t dare to + appreciate it, while I was doing it—I had to keep myself at work, + you know; but now that it’s done, I can realize it. And oh, it’s a book + the world will heed!” + </p> + <p> + “When can I see it, Thyrsis?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as it’s copied—the manuscript is all a scrawl. But you know + the minstrel’s song at the end? My Gethsemane, I called it! I found a new + form for it—it’s all in free verse. I didn’t mean it to be that way, + but it just wrote itself; it broke through the bars and ran away with me. + Oh, it marches like the thunder!” + </p> + <p> + He pulled some papers from his coat-pocket. “I was going over it on the + train this morning,” he said. “Listen!” + </p> + <p> + He read her the song, thrilling anew with the joy of its effect upon her. + “Oh, Thyrsis!” she cried, in awe. “That is marvellous! Marvellous! How + could you do it?” + </p> + <p> + And yet, for all the delight she expressed, Thyrsis was conscious of a + chill of disappointment, of a doubt lurking in the background of his mind. + It was inevitable, in the nature of things—how could the book mean + to any human creature what it had meant to him? Seven long months he had + toiled with it, he had been through the agonies of a child-birth for it. + And another person would read it all in one day!—It was the old, old + agony of the artist, who can communicate so small a part of what has been + in his soul. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. He wanted to talk about his book, but Corydon wanted to talk + about him. She had waited so long, and suffered so much—and now at + last he was here! “Oh, Thyrsis!” she cried. “There’s just no use in my + trying—I can’t do anything at all without you!” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t have to do it any more,” he said. “We shall not part again.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are sure you want me? You have no more doubts?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I have any doubts—after that letter. Ah, that was a brave + letter, Corydon! It made me think of you as some old Viking’s daughter! + That is the way to go at the task!” + </p> + <p> + “And then I may feel certain!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You may stop thinking all about it,” he replied. “We’ll waste no more of + our time—we’ll put it aside and get to work.” + </p> + <p> + They spent the day wandering about in the park and talking over their + plans. “I suppose it’ll be all right now that I’m with you,” said Thyrsis. + “I mean, there’s no great hurry about getting married.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she answered. “We dare not think of that, until you have money.” + </p> + <p> + “How I wish we didn’t have to get married!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because-why should we have to get anybody else’s permission to live our + lives? I’ve thought about it a good deal, and it’s a slave-custom, and it + makes me ashamed of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you believe in marriage, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, and I don’t. I believe that a man who exposes a woman to the + possibility of having a child, ought to guarantee to support the woman for + a time, and to support the child. That’s obvious enough—no one but a + scoundrel would want to avoid it. But marriage means so much more than + that! You bind yourself to stay together, whether love continues or + whether it stops; you can’t part, except on some terms that other people + set down. You have to make all sorts of promises you don’t intend to keep, + and to go through forms you don’t believe in, and it seems to me a + cowardly thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But what else can one do?” asked Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite obvious what <i>we</i> could do. We don’t intend to be husband + and wife; and so we could simply go away and go on with our work.” + </p> + <p> + “But think of our parents, Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know—I’ve thought of them. But if every one thought of his + parents, how would the world ever move?” + </p> + <p> + “But, dearest!” exclaimed Corydon, “if we didn’t marry, they’d simply go + out of their senses!” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But then, they might threaten to go out of their senses if we <i>did</i> + marry? And would that work also?” + </p> + <p> + “We must be sensible,” said the girl. “It means so much to them, and so + little to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose so,” he answered. “But all the same, I hate it; when you + once begin conforming, you never know where you’ll stop.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>We</i> shall know,” declared the other. “Whatever we may have to do to + get married, we shall both of us know that neither would ever dream of + wishing to hold the other for a moment after love had ceased. And that is + the essential thing, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Thyrsis. “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, we’ll make that bargain between us; that will be <i>our</i> + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “That suits me better,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + She thought for a moment, and then said, with a laugh, “Let us have a + little ceremony of our own.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready for it now?” she inquired. “Your mind is quite made up?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite made up.” + </p> + <p> + She looked about her, to make sure that no one was in sight; and then she + put her hand in his. “I have been to weddings,” she said. “And so I know + how they do it.—I take thee, Thyrsis, to be the companion of my + soul. I give myself to thee freely, for the sake of love, and I will stay + so long as thy soul is better with me than without. But if ever this + should cease to be, I will leave thee; for if my soul is weaker than + thine, I have no right to be thy mate.” + </p> + <p> + She paused. “Is that right?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “that is right.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well then,” she said; “and now, you say it!” + </p> + <p> + And she made him repeat the words—“I take thee, Corydon, to be the + companion of my soul. I give myself to thee freely, for the sake of love, + and I will stay so long as thy soul is better with me than without. But if + ever this should cease to be, I will leave thee; for if my soul is weaker + than thine, I have no right to be thy mate.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she exclaimed, with an eager laugh—“now we’re married!” And + as he looked he caught the glint of a tear in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. But the world would not be content to leave it on that basis. + When they parted that afternoon, it was with a carefully-arranged program + of work—they were to visit each other on alternate days and go on + with their German and music. But in less than a week they had run upon an + obstruction; there was no quiet room for them at Corydon’s save her + bedroom, and one evening when Thyrsis came, she made the announcement that + they could no longer study there. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” explained Corydon, “they say the maid might think it wasn’t nice.” + </p> + <p> + She had expected him to fly into a rage, but he only smiled grimly. “I had + come to tell you the same sort of thing,” he explained. “It seems you + can’t visit me so often, and you’re never to stay after ten o’clock at + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is that?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a question of what the hall-boy might think,” said he. + </p> + <p> + They sat gazing at each other in silence. “You see,” said Thyrsis, at + last, “the thing is impossible—we’ve got to go and get married. The + world will never give us any peace until we do.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody has any idea of what we mean!” exclaimed Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “No idea whatever,” he said. “They’ve nothing in them in anyway to + correspond with it. You talk to them about souls, and they haven’t any. + You talk to them about love, and they think you mean obscenity. Everybody + is thinking obscenity about us!” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody but our parents,” put in Corydon. + </p> + <p> + To which he answered, angrily, “They are thinking of what the others are + thinking.” + </p> + <p> + But everybody seemed to have to think something, and that was the aspect + of the matter that puzzled them most. Why did everybody find it necessary + to be thinking about it at all? Why did everybody consider it his + business? As Thyrsis phrased it—“Why the hell can’t they let us + alone?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve got to get married,” said she. “That’s the only way to get the best + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “But is that really getting the best of them?” he objected. “Isn’t that + their purpose—to make us get married?” + </p> + <p> + This was a pregnant question, but they did not follow it up just then. + They went on to the practical problem of where and when and how to + accomplish their purpose. + </p> + <p> + “We can go to a court,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “We’d have to meet a lot of men, and I couldn’t + stand it.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely you don’t want to go to a church!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t we get some clergyman to marry us quietly?” + </p> + <p> + “But then, there’s a lot of rigmarole!” + </p> + <p> + “But mightn’t he leave it out?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” he said. “They generally believe in it, you see.” + </p> + <p> + He decided to make an attempt, however. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go to-morrow morning,” he said. “I’m going over to have the + sound-post set in my violin, and that’ll take an hour or so. Perhaps we + can finish it up in the meantime.” + </p> + <p> + “A good idea,” said Corydon. “It’ll give me to-night to tell mother and + father.” + </p> + <p> + Section 4. So behold them, the next morning, emerging from the little shop + of the violin-dealer, and seeking for some one to fasten them in the holy + bonds of matrimony! They were walking down a great avenue, and there were + many churches—but they were all rich churches. “I never thought + about it before,” said Thyrsis. “But I wonder if there are any poor + churches in the city!” + </p> + <p> + They stopped in front of one brown-stone structure that looked a trifle + less elaborate. “It says Presbyterian,” said Corydon, reading the sign. “I + wonder how they do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said he. “But he’d want a lot of money, I’m sure.” + </p> + <p> + “But mightn’t he have a curate, or something?” + </p> + <p> + “Goose,” laughed Thyrsis, “there are no Presbyterian curates!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know what I mean,” she said—“an assistant, or an + apprentice, or something.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said he. “Let’s go and ask.” + </p> + <p> + So, with much trepidation, they rang the bell of the parsonage on the + side-street. But the white-capped maid who answered told them that the + pastor was not in, and that there were no curates or apprentices about. + </p> + <p> + They went on. + </p> + <p> + “How much do you suppose they charge, anyway?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know—I think you give what you can spare. How much money + have you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got eight dollars to my name.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got it with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—all of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I get my twenty-five to-morrow,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really get it?” he asked. “You can depend on it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—it comes the middle of each month.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve heard of people getting incomes from investments, and things like + that, but it always seemed hard to believe. I never thought I’d meet with + it in my own life.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s certainly very nice,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “Where does it come from?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a trustee of the estate who sends it. It’s Mr. Hammond.” + </p> + <p> + “That bald-headed man I met once?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he’s the one. He’s quite a well-known lawyer, and they say I’m + fortunate to have him.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Thyrsis. “I’ll have to look into it some day. You know you + have to endow me with all your worldly goods!” + </p> + <p> + They went on down the avenue, and came to a Jewish temple with a gilded + dome. “I wonder how that would do,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it would do at all,” said Thyrsis. “We’d surely have to + believe something there.” + </p> + <p> + So they went on again. And on a corner, as they stopped to look about + them, a strange mood came suddenly to Thyrsis. It was as if a veil was + rent before him—as if a bolt of lightning had flashed. What was he + going to do? He was going to bind himself in marriage! He was going to be + trapped—he, the wild thing, the young stag of the forest! + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Corydon, seeing him standing motionless. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was just thinking,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid, Corydon, I wondered if we were sure—if we realized—” + </p> + <p> + “If we <i>realized!</i>” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “You know—it’ll be forever—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Thyrsis!” she exclaimed, in horror. + </p> + <p> + And so he started, and laughed uneasily. “It was just a queer fancy that + came to me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But how <i>could</i> you!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Come, dearest,” he said, hurriedly—“it’s nothing. It seems so + strange, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the block they came to another church. “Unitarian!” he + exclaimed. “Oh, maybe that’s just the thing!” + </p> + <p> + And so they went in, and found a friendly clergyman, Dr. Hamilton by name, + to whom they explained their plight. They answered his questions—yes, + they were both of age, and they had told their parents. Also, with much + stammering, Thyrsis explained that his worldly goods amounted to eight + dollars. + </p> + <p> + “But—how are you going to live?” asked Dr. Hamilton. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was tempted to mention the masterpiece, but he decided not to. + “I’m going to earn money,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” responded the other, “I suppose it’s all right. I’ll marry you.” + </p> + <p> + And so the sexton was called in for a witness, and the clergyman stood + before them and made a little speech, and said a prayer, and then joined + their hands together and pronounced the spell. The two trembled just a + little, but answered bravely, “I do,” in the proper places, and then it + was over. They shook hands with the doctor, and promised to come hear one + of his sermons; and with much trepidation they paid him two dollars, which + he in turn paid to the sexton. And then they went outside, and drew a + great breath of relief. “It wasn’t half as bad as I expected,” the + bridegroom confessed. + </p> + <p> + Section 5. Thyris invested in a newspaper, and as they went back to get the + violin they read the advertisements of furnished rooms. In respectable + neighborhoods which they tried they found that the prices were impossible + for them; but at last, upon the edge of a tenement district, they found a + corner flat-house, with a saloon underneath, where there were two tiny + bedrooms for rent in an apartment. The woman, who was a seamstress, was + away a good deal in the day, and Corydon learned with delight that she + might use the piano in the parlor. The rooms were the smallest they had + ever seen, but they were clean, and the price was only fifty cents a day—a + dollar and a half a week for Thyrsis’ and two dollars for Corydon’s, + because there was a steam-radiator in it. + </p> + <p> + There was a racket of school-children and of streetcars from the avenue + below, but they judged they would get used to this; and having duly + satisfied the landlady that they were married, and having ascertained that + she had no objection to “light housekeeping,” they engaged the rooms and + paid a week’s rent in advance. + </p> + <p> + “That leaves us two and a half to start life on!” said Thyrsis, when they + were on the street again. “Our housekeeping will be light indeed!” + </p> + <p> + They walked on, and sat down in the park to talk it over. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not nearly so reckless as it would seem,” he argued. “For I have to + earn money for myself any-how. And then there’s the book.” + </p> + <p> + “When will you hear about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I called the man up the day before yesterday. He said they were reading + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you said anything to him about money?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Will they pay something in advance?” + </p> + <p> + “They will, I guess, if they like the story. I don’t know very much about + the business end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “We mustn’t let them take advantage of us!” exclaimed Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not. But I hate to have to think about the money side of + it. It’s a cruel thing that I have to sell my inspiration.” + </p> + <p> + “What else could you do?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s something I’ve thought a great deal about,” said he. “It kept + forcing itself upon me all the time I was writing. Here I am with my + vision—working day and night to make something beautiful and sacred, + something without taint of self. And I have to take it to business-men, + who will go out into the market-place and sell it to make money! It will + come into competition with thousands of other books—and the + publishers shouting their virtues like so many barkers at a fair. I can + hardly bear to think of it; I’d truly rather live in a garret all my days + than see it happen. I don’t want the treasures of my soul to be hawked on + the streets.” + </p> + <p> + “But how else could people get them?” asked Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to have a publishing-house of my own, and to print my books + with good paper and strong bindings that would last, and then sell them + for just what they cost. So the whole thing would be consistent, and I + could tell the exact truth about what I wrote. For I know the truth about + my work; I’ve no vanities, I’d be as remorseless a critic of myself as + Shelley was. I’d be willing to leave it to time for my real friends to + find me out—I’d give up the department-store public to the authors + who wanted it. And then, too, I could sell my books cheaply, so that the + poor could get them. I always shudder to think that the people who most + need what I write will have it kept away from them, because I am holding + it back to make a profit!” + </p> + <p> + “We must do that some day!” declared Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “We must live very simply,” he said, “so we can begin it soon. Perhaps we + can do it with the money we get from this first book. We could get + everything we need for a thousand dollars a year, and save the balance.” + </p> + <p> + The other assented to this. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got the prospectus of my publishing-house all written,” Thyrsis went + on. “And I’ve several other plans worked out—people would laugh if + they saw them, I guess. But before I get through, I’m going to have a + reading-room where anyone can come and get my books. It’ll be down where + the poor people are; and I’m going to have travelling libraries, so as to + reach people in the country. That is the one hope for better things, as I + see it—we must get ideas to the people!” + </p> + <p> + Thus discoursing, they strolled back to the home of Thyrsis’ mother, and + he went in to get his belongings together. Corydon went with him; and as + they entered, the mother said, “There’s an express package for you.” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went to his room, and saw a flat package lying on the bed. He + stared at it, startled, and then picked it up and read the label upon it. + “Why—why!—” he gasped; and then he seized a pair of scissors + and cut the string and opened it. It was his manuscript! + </p> + <p> + With trembling fingers he turned it over. There was a letter with it, and + he snatched it up. “We regret,” it read, “that we cannot make you an offer + for the publication of your book. Thanking you for the privilege of + examining it, we are very truly yours.” And that was all! + </p> + <p> + “They’ve rejected the book!” gasped Thyrsis; and the two stared at each + other with consternation and horror in their eyes. + </p> + <p> + That was a possibility that had never occurred to Thyrsis in his wildest + moment. That anyone in his senses could reject that book! That anyone + could read a single chapter of it and not see what it was! + </p> + <p> + “They only had it five days!” he exclaimed; and instantly an explanation + flashed across his mind. “I don’t believe they read it!” he cried. “I + don’t believe they ever looked at it!” + </p> + <p> + But, read or unread, there was the manuscript—rejected. There was no + appeal from the decision; there was no explanation, no apology—they + had simply rejected it! It was like a blow in the face to Thyrsis; he felt + like a woman whose love is spurned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh the fools! The miserable fools!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + But he could not bring much comfort to his soul by that method. The + seriousness of it remained. The publishing-house was one of the largest + and most prosperous in the country; and if they were fools, how many more + fools might there not be among those who stood between him and the public? + And if so, what would he do? + </p> + <p> + Section 6. So these two began their life under the shadow of a cloud. At the + very first hour, when they should have been all rapture, there had come + into the chamber of their hearts this grisly spectre—that was to + haunt them for so many years! + </p> + <p> + But they clenched their hands grimly, and put the thought aside, and moved + their worldly goods to the two tiny rooms. When they had got their trunks + in, there was no place to sit save on the beds; and though Corydon had + cast away all superfluities for this pilgrimage, still it was a puzzle to + know where to put things. + </p> + <p> + But what of that—they were together at last! What an ecstasy it was + to be actually unpacking, and to be mingling their effects! A kind of + symbol it was of their spiritual union, so that the most commonplace + things became touched with meaning. Thyrsis thrilled when the other + brought in an armful of books to him—all this wealth was to be added + to his store! He owned no books himself, save a few text-books, and some + volumes of poetry that he knew by heart. Other books he had borrowed all + his life from libraries; and he often thought with wonder that there were + people who would pay a dollar or two for a book which they did not mean to + read but once! + </p> + <p> + Also there were a hundred trifles which came from Corydon’s trunk, and + which whispered of the intimacies of her life; the pictures she put upon + her bureau, the sachet-bags that went into the drawer, the clothing she + hung behind the door. It disturbed him strangely to realize how close she + was to be to him from now on. + </p> + <p> + And then, the excursion to the corner-grocery, and the delight of the + plunge into housekeeping! A pound of butter, and some salt and pepper, and + a bunch of celery; a box of “chipped beef”, and a dozen eggs, and a quart + of potatoes; and then to the baker’s, for rolls and sponge-cakes—did + ever a grocer and a baker sell such ecstasies before? They carried it all + home, and while Corydon scrubbed the celery in the bath-room, Thyrsis got + out his chafing-dish and set the beef and eggs to sizzling, and they sat + and sniffed the delicious odors, and meantime munched at rolls and butter, + because they were so hungry they could not wait. + </p> + <p> + What an Elysian festivity they made of it! And then to think that they + would have three such picnics every day! To be sure, the purchases had + taken one half of Thyrsis’ remaining capital; but then, was it not just + that spice of danger that gave the keen edge to their delight? What was it + that made the sense of snugness and intimacy in their little retreat, save + the knowledge of a cold and hostile world outside? + </p> + <p> + The next morning Thyrsis took his manuscript to another publisher, and + then they went at their work. Corydon laughed aloud with delight as they + began the German—for what were all its terrors now, when she had + Thyrsis for a dictionary! They fairly romped through the books. In the + weeks that followed they read “Werther” and “Wilhelm Meister” and + “Wahlverwandschaften”; they read “Undine” and “Peter Schlemil” and the + “Leben eines Taugenichts”; they read Heine’s poems, and Auerbach’s and + Freitag’s novels, and Wieland’s “Oberon”—is there anybody in Germany + who still reads Wieland’s “Oberon?” Surely there must somewhere be young + couples who delight in “Der Trompeter von Sekkingen,” and laugh with + delight over “der Kater Hidigeigei!” + </p> + <p> + Also they went at music. Corydon had been taught to play as many “pieces” + as the average American young lady; but Thyrsis had tried to persuade her + to a new and desperate emprise—he insisted that there was nothing to + music until one had learned to read it at sight. So now, every day when + their landlady had gone out, he moved his music-stand into the little + parlor, and they went at the task. Thyrsis proposed to achieve it by a <i>tour</i> + <i>de</i> <i>force</i>—the way to read German was to read it, and + the way to read music was to read music. He would set up a piece they had + never seen before, and they would begin; and he would pound out the time + with his foot, and make Corydon keep up with him—even though she was + only able to get one or two notes in each bar, still she must keep up with + him. At first this was agony to her—she wanted to linger and get + some semblance of the music; but Thyrsis would scold and exhort and shout, + and pound out the time. + </p> + <p> + And so, to Corydon’s own amazement, it was not many weeks before she found + that she was actually reading music, that they were playing it together. + In this way they learned Haydn’s and Mozart’s sonatas, they even + adventured Beethoven’s trios, with the second violin left out. Then + Thyrsis subscribed to a music-library, and would come home twice a week + with an armful of new stuff, good and bad. And whenever in all their + struggles with it they were able to achieve anything that really moved + them as music, what a rapture it brought them! + </p> + <p> + Section 7. This was indeed the nearest they could ever come to creative + achievement together; this was the one field in which their abilities were + equal. In all other things there were disharmonies—they came upon + many reefs and shoals in these uncharted matrimonial seas. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was swift and impatient, and had flung away all care about + external things; and here was Corydon, a woman, with all a woman’s + handicaps and disabilities. She was like a little field-mouse in her care + of her person—she must needs scrub herself minutely every morning, + and have hot water for her face every night; her hair had to be braided + and her nails had to be cared for—and oh, the time it took her to + get her clothes on, or even to get ready for the street! She would + struggle like one possessed to accomplish it more quickly, while Thyrsis + chafed and growled and agonized in the next room. There was nothing he + could do meantime—for were they not going to do everything together? + </p> + <p> + Then there was another stumbling-block—the newspapers! Thyrsis had + to know what was going on in the world. He had learned to read the papers + and magazines like an exchange-editor; his eye would fly from column to + column, and he would rip the insides out of one in two or three minutes. + To Corydon it was agony to see him do this, for it took her half an hour + to read a newspaper. She besought him to read it out loud—and was + powerless to understand the distress that this caused him. He stood it as + long as he could, and then he took to marking in the papers the things + that she needed to know; and this he continued to do religiously, until he + had come to realize that Corydon never remembered anything that she read + in the papers. + </p> + <p> + This was something it took him years to comprehend; there were certain + portions of the ordinary human brain which simply did not exist in his + wife. She had lived eighteen years in the world, and it had never occurred + to her to ask how steam made an engine go, or what was the use of the + little glass knobs on the telegraph-poles. And it was the same with + politics and business, and with the thousand and one personalities of the + hour. When these things came up, Thyrsis would patiently explain to her + what she needed to know; and he would take it for granted that she would + pounce upon the information and stow it away in her mind—just as he + would have done in a similar case. But then, two or three weeks later, the + same topic would come up, and he would see a look of sudden terror come + into Corydon’s eyes—she had forgotten every word of it! + </p> + <p> + He came, after a long time, to honor this ignorance. People had to bring + some real credentials with them to win a place in Corydon’s thoughts; it + was not enough that they were conspicuous in the papers. And it was the + same with facts of all sorts; science existed for Corydon only as it + pointed to beauty, and history existed only as it was inspiring. They read + Green’s “History of the English People” in the evenings; and every now and + then Corydon would have to go and plunge her face into cold water to keep + her eyes open, The long parliamentary struggle was utter confusion to her—she + had no joy to watch how “freedom slowly broadens down from precedent to + precedent.” But once in a while there would come some story, like that Of + Joan of Arc—and there would be the girl, with her hands clenched, + and hot tears in her eyes, and the fires of martyrdom blazing in her soul! + </p> + <p> + These were the hours which revealed to Thyrsis the treasure he had won—the + creature of pure beauty whose heart was in his keeping. He was humbled and + afraid before her; but the agony of it was that he could not dwell in + those regions of joy with her—he had to know about stupid things and + vulgar people, he had to go out among them to scramble for a living. So + there had to be a side to his mind that Corydon could not share. And it + did not suffice just to tolerate the existence of such things—he had + to be actively interested in them, and to take their point of view. How + else could he hold his place in the world, how could he win in the + struggle for life? + </p> + <p> + This, he strove to persuade himself, was the one real difficulty between + them, the one thing that marred the perfection of their bliss. But as time + went on, he came to suspect that there was something else—something + even more vital and important. It seemed to him that he had given up that + which was the chief source of his power—his isolation. The center of + his consciousness had been shifted outside of himself; and try as he + would, he could never get it back. Where now were the hours and hours of + silent brooding? Where were the long battles in his own soul? And what was + to take he place of them—could conversation do it, conversation no + matter how interesting and worth while? Thyrsis had often quoted a saying + of Emerson’s, that “people descend to meet.” And when one was married did + not one have to descend all the time? + </p> + <p> + He reasoned the matter out to himself. It was not Corydon’s fault, he saw + clearly; it would have been the same had he married one of the seraphim. + He did not want to live the life of any seraph—he wanted to live his + own life. And was it not obvious that the mere physical proximity of + another person kept one’s attention upon external things? Was not one + inevitably kept aware of trivialities and accidents? Thyrsis had an ideal, + that he should never permit an idle word to pass his lips; and now he saw + how inevitably the common-place crept in upon them—how, for + instance, their conversation had a way of turning to personality and + jesting. Corydon was sensitive to external things, and she kept him aware + of the fact that his trousers were frayed and his hair unkempt, and that + other people were remarking these things. + </p> + <p> + Such was marriage; and it made all the more difference to an author, he + reasoned, because an author was always at home. Thyrsis had been + accustomed, when he opened his eyes in the morning, to lie still and let + images and fancies come trooping through his mind; he would plan his whole + day’s work in that way, while his fancy was fresh and there was nothing to + disturb him. But now he had to get up and dress, thus scattering these + visions. In the same way, he had been wont to walk and meditate for hours; + but now he never walked alone. That meant incidentally that he no longer + got the exercise he needed—because Corydon could never walk at his + pace. And if this was the case with such external things, how much more + was it the case with the strange impulses of his inmost soul! Thyrsis was + now like a hunter, who starts a deer, and instead of putting spurs to his + horse and following it, has to wait to summon a companion—and + meanwhile, of course, the deer is gone! + </p> + <p> + From all this there was but one deliverance for them, and that was music. + Music was their real interest, music was their religion; and if only they + could go on and grow in it—if only they could acquire technique + enough to live their lives in it! This would take years, of course; but + they did not mind that, they were willing to work every day until they + were exhausted—if only the world would give them a chance! But alas, + the world did not seem to be minded that way. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. Thyrsis had waited a week, and then written the second publisher, + and received a reply to the effect that at least two weeks were needed for + the consideration of a manuscript. And meantime his last penny was gone, + and he was living on Corydon’s money. It was clear that he must earn + something at once; and so he had to leave her to study and practice in her + own room, while he cudgelled his brains and tormented his soul with + hack-work. + </p> + <p> + He tried his verses again; but he found that the spring had dried up in + him. Life was now too sombre a thing, the happy spontaneous jingles came + no more. And what he did by main force of will sounded hollow and vapid to + him—and must have sounded so to the editors, who sent them back. + </p> + <p> + Then he tried book-reviewing; but oh, the ghastly farce of book-reviewing! + To read futile writing and sham writing of a hundred degrading varieties—and + never dare to utter a truth about them! To labor instead to put one’s self + in the place of the school-girl reader and the tired shop-clerk reader and + the sentimental married-woman reader, and imagine what they would think + about the book, and what they would like to have said about it! To take + these little pieces of dishonesty to an office, and sit by trembling while + they were read, and receive two dollars apiece for them if they were + published, and nothing at all if one had been so lacking in cunning as to + let the editor think that the book was not worth the space! + </p> + <p> + However, Thyrsis had cunning enough to earn the cost of his room and his + food for two weeks more. Then one day the postman brought him a letter, + the inscription of which made his heart give a throb. He ripped the + envelope open and read a communication from the second publisher: + </p> + <p> + “We have been interested in your manuscript, and while we do not feel that + we can undertake its publication, we should like an opportunity to talk + with you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “What does <i>that</i> mean?” asked Corydon, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “God knows,” he answered. “I’ll go and see them this morning.” + </p> + <p> + When he came back, it was to sink into a chair and stare in front of him + with a savage frown. “Don’t ask me!” he said, to Corydon. “Don’t ask!” + </p> + <p> + “Please tell me!” cried the girl. “Did you see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Thyrsis—“I saw a fat man!” + </p> + <p> + “A fat man!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a fat man. A fat body, and a fat mind, and a fat soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Please tell me, Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + “He said my book wouldn’t sell, because the public had got tired of that + sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “That sort of thing!” + </p> + <p> + “It seems that people used to buy ‘historical romances’, and now they’ve + stopped. The man actually thought my book was one of that kind!” + </p> + <p> + “I see. But then—couldn’t you tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him. I said, ‘Can’t you see that this book is original—that + it’s come out of a man’s heart?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘perhaps. But you can’t + expect the public to see it.’ And so there you are!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sat with his nails dug into his palms. “It’s just like the + book-reviews!” he cried. “He knows better, but that doesn’t count—he’s + thinking about the public! And he’s got to the point where he doesn’t + really care—he’s a fat man!” + </p> + <p> + “And so he’ll not publish the book?” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll not have anything more to do with me. He hates me.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hates</i> you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Because I have faith, and he hasn’t! Because I wouldn’t stoop to the + indignity he offered!” + </p> + <p> + “What did he offer?” + </p> + <p> + “He says that what the public’s reading now is society novels—stories + about up-to-date people who are handsome and successful and rich. They + want automobiles and theatre-parties and country-clubs in their novels.” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis! You don’t know anything about such things!” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But he said I could find out. And so I could. The point he made + was that I’ve got passion and color—I could write a moving + love-story! In other words, I could use my ecstasy to describe two + society-people mating!” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. “And what did you do with the manuscript?” asked + Corydon, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “I took it to another publisher,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you going to do now?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been to see the editor of the ‘Treasure Chest.’” + </p> + <p> + The “Treasure Chest” was a popular magazine of fiction, a copy of which + Thyrsis had seen lying upon the table of their landlady. He had glanced + through the first story, and had declared to Corydon that if he had a + stenographer he could talk such a story at the rate of twenty thousand + words a day. + </p> + <p> + “And did the editor see you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He’s a big husky ‘advertising man’—he looks like a + prize-fighter. He said if I could write, to go ahead and prove it. He pays + a cent for five words—a hundred dollars for a complete serial. He + pays on acceptance; and he said he’d read a scenario for me. So I’m going + to try it.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s it to be about?” asked Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to try what they call a ‘Zenda’ story,” said Thyrsis. “The + editor says the readers of the ‘Treasure Chest’ haven’t got tired of + ‘Zenda’ stories.” + </p> + <p> + And so Thyrsis spent the afternoon and evening wandering about in the + park; and sometime after midnight he wrote out his scenario. The advantage + of a “Zenda” story was that, as the adventures happened in an imaginary + kingdom, there would be no need to study up “local color”. As for the + conventional artificial dialect, he could get it from any of the + “romances” in the nearby circulating library. He did not dare to take the + scenario the next day, but waited a decent interval; and when he returned + it was to report that the story was considered to be promising, and that + he was to write twenty thousand words for a test. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. So Thyrsis shut himself up and went to work. Sometimes he wrote + with rage seething in his heart, and sometimes with laughter on his lips. + This latter was the case when he did the love-scenes—because of the + “passion and color” he bestowed upon the fascinating countess and the + clever young American engineer. He could have written the twenty thousand + words in three days; but he waited ten days, so that the editor might not + think that he was careless. And three days later he went back for the + verdict. + </p> + <p> + The editor said it was good, and that if the rest was like it he would + accept the story. So Thyrsis went to work again, and finished the + manuscript, and put it away until time enough had elapsed. And meanwhile + came a letter from the literary head of the third publishing-house, + regretting that he could not accept the book. + </p> + <p> + It was such a friendly letter that Thyrsis went to call there, and met a + pleasant and rather fine-souled gentleman, Mr. Ardsley by name, who told + him a little about the problems he faced in life. + </p> + <p> + “You have a fine talent,” he said—“you may even have genius. Your + book is obviously sincere—it’s <i>vêcu,</i> as the French say. I + suspect you must have been in love when you wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + “In a way,” said Thyrsis, flushing slightly. He had not intended that to + show. + </p> + <p> + The other smiled. “It’s overwrought in places,” he went on, “and it tends + to incoherency. But the main trouble is that it’s entirely over the heads + of the public. They don’t know anything about the kind of love you’re + interested in, and they’d laugh at it.” + </p> + <p> + “But then, what am I to do?” cried Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll simply have to keep on trying, till you happen to strike it.” + </p> + <p> + “But—how am I to live?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Mr. Ardsley, “that is the problem.” He smiled, rather sadly, as + he sat watching the lad. “You see how <i>I’ve</i> solved it,” he went on. + “I was young once myself, and I tried to write novels. And in those days I + blamed the publishers—I thought they stood in my way. But now, I see + how it is; a publisher is engaged in a highly competitive business, and he + barely makes interest on his capital; he can’t afford to publish books + that won’t pay their way. Here am I, for instance—it’s my business + to advise this house; and if I advise them wrongly, what becomes of me? If + I take them your manuscript and say, ‘It’s a real piece of work,’ they’ll + ask me, ‘Will it pay its way?’ And I have to answer them, ‘I don’t think + it will.’” + </p> + <p> + “But such things as they publish!” exclaimed the boy, wildly. + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Ardsley smiled again. “Yes,” he said. “But they pay their way. In + fact, they save the business.” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went out. He saw quite clearly now the simple truth—it + was not a matter of art at all, but a matter of business. It was a + business-world, and not an art-world; and he—poor fool—was + trying to be an artist! + </p> + <p> + For three days more he toiled at his pot-boiler; and then, late at night, + he went out to get some fresh air, and to try to shake off the load of + despair that was upon him. And so came the explosion. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was because the wind was blowing, and Thyrsis loved the wind; + it was a mirror of his own soul to him, incessant and irresistible and + mysterious. And so his demons awoke again. He had gone through all that + labor, he had built up all that glory in his spirit—and it was all + for naught! He had made himself a flame of desire—and now it was to + be smothered and stifled! + </p> + <p> + He had written his book, and it was a great book, and they knew it. But + all they told him was to go and write another book—and to do + pot-boilers in the meantime! But that was impossible, he could not do it. + He would win with the book he had written! He would make them hear him—he + would make them read that book! + </p> + <p> + He began to compose a manifesto to the world; and towards morning he came + home and shut himself in and wrote it. He called it “Business and Art;” + and in it he told about his book, and how he had worked over it. He told, + quite frankly, what the book was; and he asked if there was anywhere in + the United States a publisher who published books because they were noble, + and not because they sold; or if there was a critic, or booklover, or + philanthropist, or a person of any sort, who would stand by a true artist. + “This artist will work all day and nearly all night,” he wrote, “and he + wants less than the wages of a day-laborer. All else that ever comes to + him in his life he will give for a chance to follow his career!” + </p> + <p> + Then Corydon awoke, and he read it to her. She listened, thrilling with + amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Thyrsis!” she cried. “What are you going to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to have it printed,” he said, “and send it to all the + publishers; and also to literary men and to magazines.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you going to sign your name to it?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve already signed my name to it,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “And when are you going to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as the book comes back from the next publisher.” + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down to breakfast; and afterwards, without resting, he + finished the pot-boiler, and took it to the editor. After a due interval + he went again, trembling and faint with anxiety. He had sold only one + book-review, and he was using Corydon’s money again. People who hated him + had predicted that he would do just that, and he had answered that he + would die first! + </p> + <p> + He came home, radiant with delight. “He says he’ll take it!” he + proclaimed. “Only I’ve got to do a new ending for the fourth installment—he + wants something more exciting. So I’m going to have the countess caught in + a burning tower!” + </p> + <p> + And he wrote that, and went yet again, and came home with a hundred + dollars buttoned tightly in his inside vest-pocket. He was like a man who + has escaped from a dungeon. The field was clear before him at last! His + manifesto was going out to the world! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK V. THE BAIT IS SEIZED + </h2> + <p> + <i>They sat, gazing down the slope of the little vale. She was turning + idly the pages of the book, and she read to him— </i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lovely all times she lies, lovely to-night!— + Only, methinks, some loss of habit’s power + Befalls me wandering through this upland dim. + Once pass’d I blindfold here, at any hour; + Now seldom come I, since I came with him.” + </pre> + <p> + “It was here we first read the poem,” he said. “Every spot brings back + some line of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Even the old oak-tree where we used to sit,” she smiled— + </p> + <p> + “Hear it, O Thyrsis, still our tree is there!” + </p> + <p> + Section 1. Thyrsis was half hoping that the next publisher would decline the + manuscript; and he was only mildly stirred when he got a letter saying + that although the publisher could not make an offer for the book, one of + his readers was so much interested in it that he would like to have a talk + with the author. Thyrsis replied that he was willing; and to his surprise + he learned that the reader was none other than that Prof. Osborne, who in + the university had impressed upon him his ignorance of the art of writing. + </p> + <p> + He paid a call at the professor’s home, and they had a long talk. There + was nothing said about their former interview. Evidently the other + recognized that Thyrsis had succeeded in making good his claim to be + allowed to hew his own way; and Thyrsis was content with that tacit + surrender. + </p> + <p> + They talked about the book. The professor first assured him that it would + not sell, and then went on to explain to him why; and so they came to a + grapple. + </p> + <p> + “The thing is sincere, perhaps even exalted,” said Prof. Osborne; “but + it’s overstrained and exaggerated.” + </p> + <p> + “But isn’t it alive?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + The other pondered; he always spoke deliberately, choosing his words with + precision. “Some people might think so,” he said. “For myself, I have + never known any such life.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s that got to do with it?” cried Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “It has much to do with it—for me. One has to judge by what one + knows—” + </p> + <p> + “But can’t one be taught?” + </p> + <p> + The professor meditated again. “I have lived forty-five years,” he said, + “and you have lived less than half that. I imagine that I have read more, + studied more, thought more than you. Yet you ask me to submit myself to + your teaching!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Thyrsis, eagerly. “It is not as if it were a matter of + learning—of scholarship—of knowledge of the world. There is an + intensity of experience that is not dependent upon time; in the things of + the imagination—in matters of inspiration—surely one does not + have to be old or learned.” + </p> + <p> + “That might be true,” admitted the other, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “You read the poetry of Keats or Shelley, for instance. They were as young + as I am when they wrote it, and yet you do not refuse to acknowledge its + worth. Is it just because they are dead, and their poems are classics?” + </p> + <p> + So these two wrestled it out. Thyrsis could bring the other to the point + of acknowledging that there might be genius in his work, but he could not + bring him to the point of <i>doing</i> anything about it. The poet went + away, seeing the situation quite clearly. Prof. Osborne was an instructor; + it was his business to know; and if he should abdicate before one of his + pupils, then what would become of authority? He had certain models, which + he set before his class; these models constituted literature. If anyone + might disregard them and proceed to create new models according to his own + lawless impulse—then what anarchy would reign in a classroom! Under + such circumstances, it was remarkable that the professor had even been + willing to admit of doubts; as Thyrsis walked home he clenched his hands + and whispered to himself, “I’ll get that man some day!” + </p> + <p> + Section 2. The road now lay clear before Thyrsis, and accordingly he set + grimly to work. He had his document printed upon a long slip of paper, and + got several packages for Corydon to address. And one evening they took + them out and dropped them into the mailbox. “And now we’ll see!” he said. + </p> + <p> + They soon saw. When he came in for lunch the next day, Corydon came to the + door, in great excitement. “S-sh!” she whispered. “There’s a reporter + here!” + </p> + <p> + “A reporter!” he echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she want?” + </p> + <p> + “She wants an interview about the book.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she from?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s from the ‘Morning Howl’. She’s read the circular.” + </p> + <p> + “But I never sent it there!” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but she says a friend gave it to her. She knows all about it.” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went in, like a lamb to the slaughter. He was new to + interviews, and he yielded to the graces of the friendly and sympathetic + lady. Yes, he would be glad to tell about his book; and about where and + how he had written it, and all the hopes he had based upon it. + </p> + <p> + “And your wife tells me you’ve just been married!” said the lady, with a + winning smile, and she proceeded to question him about this. They had + become good friends by that time, and Thyrsis told her many things that he + would not have told save to a charming lady. And then she asked for his + picture, explaining that she could give so much more space to the “story” + if she had one. And then she begged for a picture of Corydon, and was + deeply hurt that she could not have it. + </p> + <p> + She prolonged the interview for an hour or so, and came back again and + again in the effort to get this picture of Corydon. Finally she rose to + go; but out in the hall, as she was bidding them good-bye, she suddenly + exclaimed that she had left her gloves, and went back and got them, and + then hurried away. And it was not until an hour or two later that Thyrsis + made the horrible discovery that the photograph of Corydon which had stood + upon his bureau was standing upon his bureau no longer! + </p> + <p> + So next morning, there were their two photographs upon the second page of + the ‘Morning Howl’, and a two-column headline: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “YOUTHFUL GENIUS OFFERS HIMSELF FOR SALE!” + </pre> + <p> + Thyrsis rushed through this article, writhing with horror and dismay. The + woman had made him into what they called a “human interest” feature. There + was very little about his book, but there was much about the picturesque + circumstances under which he had written it. There was a description of + their personal appearance—of Corydon’s sweet face and soulful black + eyes, and of his broad forehead and sensitive lips. There was also a + complete description of their domestic <i>ménage</i>, including the + chafing-dish and the odor of lamb-chops. There was a highly diverting + account of how they had “eloped” with only eight dollars in the world; + together with all the agonies of their parents, as imagined by the + sympathetic lady. + </p> + <p> + They had been butchered to make a holiday for the readers of a yellow + journal! “This is a wonderfully interesting world,” the paper seemed to + say—“well worth the penny it costs to read about it! Here on the + first page is Antonio Petronelli, who cut up his sweetheart with a + butcher-knife, and packed her in a trunk. And here are seven people burned + in a tenement-house; and an interview with Shrike, the plunger, who made + three millions out of the wheat-corner. But most diverting of all are + these two little cherubs who ran away and got married, and now want the + world to support them while they write masterpieces of literature!” + </p> + <p> + And could not one see the great public devouring the tale—the Wall + Street clerks in the cars, and the shop-girls over their sandwiches and + coffee, and the loungers in the cafes of the Tenderloin! Could not one + picture their smiles—not contemptuous, but genial, as of people who + have learned that it is indeed an interesting world, and well worth the + penny it costs to read about it! + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Corydon shed tears of rage over this humiliation, and she wrote a + letter full of bitter scorn to the newspaper woman. In reply to it came a + friendly note to the effect that she had done the best thing in the world + for them—that when they knew more about life and the literary game, + they would recognize this! + </p> + <p> + The tangible results of the adventure were three. First there came a + letter, written on scented note-paper, from a lady who commended their + noble ideals and wished them success—but who did not sign her name. + Second, there came a visit from a brother poet—a man about forty + years of age, shabby and pitiful, with watery, light blue eyes and a + feeble straggly moustache, and a manner of agonized diffidence. He stood + in the doorway and shifted from one foot to the other, and explained that + he had read the article, and had come because he, too, was an unrecognized + genius. He had written two volumes of poetry, which were the greatest + poetry ever produced in English—Milton and Shakespeare would be + forgotten when the world had read these volumes. For ten years he had been + trying to find some publisher or literary man to recognize him; and + perhaps Thyrsis would be the man. + </p> + <p> + He came in and sat on the bed and unwrapped his two volumes—several + hundred typewritten pages, elaborately bound up in covers of faded pink + silk. And Thyrsis read one and Corydon the other, while the poet sat by + and watched them and twisted his hands nervously. His poetry was all about + stars and blue-bells and moonlight, about springtime and sighing lovers, + about cold, rain-beaten graves and faded leaves of autumn—the + subjects and the images which have been the stock in trade of minor poets + for two thousand years and more. Thyrsis, as he read, could have marked + fifty phrases which were feeble imitations of things in Tennyson and + Longfellow and Keats; and he read for half an hour, in the vain hope of + finding a single vigorous line. + </p> + <p> + This interview was a very painful one. He could not bear to hurt the poor + creature’s feelings, and he did not know how to get rid of him. The matter + was made still more difficult by the presence of Corydon, who did not know + the models, and therefore thought the poetry was good. She let the visitor + go on to pour out his heart; until at last came a climax that Thyrsis had + been expecting all along. The man explained that he was a bookkeeper, out + of work, and with a wife and three children on the verge of starvation; + and then he tried to borrow some money from them! + </p> + <p> + The third result was the important one. It was a letter from a + publishing-house. + </p> + <p> + “We are on the lookout for vital and worth-while books,” it read, “and we + are not afraid to venture. We have been much interested in the account of + your work, and we should be very glad if you would give us a chance to + read it immediately.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had never heard of this publishing-house, but that did not chill + his delight. He hurried downtown with the manuscript, and came back to + report. The concern was lodged in two small rooms in an obscure + office-building. The manager, a Mr. Taylor, was a man not particularly + prepossessing in appearance, but he was a person of intelligence, and was + evidently interested in the book. Moreover he had promised to read it at + once. + </p> + <p> + And that same week came the reply—a reply which set the two almost + beside themselves with happiness. “I have read your manuscript,” wrote Mr. + Taylor. “And I have no hesitation in pronouncing it a work of genius. In + fact, I am not sure but what it is the greatest piece of literature it has + ever been my fortune as a publisher to come upon. It is vital, and + passionately sincere, and I will stake my reputation upon the prophecy + that it will be an instantaneous success. I hope that we may become the + publishers of it, and will be glad if you will come to see me at once and + talk over terms.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis read this aloud; and then he caught Corydon in his arms, and tears + of joy and relief ran down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + He went to see the publisher, and for ten or fifteen nunutes he listened + to such a panegyric upon his book as made his cheeks burn. Visions of + freedom and triumph rose before him—he had come into his own at + last. An then Mr. Taylor proceeded to outline his business proposition—and + as Thyrsis realized the nature of it, it was as if he had been suddenly + plunged into an Arctic sea. The man wanted him to pay one-half the cost of + the plates of his book, and in addition to guarantee to take one hundred + copies at the wholesale price of ninety cents per copy! + </p> + <p> + “Is that—is that customary in publishing?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” Mr. Taylor replied; “but it is our custom. You see, we are + an unusual sort of publishing-house. We do not run after the best-sellers + and the trash—we publish real books, books with a mission and a + message for the world. And we advertise them widely—we make the + world heed them; and so we feel justified in asking the author to help us + with a part of the expense. We pay ten per cent. royalty, of course, and + in addition the author has the hundred copies of his book, which he can + sell to friends and others if he wishes.” + </p> + <p> + “What would it cost for my book?” Thyrsis asked. + </p> + <p> + And the man figured it up and told him it could be done for about two + hundred and fifty dollars. “I’ll make it two hundred and twenty-five to + you,” he said—“just because of my interest in your future.” + </p> + <p> + But Thyrsis only shook his head sadly. “I wish I could do it,” he said, + “but I simply haven’t the money—that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + And so he took his departure, and carried his manuscript to another + publisher, and then went home, crushed and sick. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. But the more Thyrsis thought of this plan, the more it came to + possess him. If he could only get that book printed, it could not fail to + make its impression! He had thought many times in his desperation of + trying to publish it himself; and if he did that, he would have to pay the + cost of the plates, of the printing and everything; whereas by this method + he could get it for much less, and would have a hundred copies which he + could send to critics and men of letters, in order to make certain of the + book’s being read. + </p> + <p> + When the manuscript came back from the next publisher, with a formal note + of rejection, Thyrsis made up his mind that he would concentrate his + efforts upon this plan. So he got down to another pot-boiler. + </p> + <p> + An old sea-captain had told him a story of some American college boys who + had stolen a sacred idol in China. Thyrsis saw a plot in that, and the + editor of the “Treasure Chest” considered it a “bully" idea. So he toiled + day and night for a couple more weeks, and earned another hundred dollars. + And then he did something he had never done in his life before—he + went to some relatives to beg. He pleaded how hard he had worked, and what + a chance he had; he would pay back the money out of the first royalties + from the book—which could not possibly fail to earn the hundred + dollars he asked for. + </p> + <p> + Besides this, he had some money left from his first story; and so he went + to Mr. Taylor, who was affable and enthusiastic as ever, and paid his + money and signed the contracts. He was told that his book would be ready + for the spring-trade; which meant that he would have to possess his soul + in patience for three months. Meantime he had forty dollars left—upon + which he figured that he could have eight weeks of uninterrupted study. + </p> + <p> + But alas, for the best-laid plans of men! It was on a Tuesday morning that + he paid out his precious two hundred and twenty-five dollars; and on the + next Thursday morning, as he was glancing through the newspapers, he gave + a cry of dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Corydon,” he called. “What’s the name of that lawyer, your trustee?” + </p> + <p> + “John C. Hammond,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “He shot himself in his office yesterday!” exclaimed Thyrsis; and he read + her the account, which stated that Hammond had been speculating, and was + believed to have lost heavily in the recent slump in cotton. + </p> + <p> + Corydon was staring at him with terror in her eyes. “What does it mean?” + she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Thyrsis. “We’ll have to inquire!” + </p> + <p> + They went out and telephoned to Corydon’s father, and Thyrsis got hold of + a college friend, a lawyer, and the four went to the office of the dead + man. It was weeks before they became sure of the whole sickening truth, + but they learned enough on that first day to make them fairly certain. + John C. Hammond had got rid of everything—not only his own funds, + but the funds belonging to the eight or ten heirs of the estate. The house + in which he lived and everything in it was held in the name of his wife; + and so there was not a penny to pay Corydon her four thousand dollars! + </p> + <p> + The girl was almost prostrated with misery; she vowed that she would go + back to her parents, that she would go to work in an office. And poor + Thyrsis could only hold her in his arms and whisper, “It doesn’t matter, + dear—it doesn’t matter! The book will be out in the spring, and I + can do pot-boilers for two!” + </p> + <p> + Section 5. But in the small hours of the night Thyrsis lay awake in his + little room, and the soul within him was sick with horror. He was trapped—there + was no use trying to dodge the fact, he was trapped! His powers were + waning hour by hour, his vision was dying within him; every day he knew + that he was weaker, that the grip of circumstance was tighter upon him. + Ah, the hideous cruelty of the thing—it was like a murder in the + night-time, like a torturing in some secret dungeon! He was burning up + with his inward fires—there was a new book coming to ripeness within + him, a book that would be greater even than his first one. And he could + not write it, he could not even think about it! And there was the soul of + Corydon calling to him, there were all the heights of music and poetry—and + instead of climbing, he must torture his brain with hack-writing! He must + go down to the editors, and fawn and cringe, and try to get books to + review; he must study the imbecilities of the magazines and watch out for + topics for articles; he must rack his brains for jokes and jingles—he, + the master of life, the bearer of a new religion, the proud, high-soaring + eagle, whose foot had never known a chain! + </p> + <p> + When such thoughts came to him, he would dig his nails into the palms of + his hands, he would grit his teeth and curse the world. No, they should + not conquer him! They should never bend him to their will! They might + starve him, they might kill him—they might kill Corydon, also, but + he would never give up! He would fight, and fight again, he would struggle + to the last gasp—he would do his work, though all the powers of hell + rose up to stop him! + </p> + <p> + One thing became clear to him that night, they could not afford two rooms. + They must get along with one, and with the dollar and a half one at that. + The steam-radiator had proved a farce, anyway—there was never any + steam, and they had had to use gas-heaters. And now, what things Corydon + could not get into his room, she would have to send back to her parents. + The cost of the other room was the price of a book-review, and that + sometimes meant a whole day of his precious time. + </p> + <p> + He talked it over with his wife, and she agreed with him. And so they + underwent the humiliation of telling their landlady, and they obtained + permission to keep Corydon’s trunk in the hall, as there was no place for + it in the tiny room. Such things as would not go upon the little + dressing-stand, or hang behind the door, they put into boxes and shoved + under the bed. And now, when midnight came, Thyrsis would go out for a + walk while Corydon went to bed; and then he would come in and make his own + bed upon the floor, with a quilt which the landlady had given them, and a + pair of blankets they had borrowed from home, and his overcoat and some of + Corydon’s skirts when it was cold. Sometimes it would be very cold, and + then he would have to sleep in his clothing; for there was no room save + directly under the window, and they would not sleep with the window down. + In the morning Corydon would turn her face to the wall while Thyrsis + washed and dressed; and then he would go out and walk, while she took her + turn. + </p> + <p> + And so he parted with the last shred of his isolation. He had to do all + his work now with his wife in the room with him. And though she would sit + as still as a mouse for hours, still he could not think as before; also, + when she was worn out at night, he had to stop work and let her sleep. + Under such circumstances it was small wonder that he was sometimes nervous + and irritable; and, of course, there could be nothing hid between them, + and when he was out of sorts, Corydon would be plunged into a bottomless + pit of melancholy. + </p> + <p> + Then the strain and worry, and the night and day toil, began to have + effects upon their health. Thyrsis had a strong constitution, but now he + began to have headaches, and sometimes, if he worked on doggedly, they + grew severe. He blamed this upon their heater; he knew little about + hygiene, but he had studied physics, and he knew that a gas-heater + devitalized the air. They had tried living in the room without heat, but + in mid-winter they could not stand it. So on moderate days they would sit + with the window up and their overcoats on; and when it was too cold for + this, they would burn the heater for an hour or so, and when they began to + feel the effects of the poisons, they would go out and walk for a while + and let the room air. + </p> + <p> + But then again, Thyrsis wondered if the headaches might not be due to the + food he was eating. They were anxious to economize on food; but they did + not know just how to set about it. Thyrsis had read the world’s literature + in English, French and German, in Italian, Latin and Greek; but in none of + that reading had he found anything about the care of his own body. Such + subjects had not been taught at school or college or university, and he + knew of no books about them. Both he and Corydon had come from families + which had the traditions of luxurious living, brought down from old days + when there were plenty of negro servants, and when the ladies had been + skilled in baking and preserving, and the men with chafing-dish and + punch-bowl. At his grandfather’s table Thyrsis had been wont to see a + great platter of fried chicken at one end, and a roast beef at the other, + and a cold ham on a side table; and he had hot bread three times a day, + and cake and jam and ice-cream—and he had been taught to believe + that such things were needed to keep up one’s working-powers. + </p> + <p> + But now he had read how Thoreau had lived upon corn-meal mush; and he and + Corydon resolved to patronize the less expensive foods. The price of meat + and eggs and butter in the winter-time was in truth appalling; so they + would buy potatoes and rice and corn-meal and prunes and turnips. They + paid the landlady for the use of her gas-range, and would cook a sauce-pan + full of some one of these things, and fill up with it three times a day. + Then, at intervals, some one would invite them out to dinner; and because + they were under-nourished they would gorge themselves—which was + evidently not an ideal method of procedure. So in the end Thyrsis made up + his mind to consult a physician about it; and this was a visit he never + forgot—for it led directly to the most momentous events of his whole + lifetime. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. The doctor announced that he had a little dyspepsia, and gave him + a bottle full of a red liquid that would digest his food. Also he warned + him to eat slowly, and to rest after meals. And Thyrsis, after thanking + him, had started to go; when the doctor, who was an old friend of both + families, asked the question, “How’s Corydon?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s pretty well,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “And are you expecting any children yet?” asked the other, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis started. “Heavens, no!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “We aren’t going to have any.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Are you preventing it?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis hesitated a moment. “We’re not living that way,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The doctor stared at him. “Come here, boy,” he said, “and sit down.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me what you mean,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that we—we’re just brother and sister,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “But—why did you get married?” + </p> + <p> + “We got married because we wanted to study.” + </p> + <p> + “To study what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, everything—music, principally.” + </p> + <p> + “And how long do you expect to keep that up?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for a good many years—until we’ve accomplished something, and + until we’ve got some money.” + </p> + <p> + And the doctor sank back and drew his breath. “I don’t wonder your + stomach’s out of order!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + But the man did not answer that question. Instead he asked, “Don’t you + realize what you’ll do to Corydon?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll wreck her whole life—her health, to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + “But how, doctor? She’s perfectly happy. It’s what we both want to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But doesn’t she love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes—but not that way.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor smiled. “How do you know?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because—she’s told me so.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it was otherwise—do you think she’d tell you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course she would.” + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” said the man, “she’d die first!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was staring at him, amazed. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you a little about a good woman,” said the other. “I’ve been + married for thirty years—really married, I mean; we’ve got five + children. And in all those thirty years my wife has never made an advance + of that sort to me!” + </p> + <p> + After which the doctor went on to expound his philosophy of sex. “Love is + just a little thing to you,” he said; “you’ve got your books and your + career. And you want it to be the same with Corydon—you’ve succeeded + in persuading her that that’s what she wants also. You’re going to make + her a copy of yourself! But you simply can’t do it, boy—she’s a + woman. And a woman’s one interest in the world is love—it’s + everything in life to her, the thing she’s made for. And if you deprive + her of love, whole love, I mean, you wreck her entirely. Just now is the + time when she ought to be having her children, if she’s ever to have any—and + you’re trying to satisfy her with music and philosophy!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” cried Thyrsis, horrified, “I know she doesn’t feel that way at + all!” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe not,” said the other. “Her eyes are not opened. It’s your business + to open them. What are you a man for?” + </p> + <p> + “But—she’s all right as she is—-” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she nervous?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes—perhaps—-” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she sometimes melancholy? And doesn’t she like you to kiss her? + Doesn’t she show she’s happy when you hold her in your arms.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sat mute. + </p> + <p> + “You see!” said the other, laughing. “The girl is in love with you, and + you haven’t sense enough to know it.” + </p> + <p> + Again Thyrsis could find no words. “But if we had a child it would ruin + us!” he cried, wildly. “I’ve not a cent, and my whole career’s at stake!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the other, “if it’s as bad as that, don’t have any children + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but how <i>can</i> we?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know how to control it?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was staring at him, open-eyed. “Why, no!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Good lord!” laughed the other. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” + </p> + <p> + And then the doctor proceeded to explain to him the “artificial + sterilization of marriage.” No whisper of such a thing had ever come to + the boy before, and he could hardly credit his ears. But the doctor spoke + of it as a man of the world, to whom it was a matter of course; he went + into detail as to the various methods that people used. And when finally + Thyrsis rose to leave he patted him indulgently on the shoulder, and + laughed, “Go home to your wife, my boy!” + </p> + <p> + Section 7. The effect of this conversation upon Thyrsis was alarming to him. + At first he tried to put the thing aside, as being something utterly + inconceivable between him and Corydon. But it would not be put aside. + </p> + <p> + The doctor had planted his seed with cunning. If he had told Thyrsis that + he was doing harm to himself, Thyrsis would have said that it was not + true, and stood by it; for he knew about himself. But the man had made his + statements about Corydon—and how could he be sure about Corydon? + </p> + <p> + The crucial point was that it set him to thinking about her in this new + way; a way which he had not dreamed of previously. And when once he had + begun to think about her so, he found he could not stop. For hitherto in + his life, whenever he had thought of passion it had been as a temptation; + he had known that it was wrong, and all that was best in him had risen up + to oppose it. But now all that was changed—the image of Corydon the + doctor had called up was one that broke down all resistance, and left him + at the mercy of his impulses. + </p> + <p> + These impulses awoke—and with a suddenness and force that terrified + him. He thought of her as his wife, and this thought was like a rush of + flame upon him. His manhood leaped up, and cried aloud for its rights. He + discovered, almost instantly, that he loved her thus, that he desired her + completely. This was true now, and it had been true from the beginning; he + had been a fool to try to persuade himself otherwise. What else had been + the meaning of the passionate protests in his letters to her? Of the + images he had used—of carrying her away in his arms, of breaking her + to his will? And she loved him, too—she desired him completely! Why + else had it been that those passages were precisely the ones that + satisfied her? Why was it that she was always most filled with joy when he + was aggressive and masterful? + </p> + <p> + Ah God, what an inhuman life it was they had been living all these months! + In that inevitable proximity—shut up in a little room! And with the + most intimate details of her life about him—with her kisses always + upon his lips, her arms always about him, the subtle perfume of her + presence always in his senses! Was it any wonder that they were nervous + and restless—always sinking into tenderness, and exchanging + endearments, and then starting up to scourge themselves? + </p> + <p> + He went home, and there was Corydon preparing supper. He went to her and + caught her in his arms and kissed her. “I love you, sweetheart!” he + whispered. And as she yielded to his embraces, he kissed her again and + again, upon her lips and upon her cheeks and upon her neck. Ah, she loved + him—else how could she let him kiss her like that! + </p> + <p> + But it was not so quickly that the inhibitions of a lifetime could be + overcome. A sudden fear took hold of Thyrsis. What was he doing? No, she + must have no idea of this—at least not until he had reasoned it out, + until he had made up his mind that it was right. + </p> + <p> + So he drew back—and as he did so he noticed in her eyes a look of + surprise. He did not often greet her in that way! + </p> + <p> + “I’m hungry as a bear,” he said, to change the subject; and so they sat + down to their supper. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had important writing to do that evening, and he tried his best, + but he could not put his mind upon anything. He was all in a ferment. He + pleaded that he had to think about his work, and went out for a long walk. + </p> + <p> + A storm was raging, and the icy gale beat upon him. It buffeted him, it + flung him here and there; and he set himself to fight it, he drove his way + through it, lusty and exultant. And music surged within him, lusty and + exultant music. All the pent-up passion of his lifetime awoke in him, the + blood ran hot in his veins; from some hidden portion of his being came + wave after wave of emotion, sweeping him away—and he spread his + wings to it, he rose to the heights upon it, he laughed and sang aloud in + the glory of it. He had known such hours in his own soul’s life, but never + anything like it with Corydon. He cried out, what a child he had been! He + had taken her, he had sought to shape her to his will; and he had failed, + she was not yet his—and all because he had left unused the one great + power he had over her, the one great hold he had upon her. But now it + would be changed—she should have him! And as he battled on with the + elements there came to him Goethe’s poem of passion: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dem Schnee, dem Regen, + Dem Wind entgegen!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 8. So for hours he went. But when he had come home, and stood in the + vestibule, stamping the snow from him, there came a reaction. It was + Corydon he had been thinking of—Corydon, the gentle and innocent! + How could he say such things to her? How could he hint of them? Why, he + would fill her with terror! It was not to be thought of! + </p> + <p> + He went upstairs, and found that she was asleep. So he crept into his + little bunk; but sleep would not come to him. The image of her haunted + him. He listened to her breathing—he was as close to her as that, + and still she was not his! + </p> + <p> + It was nearly day before he slept, and so he awoke tired and restless. And + then came rage at himself—he went out and walked again, and stormed + and scolded. He would not permit this, he had work to do. And he made up + his mind that he would not allow himself to think about the matter for + three days. By that time the truth would be clearer to him; and he meant + to settle this question with his reason, and not with his blind desire. + </p> + <p> + He adhered to his resolution firmly. But when the three days were past, + and he tried to think about it, it was only to be swept away in another + storm of emotion. It seemed that the more tightly he pent this river up, + the fiercer was its rush when finally it broke loose. For always his will + was paralyzed by that suggestion that he might be doing harm to Corydon! + </p> + <p> + At last he made up his mind that he must speak to her; and one afternoon + he came and knelt beside her and put his arms about her. “Sweetheart,” he + said, “I’ve something to ask you about.” + </p> + <p> + Now to Corydon the mind of Thyrsis was like an open book. For days she had + known that something was disturbing him. But also she had known that he + was not ready to tell her. “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s something very important,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “You know, I went to see the doctor the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And he told me—he thinks we are doing each other harm by the way we + are living.” + </p> + <p> + “What way, Thyrsis?” + </p> + <p> + “By not being really married. He says you are suffering because of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis!” she cried, in astonishment. “I’m not!” + </p> + <p> + “He says you wouldn’t know it, Corydon. It would keep you nervous and + upset.” + </p> + <p> + “But dear,” she said, “I’m perfectly happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly sure.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and if it was ever otherwise—you would tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you sure of <i>that</i>?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated; and when she tried to answer, her voice was a whisper—“I + think so, dear.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. “Thyrsis,” she exclaimed, suddenly, “I would have a + child!” + </p> + <p> + “No, you needn’t,” he said; and he told her what the doctor had said. + </p> + <p> + It was quite as new to her as it had been to him, and even more startling. + “I see,” she said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Corydon,” he whispered, “do you think you love me at all that + way?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered. “I never thought of such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you could learn to love me so?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell, Thyrsis? It’s so strange to me. It—it frightens + me.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her; and he saw that a flush was mottling her throat, and + spreading over her cheeks. He saw the wild look in her eyes also; and he + turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, dearest,” he said. “I don’t want to disturb you.” + </p> + <p> + So he tried to go back to his work. But he could not do his real work at + all. He could practice the violin or read German with Corydon, but when he + tried to plan his new book—that involved turning his thoughts loose + to graze in a certain pasture, and they would not stay in that pasture, + but jumped the fence and came back to her. And so he found himself taking + more long journeys, in which he walked in the midst of the storm of his + desire. + </p> + <p> + So, of course, all the former naturalness was gone between them. No longer + could they kiss and toy with one another as children in a fairy-world. + They had suddenly become man and woman—fighting the age-long duel of + sex. They would talk about the question; and the more they talked about + it, the more it came to dominate the thoughts of both of them; and this + broke down the barriers between them—Thyrsis became bolder, and more + open in his speech. He lost his awe of her maidenhood and her innocence—he + wooed her, he lured her on; he rejoiced in his power to agitate her, to + startle her, to speak to her about secret things. He would clasp her in + his arms and shower his kisses upon her; and she would yield to him, + almost fainting with bliss—and then shrink from him in sudden alarm. + </p> + <p> + Then he would go out into the night and battle again with the wintry + winds. That frightened shrinking of hers puzzled him. Everything was so + strange to him; and how could he be sure what was right? He wanted to do + what was right, with all his soul he wanted it; if he were to do wrong, or + to make her think less of him, he could never forgive himself all his + life. But then would come the wild surge of his longing, and his man’s + power would cry out within him. It was his business to overcome her + shrinking, to compel her to yield. The question of the doctor rang in his + ears as a taunt—“Why are you a man?” Why <i>was</i> he a man? + </p> + <p> + Section 9. In the end these emotions reached a point where Thyrsis could no + longer bear them. They were a torment to him, they deprived him of all + rest and sleep. One afternoon he had held her a long time in his arms, and + it hurt him; he turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. “Dearest,” + he cried, “I can’t stand this any longer!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she asked. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean it’s just tearing me to pieces!” + </p> + <p> + She stared at him in fright. “Thyrsis!” she exclaimed. “You are unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + He sunk down upon the bed and hid his face in his arms. “Yes,” he + whispered, “I am unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + And so, all at once, he broke down her resistance. What had swayed him had + been the thought of her suffering; and the thought of his suffering now + conquered her. + </p> + <p> + Only she did not take days to debate it. She fled to him instantly, and + wrapped her arms about him. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis,” she whispered, “listen to me! I had no idea of that!” + </p> + <p> + “No, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m sorry—I’m ashamed of myself—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she cried, vehemently. “Don’t say that! I love you, Thyrsis! I + love you, heart and soul!” + </p> + <p> + He turned and gazed at her with his haggard eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything for you,” she rushed on. “You shall have me! I will be + your wife!” + </p> + <p> + Then, however, as he clasped her to him, there came once more the + shrinking. “Only give me a little time, dear,” she whispered. “Let me get + used to it. Let it come naturally.” + </p> + <p> + But the only way he could have given her time would have been to go away. + Here he was, in her room—with every reminder of her about him, with + every incitement to his desire. And he had but two things to choose + between—to go out and walk and think about her, or to come home and + sit with her and talk about their love. + </p> + <p> + They had their supper, and then again she was in his arms. He told her + about this trouble—he showed how the love of her was consuming him. + Far into the night they sat talking, and he poured out his heart to her, + he bore her with him to the mountain-tops of his desire. He took down a + book of Spenser’s, and read her the “Epithalamium”; he read her Shelley’s + “Epip sychidion,” which they both loved. All the power of Thyrsis’ genius + was turned now to passion, and the hidden forces of him were revealed as + never had they been revealed to her before. He became eloquent; he talked + to her as he had lived with himself; he awed her and frightened her, as he + had that evening upon the hill-top. Then at last, as the tide of his + feeling swept him away again, he clasped her to him tightly, and hid his + face in her neck. “I love you! Oh, I love you!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + She had sunk back and closed her eyes. “My Thyrsis!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “You love me?” he asked. “You are quite sure?” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite sure!” she said. + </p> + <p> + He kissed her; again and again he kissed her, until he had made sure of + her desire. Then suddenly, he began with trembling fingers to unfasten the + neck of her dress. + </p> + <p> + For a moment she did not comprehend what he meant. Then she gave a start. + “Thyrsis!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + And she sprang up, staring at him with fright in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis!” she gasped. “What—what were you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + And at her question, shame swept over him. He was horrified at himself. + How could he find words to tell her what he had been going to do? + </p> + <p> + He turned away with a moan, and put his hands over his face. “Oh God, I + can’t stand this!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he went to his hat and coat. “I must go out!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” cried Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “I mean I’ve got to go somewhere!” he replied. “I can’t stand it—I + can’t stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis!” she cried, wildly. And she sprang to him and flung her arms + about him. “No, no!” she cried. “No!” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! Wait!” + </p> + <p> + And she pressed him tightly to her. “Thyrsis!” she whispered. “Can’t you + understand? Don’t be so stupid, dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Stupid!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sweetheart—can’t you see? I’m only a child! And it’s so + strange! It frightens me! Try to realize how I feel!” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do? Why you must <i>make</i> me, Thyrsis!” And as she said this she hid + her face upon his shoulder and sobbed. “You are a man, Thyrsis, you are a + man, and I am only a girl! Do what you want to! Don’t pay any attention to + me!” + </p> + <p> + And those words to Thyrsis were like the crashing of a peal of thunder. He + clutched her to him, with a force that crushed her, that made her cry out. + The soul of the cave-man awoke in him—he lifted his mate in his arms + and bore her away to a secret place. + </p> + <p> + “Put down the light,” she whispered, and he did this. And then again he + began to unfasten her dress. + </p> + <p> + She submitted at first, she let him have his way. But later, when his + hands touched the soft garment on her bosom, he felt a sharp tremor pass + through her. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Wait dear, wait!” + </p> + <p> + “Why wait?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment—please, dear!” + </p> + <p> + But he answered her—“No! Not a moment! No!” + </p> + <p> + She clung to him, trembling, pleading. “Please, dearest, please! I’m + afraid, Thyrsis.” + </p> + <p> + But nothing could stop him now. She was his—his to do what he + pleased with! And he would bend her to his will! The voice of his manhood + shouted aloud to him now, and it was like the clashing of wild cymbals in + his soul. + </p> + <p> + He went on with what he was doing. She shrunk away from him, but he + followed her, he held her fast. + </p> + <p> + Then she began to sob—“Oh Thyrsis, wait—spare me! I can’t bear + it! No, Thyrsis—no!” + </p> + <p> + But he answered her, “Be still! I love you! You are mine.” And for every + sob and every shudder and every moan of fear he had but one response—“I + love you! You are mine!” + </p> + <p> + He knew that he loved her now—and he knew what his love meant. + Before this they had been strangers; but now he would penetrate to the + secret places, to the holy of holies of her being. + </p> + <p> + Never in all his life had Thyrsis known woman. To him woman had been the + supreme mystery of life, a creature of awe and sacredness—not to be + handled, scarcely even to be thought about. Now the awful ban was lifted, + the barriers were down; what had been hidden was revealed, what had been + forbidden was permitted. So all the chained desire of a lifetime drove him + on; it was almost more than he could bear. The touch of her warm breasts, + the faint perfume of her clothing, the pressure of her soft, white limbs—these + things set every nerve of him a-tremble, they turned a madness loose in + him. A blinding whirl of emotion seized him, he was like a leaf swept away + in a gale; his words came now in wild sobs, “I love you! I love you!” + </p> + <p> + So with quivering fingers he stripped her before him; and she crouched + there, cowering and weeping. He took her in his arms; and that clasp there + was no misunderstanding, for all the mastery of his will was in it. Nor + did she try to resist him—she lay still, but shaking like a leaf, + and choking with sobs. And so it was that he wreaked his will upon her. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. And then came the reaction—the most awful experience of + his life. Thyrsis was sitting upon the bed, and staring in front of him, + dazed. He was exhausted, faint, shuddering with horror. “Oh, my God, my + God!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + What had he done? Corydon, the gentle and pure—she had trusted + herself to him, and how had he treated her? He had tortured her, he had + defiled her! Oh, it was sickening; brutal, like a butchery! He sunk down + in a heap, moaning, “My God! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” + </p> + <p> + And then a strange thing happened—the strangest of all strange + things! An unforeseeable, an unimaginable thing! + </p> + <p> + Corydon had started up, and was listening; and now suddenly he felt her + arms stealing about him. “Thyrsis!” she whispered. “Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what shall I do?” he sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was so horrible! horrible!” + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis!” she panted, swiftly. “Don’t say that!” + </p> + <p> + “How could I have done it?” he rushed on. “What a monster I am!” + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” she cried. “You don’t understand, I love you! Don’t you know + that I love you?” + </p> + <p> + And she tightened her clasp about him, she stole into his arms again. + “Forgive me!” she whispered. “Please, please—forgive me, Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her, dazed. “Forgive <i>you</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “I had no right to behave like that!” she cried. “I was afraid—I + couldn’t control myself. But oh, Thyrsis, I love you!” + </p> + <p> + And she pressed herself upon him convulsively; she was troubled no longer. + “Yes!” she panted. “Yes! I don’t mind it any more! I am yours! I am yours! + You may do whatever you please to me, Thyrsis—I love you!” + </p> + <p> + She covered him with kisses—his face, his neck, his body. She drew + him down to her again, whispering in ecstasy, “<i>My husband!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He was lost in amazement. Could this be Corydon, the gentle and shrinking? + No, she was gone; and in her stead this creature of desire—tumultuous + and abandoned! She was like some passion-goddess out of the East, + shameless and terrible and destroying! She was like a tigress of the + jungle, calling in the night for its mate. She locked him fast in her arms—she + was swept away in a whirlwind of emotion, as he had been swept before. And + all her being rose up in one song of exultation—“Mine! Mine! Mine! + Mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Thyrsis!” she cried. “My Thyrsis! I belong to you now! You can never + escape me now! You can never leave me—my love, my love!” + </p> + <p> + And as Thyrsis listened to this song, his passion died. Reason awoke + again, and a cold fear struck into his heart! What was the meaning of <i>this?</i> + </p> + <p> + Long hours afterward, as she lay, half-asleep, in his arms, she felt him + give a sudden start and shudder. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he said—“I just happened to think of something. Something + that frightened me.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking, dear—<i>suppose I should become domestic!</i>” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VI. THE CORDS ARE TIGHTENED + </h2> + <p> + <i>She had been reading in the little cabin, and a hush had fallen upon + them. </i> + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thou art gone! And round me too the night In ever-nearing circle + weaves her shade.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” she said, and smiled sadly. “Where is he gone?” + </p> + <p> + And she turned the page and read again— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But Thyrsis nevermore we swains shall see; + See him come back, and cut a smoother reed, + And blow a strain the world at last shall heed— + For Time, not Corydon, hath conquer’d thee!” + </pre> + <p> + Then, after a pause, she added, “How often I have remembered those words! + And how pitiful they are, when I remember them!” + </p> + <p> + Section 1. It was a tiny cupboard of a room in a tenement. They sat upon + their bed to eat, and they hid their soiled dishes beneath it. Dirty + children screamed upon the avenue in front, and frowsy-headed women and + wolfish men caroused in the saloon below. Yet here there came to them the + angel with the flame-tipped wings, and here they dreamed their dream of + wonder. + </p> + <p> + In the glory of their new-found passion all life became transfigured to + them; they discovered new meaning in the most trivial actions. There was + no corner so obscure that they might not come upon the young god hidden; + they might touch his warm, tender flesh, and hear his silvery laughter, + and thrill with the wonder of his presence. They spoke a new language, + full of fire and color; they read new meanings in each other’s eyes. The + slightest touch of hand upon hand, or of lips to lips, was enough to + dissolve them in tenderness and delight. + </p> + <p> + They rejoiced in the marvel of each other’s being—in the glory of + their bodies, newly revealed. To Thyrsis especially this was life’s last + miracle, a discovery so fraught with bliss as to be a continual torment. + The incitements that were hidden in the softness and the odor of unbound + and tumbled hair; the exquisiteness of maiden breasts, moulded of marble, + rosy-tipped; the soft contour of snowy limbs, the rhythmic play of moving + muscles—to dwell amid these things, to possess them, was suddenly to + discover in reality what before had only existed in the realm of painting + and sculpture. + </p> + <p> + Corydon also, in the glow of his delight, of his rapture and his ravening + desire, discovered anew the wonder of herself, and came to a new + consciousness of her beauty. She would stand and gaze before her, with her + hands upon her breasts, and her head flung back and her eyes closed in + ecstasy, so that he might come to her and kiss her—might kiss her + again and again, might touch her with his lover’s hands and clasp her with + his lover’s arms. + </p> + <p> + In most of these things she was his teacher. For Corydon was one person, + in body, mind and soul; in her there were no disharmonies, no warring + elements. His friend the doctor had set forth his idea of “a good woman”; + but Corydon’s goodness proved to be after no such pattern. Now that she + was his, she was his; she belonged to him, she was a part of him, and + there could be no thought of a secret shame, of any reserves or + hesitations. Her body was herself, and it was joy to her; it was joy the + more, because she could give it for love; and she sought for new ways to + utter the completeness of her giving. + </p> + <p> + She was like a little child about it—so free, so spontaneous, so + genuine; Thyrsis marvelled at her utter naturalness. For himself, in the + midst of these things, there was always a sense of the strange and the + terrible, a sense of penetrating to forbidden mysteries; but Corydon + laughed in the sunlight of utter bliss—and she laughed most at him, + when she found that her simple language had startled him. + </p> + <p> + For the maiden out of ancient Greece was now become a lover! And so she + was revealed to Thyrsis—she who might have marched in the + Panathenaic processions, with one of the sacred vessels in her hands, or + run in the Attic games, bare-limbed and fearless. So he learned to think + of her, singing in the myrtle groves Of Mount Hymettus, or walking naked + in the moonlight in Arcadian meadows. + </p> + <p> + So he thought of her all through her life, whenever a moment of joy came + to her—whenever, for instance, she found her way to the water. They + had dressed her in long skirts and put her in a drawing-room—but + Corydon had got to the water in spite of them; and all that any Nereid had + ever known, that she had known from the time the waves first kissed her + feet. + </p> + <p> + And so it was also with love; she was born to be a priestess of love’s + religion. She had waited for this hour—that she might take his hand, + and lead him into the temple, and teach him the ritual. It was a ministry + that she entered upon with the joy of all her being. “Ah, let me teach you + how to love!” she would cry. “Ah, let me teach you how to love!” + </p> + <p> + Love was to her an utter blending of two selves, the losing of one’s + personality in another’s; it meant the forgetting of one’s self, and all + the ends of self. And Thyrsis marvelled at the glory that came upon her, + at each new rapture she discovered. All the language of lovers was known + to her, all the songs of lovers were upon her lips: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Du bist mir ewig, + Bist mir immer— + Erb und Eigen + Ein und All!” + </pre> + <p> + Such was her woman’s gift: precious beyond all treasures of earth, and + given without price or question. And Thyrsis trembled as he realized it; + he lived upon his knees before her, and floods of tenderness welled up in + his heart. How utterly she trusted him, how completely she belonged to + him! And what could he do to show himself worthy of it—this most + wonderful dream of his life come true— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If someone should give me a heart to keep, + With love for the golden key!” + </pre> + <p> + Yet, amid all these raptures, Thyrsis was haunted by ghosts of doubt. + Would he be able to do what his heart yearned to do? Love meant so much to + her—and could it mean that much to him? Why could it not be to him + the complete thing it was to her—why must he argue and wonder and + fear? + </p> + <p> + For Thyrsis’ ancestors had not dallied in Arcadian meadows. They had come + from the wilds of Palestine and the deserts of Northern Africa; they had + argued and wondered and feared in Gothic cloisters, in New England + meeting-houses; and the shadow of their souls hung over him still. He + could not love love as Corydon loved it, he could not trust it as she + trusted it. It could never seem to him the utterly natural thing—there + was always a fear of pollution, a hint of satiety, a thrill of shame. + Directly the first fires of passion had spent themselves, these anxieties + came to him; he remembered how in his virgin youth he had thought of + passion—as of something strange and uncomfortable, even grotesque, + suggesting too closely a kinship with the animals. So he noticed that his + feelings always waned before Corydon’s. She wished him to linger—love + meant so much to her! + </p> + <p> + Then too, the code of passion was all unknown to him. What was right and + what was wrong? When should one yield to desire, and when should one + restrain it? To Corydon such questions never came—to her there was + no such possibility as excess; she was complete and perfect, and nature + told her. If there were temptations and restraints and regrets, they were + for Thyrsis; and he had to keep them for his own secret, he could ask no + help from her. For he discovered immediately that with his proud + imperiousness, he could not endure to have Corydon refuse herself to him. + So this laid a new burden upon him, an appalling one. For were they not + always together—her lips always calling him, the impulse towards her + always with him? + </p> + <p> + There was another circumstance—the means they had to take to prevent + the consequences of their love. From the very first, Thyrsis had shrunk + from the thought of this; but it was only later that he realized how much + it repelled him. It offended all his sense of economy and purpose; it was + something done, and at the same time undone—and so it had in it the + essence of all futility and wrongness. It took from passion its meaning + and its excuse; and yet he could not say this to Corydon; and he knew also + that he could no longer do without her. He was bound—bound fast! And + every hour his chains would become tighter; what was now spontaneous joy + would become a habit—a thing like eating and sleeping, a new and + humiliating necessity of the flesh! + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Such were their problems. They might have solved them all, + perhaps—had they only had time. But others came crowding upon them, + others still more insistent and perplexing. The world was pressing them, + jealous of their dream of delight. + </p> + <p> + Their little fund of money was gone, and so Thyrsis went back to his + hack-work. All day he sat by the window and slaved at it, while Corydon + lay upon the bed and read, or wandered about the park by herself. Thyrsis’ + burden was twice as heavy now, for he had to earn for two; and when in the + ecstasies of love she cried out to him that she was his forever, the cruel + mockery of circumstance translated this to mean that he would forever have + to earn for two! + </p> + <p> + He wrote more book-reviews, and peddled them about; sometimes he was + forced to exchange them for books he reviewed, and then to sell the books + for twenty or thirty cents apiece. He wrote up some ideas for political + cartoons, and got three dollars for one of them. He wrote a parody upon a + popular poem, and got six dollars for that. He met a college friend, just + returned from a trip in the Andes, and he patiently collected the material + for a narrative, and sold it to a minor magazine for fifteen dollars. + </p> + <p> + And meanwhile he toiled furiously at another pot-boiler, a tale of + Hessians and Tories and a red-cheeked and irresistible revolutionary + heroine, to fill the insatiable maw of the readers of the “Treasure + Chest.” On one occasion, when everything went wrong, Corydon took the + half-dozen solid silver coffee-spoons and the heavy gold-plated + berry-spoon which had constituted her outfit of wedding-presents, and sold + them to a nearby jeweler for two dollars and a quarter. + </p> + <p> + But through all this bitter struggle they looked forward to a glorious + ending. In April the book would be out—and then they would be free! + They would go away to the country—perhaps to the little cabin of + last summer! Ah, how they dreamed of that cabin, how they hungered for it! + They pictured it, covered in snow, with the ice-bound brook in front of it—both + the cabin and the brook asleep, and dreaming of the spring-time. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was dreaming of it also, with tears in his eyes and a mighty + passion in his heart; for his new book was calling to him—he had to + fight hard to keep it from taking possession of his thoughts and driving + the pot-boilers out of the temple. + </p> + <p> + There came the joyful excitement of reading the proofs of his book; also + of inspecting the cover-design, and the sample of the paper, and the + “dummy”. And then—it was two weeks from now! Then it was only ten + days—then only one week. And finally the raptures of the first + sample copy! + </p> + <p> + It was time the publishers had begun to advertise it, and Thyrsis went to + see Mr. Taylor about the matter. Mr. Taylor was vague in his replies. Then + came publication-day, and still no advertisements; and Thyrsis called + again, and insisted and expostulated, and learned to his consternation + that they were not going to advertise it; the season was a bad one, the + firm had met with unexpected expenses, and so on. When Thyrsis reminded + them of their promises, and threatened and stormed, Mr. Taylor informed + him quietly that there was nothing in the contract about advertising. + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went home, and tried to forget his rage in the work of + disposing of his hundred copies. He had prepared himself for the + possibility of everything else failing, but here he had a plan whereby he + felt that his deliverance was assured. He had made up a list of a hundred + of the best-known men of letters in the country—college presidents + and professors, editors and clergymen, novelists and poets and critics; + and he had done more hack-work, and earned the twenty dollars it would + take to send to each of them a copy of the book, together with his + manifesto, and a little type-written note. This, he felt, would make + certain of the book’s being read; and once let the book be read by the + real leaders of the country’s thought, and his siege would be at an end! + </p> + <p> + So the packages went to the post-office, freighted with the burden of his + hopes and longings. And two or three times a week Thyrsis went to see his + publishers, and find out how the book was going. He was never able to + ascertain just what they were doing with it, or how they expected to sell + it; Mr. Taylor would tell him vaguely that it was doing fairly well—the + season was “slow”, and he must give the book time to “catch on”. + </p> + <p> + And then came the reviews. A clipping-bureau had written, offering to + furnish them at five cents apiece; and this was moderate, considering that + there were only a dozen altogether. Most of these were from unimportant + out-of-town papers, whose book-reviews are written by the high-school + nieces and the elderly maiden-aunts of the publishers. Of the metropolitan + newspapers and literary organs, only three noticed the book at all; and + two of these gave perfunctory mention, evidently made up from the + publisher’s statement on the cover. + </p> + <p> + The third writer had connected the book with the interview in the “Morning + Howl”, and he wrote a burlesque review of it, in which he hailed it as the + “Great American Novel”. His method was to retell the story, quoting the + most highly-wrought passages, with just enough comment to keep it in the + vein of farce. To Thyrsis this mockery came like a blast of fire in the + face; he did not know that it was the regular method of the newspaper—a + method by means of which it had made itself known as the cleverest and + most readable paper in the country. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. All this was the harder for him, because it came at a black and + spectral hour of his life. It was not enough that the book was falling + flat, and that all their hopes were collapsing; a new and most terrible + calamity befell them. For three months now they had been dissolved in the + bliss of their young dream of love; and now suddenly had come a + thunderbolt, splitting the darkness about them, and revealing the grim + hand of Fate closing down! + </p> + <p> + For several years of her life Corydon had carried a trying burden—once + each month she would have to lie down for three or four days and be a + semi-invalid. And last month this had not happened; the time had come and + gone, and she was as well as ever. She had told Thyrsis about it, and how + it disturbed her; it might mean nothing, it had happened several times + before to her; but then again—it might mean that she had conceived. + </p> + <p> + The idea had been too frightful to contemplate, however, and they had put + it aside. It was not possible—the doctor had told them how to + prevent it; he had told them that “everybody” did it, and that they could + feel safe. + </p> + <p> + But now came the second month; and Corydon, filled with a vague terror, + waited for the day. And horrible beyond all telling—the day came and + went once more! And two days came—three days! And so finally Corydon + went to see the doctor. + </p> + <p> + When she came home again, and entered the room, Thyrsis saw it all in her + face, without her uttering a word. He went sick, all at once; and Corydon + sank down upon the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + “It’s true,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said—he said I was in splendid shape, and that I would have a + fine baby!” + </p> + <p> + And Thyrsis stared at her, and then suddenly burst into wild laughter, and + hid his head in his arms. Such was their mood that she could not feel sure + whether he was laughing or crying. + </p> + <p> + Now, indeed, they were facing the reality of life. All the problems with + which they had ever wrestled were as child’s play to this problem; they + could sit and read the deadly terror in each other’s eyes. Corydon’s lip + was trembling, and her face was white and drawn and old. So swiftly had + fled her young dream of joy! + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis,” she said, in a low voice, “it means ruin!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + And she clenched her hands tightly. “I will kill myself first!” she + whispered. “I will not drag you down!” + </p> + <p> + He made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Thyrsis,” she went on. “There is only one thing to be thought of. + I must get rid of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Get rid of it?” he echoed. “How?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said. “But women often do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve heard of it,” he replied. “But isn’t it dangerous?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you ask the doctor?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor? There was no use us asking him, Thyrsis.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—he doesn’t understand. He likes babies. That’s his + business.” + </p> + <p> + They argued this. But in the end Thyrsis resolved that he must see the + doctor himself. He must see him if it was only to pour out his anguish. It + was the doctor’s fault that this fearful accident had befallen them! + </p> + <p> + But the boy soon saw that it was as Corydon had said, there was nothing to + be gained in that quarter. Babies were indeed the doctor’s business; they + were the business of the whole world, from his point of view. People got + married to have babies; they were in the world to have babies, and + anything else was just nonsense. Nowadays babies were the only excuse that + people had for living—their morality began and ended with them. + Moreover, babies were fine in themselves; they were beautiful and fat and + jolly. The pagan old gentleman sang a very paean in praise of babies—the + more of them there were, the more laughter upon earth. + </p> + <p> + Also, having them was the business of women—that, and not reading + German poetry and playing the piano. They all made a little fuss at the + outset, but then they submitted, and they soon found that Nature knew more + than they. Babies completed women’s lives, they settled their nerves; they + gave them something to think about, and saved them from hysteria and + extravagance and sentimentalism, and all the rest of the ills of the hour. + </p> + <p> + Then the doctor fixed his keen eyes upon him. “Are you and Corydon + thinking about an abortion?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know,” stammered Thyrsis. The word sounded ugly. + </p> + <p> + “I got that impression from her,” said the other. “And now let me tell you—if + you do that, it’ll be something you’ll never forgive yourself for as long + as you live. In the first place, you may lose your wife. It’s a very + dangerous thing, and a woman is seldom the same after it. You might make + it impossible for her ever to have a child again, and so blast her whole + life. You’ll have to trust her in the hands of some vile scoundrel—you + understand, of course, that it’s a crime?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a crime not only against the law—it’s a crime against God. And + it’s the curse of our age!” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with Corydon, anyway?” demanded the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “She’s so young!” cried Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! She’s nineteen now, isn’t she? And she couldn’t be in better + condition.” + </p> + <p> + “But she’s so undeveloped—mentally, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing in the world will develop her like maternity. And can’t + you see that she wants the baby?” + </p> + <p> + “Wants it!” shouted Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course! She’s dead in love with you, boy. And she wants the baby! + Why shouldn’t she have it?” + </p> + <p> + “If I could only make you understand—” protested Thyrsis, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” exclaimed the doctor. “That’s what they all say! Not a day passes + that some woman doesn’t sit in this office and say it! Each case is + different from any other case that ever was or could be. They tell me how + much they suffer, and what a state their nerves are in, and how busy they + are, and how poor they are—their social duties, and their artistic + duties, and their religious duties, and their philanthropic duties! And + they weep and wring their hands, and tell me agonizing stories, and they + offer me any sum I could ask—many a time I might earn a thousand + dollars by something that wouldn’t take me ten minutes, if only I didn’t + have a conscience!—Go away, boy, and get those ideas out of your + head!” + </p> + <p> + Section 4. So Thyrsis went away, with a new realization of the seriousness + of his position, with a new sense of the grip in which he was fast. It was + a conspiracy of Nature, a conspiracy of all the world! It was a Snare! + </p> + <p> + All through this love-adventure, even when most under the sway of his + emotions, Thyrsis’ busy mind had been groping and reaching for an + understanding of it. Little by little this had come to him—and now + the picture was complete. He had beheld the last scene of the panorama; he + had got to the moral of the tale! + </p> + <p> + He had been the sport of cosmic forces, of the blind and irresistible + reproductive impulse of Nature. Step by step he had been driven, he had + played his part according to the plan. He had hesitated and debated and + resolved and decided—thinking that he had something to do with it + all! But now he looked back, and saw himself as a leaf swept along by a + torrent. And all the while the torrent had known its destination! He had + had many plans and many purposes, but always Nature had had but one plan + and one purpose—which was the Child! + </p> + <p> + Twelve months ago Thyrsis had been a boy, carefree and happy, rapt in his + dream of art; and now here he was, a married man, with the cares of + parenthood on his shoulders! If anyone had told him that a trick could be + played upon him, he would have laughed at them. How confident he had been—how + certain of his mastery of life! And now he was in the Snare! + </p> + <p> + Dismayed as he was, Thyrsis could not but smile as he realized it. The + artist in him appreciated the technique of the performance. How cunningly + it had all been managed—how cleverly the device had been hidden how + shrewdly the bait had been selected! + </p> + <p> + He went back over the adventure. What a fuss he and Corydon had made about + it! What a vast amount of posturing and preluding, of backing and filling! + And how solemnly they had taken it—how earnestly they had believed + in the game! What convictions had weighed upon them, what exaltations had + thrilled them—two pitiful little puppets, set here and there by + unseen hands! Rehearsing from prologue to curtain the age-long drama, the + drama of Sex that had been played from the beginning of the world! + </p> + <p> + He marvelled at the prodigality that Nature had displayed—at the + treasures she had squandered to accomplish her purpose! She would create a + million eggs to make one salmon; and she had created a million emotions to + make one baby! What poems she had written for them—what songs she + had composed for them! She had emptied the cornucopiae of her gifts into + their lap! She had strewn the pathway with roses before them, she had + filled their mouths with honey, and their ears with the sound of sweet + music; she had blinded them, she had stunned them, she had sent them + drunken and reeling to their fate! + </p> + <p> + And the elaborate set of pretenses and illusions that she had invented for + them! The devices to lull their suspicions—the virtues and + renunciations, the humilities and the consecrations! Corydon had been + frightened and evasive; Nature had made him suffer, so as to break her + down! And he had been proud and defiant; and so Corydon, the meek and + gentle, had been turned into a heroine of revolt! Nay, worse than that; + those very powers and supremacies that he had thought were his protection—were + they not, also, a part of the Snare? His culture and his artistry, his + visions and his exaltations—what had they been but a lure for the + female? The iris of the burnished dove, the ruff about the grouse’s neck, + the gold and purple of the butterfly’s wing! Even his genius, his + miraculous, ineffable genius—that had been the plume of the + partridge, the crowning glory before which his mate had capitulated! + </p> + <p> + These images came to Thyrsis, until he burst into wild, sardonic laughter. + He saw himself in new and grotesque lights; he was the peacock, spreading + his gorgeousness before a dazzled and wondering world; he was the young + rooster, strutting before his mate, and thrilling with the knowledge of + his own importance! He was each of the barnyard creatures by turn, and + Corydon was each of the fascinated females. And somewhere, perhaps, stood + the farmer, smiling complacently—for should there not be somewhere a + farmer in this universal barnyard? + </p> + <p> + But then, the laughter died; for he thought of Maeterlinck’s “Life of the + Bee”, and shuddered at the fate of the male-creature. He was a mere + accident in the scheme of Nature—she wasted all his splendors to + accomplish the purpose of an hour. And now it had been accomplished. He + had had his moment of ecstasy, his dizzy flight into the empyrean; and now + behold him falling, disembowelled and torn, an empty shell! + </p> + <p> + But no—it was not quite that way, Thyrsis told himself, after + further reflection. In the human hive the male creature was not only the + bearer of the seed he was also the worker. And so there was one more + function he had to perform. All those fine frenzies of his, his ideals and + his enthusiasms—they had served their purpose, and would fade; but + before him there was still a future—a drab and dreary future of + perpetual pot-boiling! + </p> + <p> + He recalled their bridal-night. All that had puzzled him in it and + startled him—how clear it was now! Corydon had shrunk from him, just + enough to lure him; and then, suddenly, her whole being had seemed to + change—she had caught him, and held him fast. For he had + accomplished her purpose; he had gotten her with child! And so he must + stand by her—he must bring her food, that she might give the child + life! And for that purpose she would hold him; for that she would use + every art of which she was mistress—the whole force of her being + would go into it! + </p> + <p> + She would not know this, of course; she would do it blindly and + instinctively, as she had done everything so far. She would do it by those + same generous and beautiful qualities that had made him hers! Therein lay + the humor of his whole adventure—there lay the deadly nature of this + Snare. The cords of it were woven out of love and tenderness, out of + ecstasy and aspiration; and they were wound about his very heart-strings, + so that it would kill him to pull them loose. And he would never pull them + loose—he saw that in a sudden vision of ruin! She would be noble to + the uttermost limit of nobleness. She would threaten to destroy herself—and + so he would save her! She would bid him cast her away—and so he + would stand by her to the end! And the end would be simply the withering + and shrivelling of those radiant qualities which he called his genius—qualities + which were so precious to him, but about which Nature knew nothing! + </p> + <p> + So grim an aspect had life come to wear to this boy of twenty-one! He + stripped all the flesh of illusion from its fair face, and saw the + grinning skull beneath. And he mocked at himself, because of all those + virtues by which he had been caught—and which yet he knew were + stronger than his will. Through faith and love he had been made a captive; + and through faith and love would he waste away and perish! + </p> + <p> + Section 5. Meantime, Corydon was prosecuting an inquiry into these matters + upon her own account, and getting at quite other points of view. There + were some, it seemed, who took this game less seriously than she and + Thyrsis; and these managed to go free—they broke the cords of the + Snare, they slipped between the fingers of the hand of Fate. Corydon had + heard a certain scientist refer to man as “Nature’s insurgent son”; and + now came the discovery that Nature had insurgent daughters also. + </p> + <p> + Being in an “interesting condition,” Corydon was entitled to the + confidences of the married women acquaintances of the family. They were + eager to know all about her, and what she was going to do; and they told + her their own experiences. She brought these to Thyrsis, who was thus + admitted to a view of the inner workings of the “race-suicide” mill. + </p> + <p> + It was as the doctor had said; each one of these middle-class ladies + considered herself a special case, but their stories all seemed to fit + together. Nature’s boundless and irrational fecundity was an exceedingly + trying feature of the life of middle-class ladies. In the first place, the + having of babies was a tedious and painful matter. One became grotesquely + disfigured, and had to hide away and sever all social relationships. One + lost one’s grace and attractiveness, and hence the power to hold one’s + husband. And then, there were all the cares and the inconveniences of + children. What was one to do with them, in a city where the best hotels + and apartment-houses barred them out? + </p> + <p> + Then, too, even supposing the best of intentions—there was the cost + of living. At present prices it was impossible for a man who had only a + salary to support more than one or two children; and with prices + increasing as they were, one could not be sure of educating even these. + And meanwhile, the Nature of Things had apparently planned it that a woman + should bear a child once a year for half her life-time! + </p> + <p> + So all these middle-class ladies used devices to prevent conception. But + these were not always successful—husbands were frequently + inconsiderate. And so came the abortion-business, which the doctor had + described as the curse of the age. + </p> + <p> + Now and then one could accomplish the thing by some of the innumerable + drugs that were advertised for the purpose. But these always made one ill, + and seldom did anything else. Corydon met one young person, the wife of a + rising stockbroker, who had presented her husband with twins in the first + year of their marriage, and who declared that she was apparently designed + to populate all the tenements in the city. This airy and vivacious young + lady lay back in her automobile and prattled to Corydon, declaring that + she was “always in trouble.” She had tried to coax her family physician in + vain, and had finally gone elsewhere. She had got quite used to the + experience. All that troubled her nowadays was how to make excuses to her + friends, one could not have “appendicitis” forever! + </p> + <p> + But there was another side to the matter. There was one woman who had had + a hemorrhage; and another whose sister had contracted blood-poisoning, and + had died in agony. There were even some who pleaded and exhorted like the + doctor, and talked about the thing’s being murder. All of which arguments + and fears Corydon brought to her husband, to be pondered and discussed. + </p> + <p> + They spent whole days wandering about in the park in agony of soul. They + had one brief month in which to decide the question—the question of + life or death to the possible child. Truly here, once more, was an issue + to which Thyrsis might apply the words af Carlyle— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Choose well, your choice is + Brief and yet endless!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 6. This was also the month in which the fate of the book was + decided. Each day, as he went for the mail, Thyrsis’ heart would beat high + with expectation; and each day he would be chilled with bitter + disappointment. He was still hoping for a real review, or for some signs + of the book’s “catching on”. Nor did he finally give up until he chanced + to have a talk about it with his friend, Mr. Ardsley; who explained to him + that here, too, he had fallen into a trap. + </p> + <p> + His “publishers” were not really publishers at all. They did not make + their profit by selling books—they made it out of authors. There + were many vain and foolish people who wrote books which they were anxious + to see in print, so that they might be known as literary lights among + their friends. Many of them had money, and would buy a number of copies; + and the “publishers” had the expenses guaranteed in advance and so would + make a profit upon the sale of even one or two hundred copies. All this + being well known, the reviews never paid any attention to the + announcements of this concern, nor did “the trade” handle their books. As + for Thyrsis’ volume, they had printed it very cheaply—it was to be + doubted if it had cost them what he had paid them. And they had even + published it as a “net price” book—thereby taking three cents more + off the royalty to which he was entitled! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ardsley had declared that he would be lucky if his book sold three + hundred copies; and so he felt that it was quite a tribute to the merits + of his work when, after six months more of waiting, he received a royalty + statement from the concern showing a sale of seven hundred and forty-three + copies, and enclosing a check for eight-nine dollars and sixteen cents. + This check Thyrsis paid over to his rich relative, and a week or two + later, when he sold a short story, he sent the balance of the hundred + dollars that he owed. And so he figured that the privilege of writing his + first book and offering it to the hundred great men of letters of the + country, had cost him the sum of one hundred and thirty-five dollars and + eighty-four cents! + </p> + <p> + Meantime, of course, Thyrsis was hearing from these great men of letters. + When he counted up at the end he found that he had received replies from + sixteen of them; whether the other eighty-four received his book, or what + they did with it, he never knew. Of these sixteen, six wrote formal + acknowledgements, and two others said that they found nothing to appeal to + them in his book; so there were left eight who gave him comfort, Several + of these were among the really vital men of the time, as Thyrsis found out + later, when he came to read their books, and to know them as something + other than newspaper names. Several of them wrote him long and really + helpful criticisms of his work, recognizing the merits he knew it had, and + pointing out defects which he was quick to acknowledge. Four of them even + told him that he had undoubted genius, and predicted great things for him. + But that was as far as any of them went. They wrote their opinions, and + there they stopped, as if at a blank wall. No one among them seemed to + feel that he could take any action upon his opinion, however favorable; + not one comprehended that what the boy was groping for was neither praise + nor blame, but a chance for life. Not one had any advice of a practical + sort to offer; not one had any personal or human thing to say; not one + even asked to see him! And lest this should be due to oversight, or to + false delicacy, Thyrsis wrote, in his desperation, and reminded them that + the “genius” they recognized was being killed by starvation. To this, one + did not reply, and another advised him to take up newspaper work, as “a + means of getting in touch with the public”! + </p> + <p> + It was a ghastly thing to the boy as he came to realize it—this + utter deadness and coldness of “the world”. Thyrsis himself was all afire + with love—with love, not only for his vision and his art, but for + all humanity, and for humanity’s noblest dreams. His friends were poets + and sages of past time, men of generous faith and quick sympathies; and in + all the world of the living, was there not one such man to be found? Was + there nothing left upon earth but critical discernment and epistolary + politeness? + </p> + <p> + The question pursued him still more, after the one interview which + resulted from all this correspondence. There was a distinguished Harvard + professor who had told him that he had rare powers and must go on; and + hearing that the professor was in New York, Thyrsis asked the privilege of + calling. + </p> + <p> + It was in one of the city’s most expensive hotels—for the professor + had married a rich wife, and was what people called “socially prominent”. + The other did not know this; but it seemed an awful thing to him that + anyone should be sitting in a brocaded silk-covered chair in a palace of + luxury like this, while possessed of the knowledge that his genius was + starving. + </p> + <p> + “You tell me to go on, professor,” he said. “But how <i>can</i> I go on?” + </p> + <p> + The professor was fingering his gold eyeglasses and studying his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “You must get some kind of routine work,” he declared—“enough to + support you. You can’t expect to live by your writing.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I do that, I can’t write!” cried Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to do the best you can,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t do <i>anything!</i> The emotions of it eat me all up. I + daren’t even let myself think about my work when I have to do other + things.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think,” commented the professor, “that you would find you are + still more hindered by the uncertainties of hack-work.” + </p> + <p> + “I do find that,” the boy replied. “That is just what is the matter with + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid you’ll be forced to a compromise in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “But I won’t! I won’t!” cried Thyrsis, wildly. “I will starve first!” + </p> + <p> + The other said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Or I will beg!” added Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + The other’s look clouded slightly—as the boy, with his quick + sensitiveness, noted instantly. “Of course,” said the professor, “if you + are not ashamed to do that—” + </p> + <p> + “But why should I be ashamed? Greater men than I have begged for their + art.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know that. And naturally—I honor that feeling in you. If you + have that much fervor—why, of course, you will do it. But I’m afraid + you’ll find it a humiliating experience.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t expect to find it a picnic,” answered Thyrsis, and took his + departure—having perceived that the professor’s leading thought was + a fear lest he should begin his begging that day. + </p> + <p> + So there it was! There was the eminent critic, the writer of exquisite + appreciations of literature! The darling of the salons of Boston—which + called itself the Athens of America and the hub of the universe! A man + with a brain full of all the culture of the ages—and with the heart + of a mummy and the soul of a snob! He had approved of Thyrsis’ + consecration with his lips—because he did not dare to disapprove it, + because the ghosts of a thousand paupers of genius had stood over him and + awed him into silence. But in his secret heart he had despised this wan + and haggard boy who threatened to beg; and the boy went out of the palace + of luxury, feeling like an outcast rat. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. From this interview Thyrsis went to meet Corydon in the park; and + after he had told her what had happened, they began one more discussion of + their great problem. This had to be the final one; for the month of + respite had passed, and the time for action was come! + </p> + <p> + Through their long arguments, Thyrsis had gradually come to realize that + the decision rested with him. Corydon was in his hands; she had become a + burden upon him, and she would rather she were dead; and so he had to take + the responsibility and issue the command. So through many an hour while + Corydon slept he had marshalled the facts and tested them, hungering with + all his soul for knowledge of the right. + </p> + <p> + To bring a child into the world would shatter every plan they had formed. + And yet, again and again, he forced himself to face the idea. They had + always meant to have children ultimately; and now the gift was offered—and + suppose they rejected it, and it should never be offered again! However + unpropitious the hour might be, still the hour was here—the task was + already one-third done. And if there were cares and responsibilities, + expenses and pains of child-birth—at least they would be for a + child; whereas, in the other case, there were also cares and + responsibilities, expenses and pains—and for naught! + </p> + <p> + Throughout all this long pilgrimage of love, Thyrsis had been struck by + the part which blind chance had played. It was blind chance that had + brought Corydon to the country where he had gone. It was blind chance that + he had read his book to her. And then—the chance that he had gone to + see a doctor about diet! And that dark accident in the night, that had + opened the gates of life to a new human soul! And now, strangest of all—the + chance by which this last issue was to be decided! By a walk in the park, + and a casual meeting with a nurse-maid! + </p> + <p> + “God knows I want to do what is right!” Thyrsis had said. “But I just + don’t know what to say!”—And then they sat down upon a bench, and + the nurse-maid came and sat beside them. + </p> + <p> + It was five or ten minutes before Thyrsis noted what was going on. He was + lost in his sombre brooding, his eyes fixed upon vacancy; when suddenly he + heard Corydon exclaim: “Isn’t he a little love!” He turned to look. + </p> + <p> + The nurse-maid was in charge of a carriage, and in the carriage was a + baby; and the baby was smiling at Corydon, and Corydon was smiling back. + She was poking her finger at it, and it was catching at the finger with + its chubby paws. “Isn’t he a little love!” Corydon repeated. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis stared at her. But then, quickly, he hid his thought. He even + pretended to be interested. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t he pretty?” she asked him. + </p> + <p> + Now as a matter of fact he seemed to Thyrsis to be quite conspicuously + ugly. He had red hair, and a flat nose, and was altogether lacking in + aristocratic attributes. But Thyrsis answered promptly, “Yes, dear,” and + continued to watch. + </p> + <p> + And Corydon continued to play. Apparently she knew something about babies—how + to amuse them and how to handle them, and had even heard rumors about how + to feed them. She was asking questions of the nurse-maid, and displaying + interest—Thyrsis would have been no more amazed had he found her in + converse with a Chaldean astrologer. For a full quarter of an hour she had + managed to forget her agonies of spirit, and to play with a baby! + </p> + <p> + They got up to go. “You like babies, don’t you, dearest?” asked Thyrsis, + as they walked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And then there was a silence, while he pondered. Here, he perceived in a + flash, was the great hand of Nature again! + </p> + <p> + Since the first day of their marriage Thyrsis had been haunted by the + sense of a dark shadow hanging over them, of a seed of tragedy in their + love. He had his great task to do, and Corydon could not do it with him. + The long road of his art-pilgrimage stretched out before him; and some day + he must take his staff and go. + </p> + <p> + And now here, of a sudden, was the solution of the problem! The answer to + the riddle of all their disharmonies! Let Corydon have her baby—and + then he might have his books! As he pondered, there came to him the words + of the old doctor—“She wants that baby!” + </p> + <p> + So before he reached home, his mind was made up. Cost what it might, she + should have the baby. But he would not tell her his reason—that must + be a secret between himself and Mother Nature. And then it seemed to him + that he could hear Mother Nature laughing behind her curtain—and + laughing not only at Corydon, but at him. He recalled with a twinge all + his earlier cynicism, his biological bitterness; he had taken up the + burden of his virtues again! + </p> + <p> + Section 8. In many ways this decision, once arrived at, was a relief to + them. It lifted the weight of a great fear from their lives; it gave them + six months more of respite—and in six months, what might not Thyrsis + be able to do? He had been toiling incessantly at his hack-work, and had + saved nearly ninety dollars, which would be enough to keep them going + until his new book was written. + </p> + <p> + This book was now fairly seething in him. A wonderful thing it was to be, + far beyond his first; in the beauty of it and the glow of it he was + forgetting all his disappointments, all the mockeries of fate and the + hardness of the world. If only he could get <i>this</i> book done, then + surely he would be saved, then surely men would be forced to give him a + chance! + </p> + <p> + So he waited not a moment after the decision was made; he even blamed + himself for having waited so long. From the “higher regions” there had + come a windfall in the shape of two railroad-passes; and a couple of days + later they stepped out upon the depot-platform of a little town upon the + shore of Lake Ontario. + </p> + <p> + Oh, the joy of being in the country again! The smell of the newly-plowed + earth, the sight of the spring-time verdure; and then the first glimpse of + the lake, with its marvellous clear-green water, and the fresh cold breeze + that blew from off it! There was challenge and adventure in that air—Thyrsis + thought of argonauts and old sea-rovers, and his soul was stirred to high + resolves. He took deep breaths of delight, and clenched his hands, and + imagined that he was at his book already. + </p> + <p> + They found a second-hand tent which could be bought for eight dollars; + four dollars more would pay for the lumber, and so they would live + rent-free for the next five months! They went far down the shore of the + lake, looking for a place to camp, and picked out a rocky headland, a mile + from the nearest farmhouse, and completely out of sight of all the world. + The rich woman who owned it was in Europe, but the agent gave permission; + and then Thyrsis looked at his watch and made a wild suggestion—“Let’s + get settled this afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s nearly three o’clock!” cried Corydon. “It’ll be dark!” + </p> + <p> + “There’ll be a moon,” he replied, “and we can work all night if want to.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose it should rain!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see any signs of it. And what’s the use of spending a night in + the town, and wasting all that money?” + </p> + <p> + And so it was decided. They went to the store and purchased their + housekeeping equipment. What a sense of power and prosperity it gave them + as they made their selection—two canvas-cots and two pairs of + blankets, a lamp and an oil-can and a tiny oil-stove, two water-buckets + and an axe and a wash-basin, a camp-stool and a hammock and a box full of + groceries! They got a team to carry all this, in addition to their lumber + and their trunks. They stopped at a farm-house, and arranged to get their + milk and eggs and bread and vegetables, and also to borrow a hammer and + saw; and then till after sundown Thyrsis toiled at the building of the + platform and the cutting of stakes and poles for the tent. + </p> + <p> + Corydon fried some bacon and heated a can of corn, and they had a + marvellous and incredible supper. Afterwards they raised the tent, and she + held the poles erect while Thyrsis tied the guy-ropes. They had been + advised to choose a sheltered place, back in the woods; but they were all + for adventure and a view of the water, and so they were out on the open + point. There were pine-trees, however, and Thyrsis had strong ropes with + which to anchor the tent fast. When he finished, about ten o’clock at + night, he stood off and admired the job by the light of the moon, and + declared that a storm might tear the tent to pieces, but could never blow + it over. + </p> + <p> + They hauled in their trunks and the rest of their belongings, and set up + the cots and spread the blankets. Then by the light of the oil-lamp they + gazed about. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Thyrsis,” she cried, “isn’t it glorious!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s our home,” he said. “A home we made all for ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + “And a home without a landlady!” she added. + </p> + <p> + “And with no saloon underneath!” said he. “And no street-cars and no + screaming children in front of it!” + </p> + <p> + Instead there was the night with its thousand eyes, and the lake, with the + moon-fire flung wide across it, and the pine-trees singing in the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Brr! it’s cold!” exclaimed Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to sleep with our clothes on for a while,” said he. And yet + they laughed aloud in glee. “It’s all we want!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all we ever could want!” declared Corydon. “Oh, let’s work hard and + earn money enough, so that we can stay here beneath the open sky, and not + have to go back into slavery!” + </p> + <p> + Then, in the morning, the joy of a plunge in the icy lake, and of a run in + the woods, and of breakfast eaten in the warm sunlight! There was much + work still to be done; Thyrsis had to build a stand of shelves and a table + for the tent, and a table and a bench outside; and then all their + belongings had to be unpacked and set in order. Such fun as they had + laying out the imaginary partitions in their house; two bedrooms and a + library, a kitchen and a pantry—and all outdoors for a living-room! + </p> + <p> + They would count this the beginning of their love; at last they were free + to love, and to be happy as they chose. There was no longer anyone to + criticize them scarcely anyone to know about them; their only contact with + the world was when they went for the mail and for provisions. They learned + that the washer-woman who came for their clothes was ashamed for the + poverty in which they lived, and that some of the neighbors suspected them + of being oil-smugglers; on two occasions came sheriffs from distant + counties to compare Thyrsis with the photographs and descriptions of + long-sought bank-burglars and murderers. But although Thyrsis had often + declared that he would rob a bank to secure his freedom to work, he had + not yet done it, and so these experiences only added piquancy to their + adventure. + </p> + <p> + It was a life such as might have been lived in the Garden of Eden. They + cooked and ate and studied out doors, in a sunny glade when it was cool, + and in the shade of a great oak-tree when it was warm. They wandered about + in the forest, they bathed naked in the crystal lake—diving from the + rocky headland, and afterwards standing upon it and drying themselves in + the sun. Corydon was now free to fling away the conventionalities which + had hampered her in the city; by way of signalizing her enfranchisement + she cut short her hair—that untamed, rebellious hair which had taken + so long to dry and to braid and to keep in order! + </p> + <p> + So they lived, in daily touch with the great heart of Nature. They saw the + sun rise on one side of the rocky headland, and set upon the other; they + watched the great storms sweep across the lake, and the lightnings stab + into the water. Sometimes, at night, the gale would shake their tent until + they could not be sure if it was wind or thunder; but the stays held fast, + and they slept untroubled. And then the storm would pass, and in the + morning there would be the lake, sparkling in the sunlight; and the sky, + clear as crystal, with the white gulls wheeling about, and grey-blue + herons standing near the shore. + </p> + <p> + There were bass to be caught from the rocky point. “So we must have at + least one meal of fish every day,” declared Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “I’m willing,” said Corydon—“if you’ll catch them.” + </p> + <p> + “And then, there are lots of squirrels about.” + </p> + <p> + “Squirrels!” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I can knock one over with a stone now and then—you’ll see.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Thyrsis! To eat them!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever taste one?” he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s cruel!” she exclaimed; and he thought to himself, How like the + little Corydon of old! + </p> + <p> + “Wait till I’ve skinned him and fried him in bacon grease,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + And even so it proved. Corydon was troubled by the crisp little toes + turned up in the air, but when these had been cut off, she yielded to the + allurements of odor and taste. “I’m nothing but a digesting machine + nowadays!” she lamented. + </p> + <p> + To which Thyrsis replied in the words of the village-girl in “Faust,” + “‘She feeds two when she eats!’” + </p> + <p> + They had been obliged to give up their attempt to live on prunes and + turnips. For the doctor had warned them that Corydon must have plenty of + “good nourishing food”; and this warning was backed up by all her women + acquaintances—and also by Corydon’s own inner voices. The appetite + that she developed was appalling to them—not only as to quantity but + as to quality. She would find herself unable to eat anything they had in + their pantry, and with a craving for the wildest and most impossible + things; or she would not know what she wanted—and would travel to + the store and gaze about at the provisions, until a sudden illumination + came. Sometimes she would be so hungry for it that she could not wait to + get home, but would sit down by the road-side and devour the contents of + the market-basket. To these cravings she yielded religiously, because she + had been told that they represented vital needs of her system. Some one + had told her an appalling tale about a pregnant woman who had been + possessed by a desire for bananas; and because she had not gratified it, + the baby when born had cried for five weeks—until they had fed it a + banana! + </p> + <p> + These strange experiences lent new interest to their intimacy. They went + through all the journey of maternity together. Pretty soon the changes in + her body began to be noticeable; and day by day they would watch these. + How wonderful it all was, how incredible! Thyrsis would sink upon his + knees before her, and clasp his arms about her and laugh “She’s going to + have a little baby!” And Corydon would blush and protest; she did not like + to be teased about it—she was still only half reconciled to it. “I’m + only a child myself!” she would cry. “I’ve no education—nothing! And + I’m not fit for it!” Then he would have to comfort her, telling her that + life was long, and that the child would be something to study. + </p> + <p> + They discussed the weighty question of the name which they should give the + child. In this, as in other matters, they were without precedents and + limitations, and they found that excess of freedom is sometimes an + embarrassment. They were impelled towards literary reminiscence; and + Thyrsis soon realized that this was a matter in which the sensuous + temperament would have to have its way. “After all,” argued Corydon, “to + you a name is a name. If you can call the baby and have it answer, isn’t + that all you care about?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he assented, “I suppose so; if the name’s too unhandy for calling, + I can have a nickname.” + </p> + <p> + To Corydon, on the other hand, a name was a vital thing; a child that was + lovely under one name might be unendurable under another. She had been + reading Ossian, and the poems of the neo-Celtic enthusiasts; so after much + pondering and consultation she announced that Cedric and Eileen were the + two names from which they would choose. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. Many moods of tenderness came to them. He loved to fondle her, to + exchange endearments with her. They gave each other foolish names, after + the fashion of lovers the world over; and they would go on to modify these + names, and add prefixes and suffixes, until the most ingenious philologist + could not have figured out where the names had started. They made new + words, also; they invented a whole language for use in these times of + illumination, and which Thyrsis denoted by the name of “dam-fool talk”. + </p> + <p> + One was always discovering new qualities in Corydon. She had as many moods + as the lake by which they lived, and it seemed to him that with each mood + her whole personality changed—she would even look like another + being. There was the every-day Corydon, demure, and rather silent; and + then there was the Corydon who lived in the arms of Nature—who swam + in the water, a sister of the mermaids, and made herself drunken with the + sunlight; and then would come a mood of mischief, and laughter would break + from her, and her wit would be such that Thyrsis would sigh for a + stenographer. She would make herself a Grecian costume out of a sheet, and + dance to music of her own making; or she would put trinkets upon her + forehead, and be a gypsy-queen—she could be anything that was wild + and exotic and unpremeditated. She had dances for that mood also—she + would laugh and caper as merrily as any young witch. But then, again, + there would come the Corydon of melancholy and despair; her features would + shrink up, her face would become peaked and pitiful, she would seem like a + child of ten. Sometimes Thyrsis could laugh her out of such a mood by + telling her of her “beady black eyes”; and she did not like to desecrate + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And now there was a new Corydon—the Corydon who had been chosen of + the Lord, the worker of a miracle. This gave new awe to her presence, it + set a crown upon her forehead. One morning, in mid-summer, they had come + out from their bath, and she stood upon the rock in the sunshine; and + suddenly he saw her give a start, and stand transfixed, staring in front + of her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Her voice thrilled as she whispered, “Thyrsis! It moved!” + </p> + <p> + “Moved?” he echoed. + </p> + <p> + “I felt the child move!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + And so he came and put his hands upon her body, and together they stood + waiting, breathless, as if listening for a far-off sound. + </p> + <p> + “There! There!” she cried. “Did you feel it?” + </p> + <p> + Yes, he had felt it. And in all his life had he ever felt anything + stranger? The first sign of the new life that was to be—the first + hail out of the darkness of nonentity! And truly, to hear that hail was to + be rapt into regions of wonder unspeakable! + </p> + <p> + It was to be a new human soul; a creature like themselves, with a mind of + its own, and a sense of responsibility—It would be a man or a woman, + independent, self-creating, and knowing naught about this strange + inception. And yet, it would be their life also; they had caused it—but + for them it would never have been! Blindly, unwittingly, following the + guidance of some power greater than themselves, they had called it into + being. And in some mysterious and incredible way it would share their + qualities; it would be a blending of their natures, a symbol of their + union, of the strange fire that had blazed up in them and fused them + together. Truly, had they not come here to the essence of love, that great + blind force which had ruled and guided all things from Time’s beginning? + </p> + <p> + They had come to the very making of life, it seemed. And yet, they + wondered—were they really there? This new soul that was to be—had + they in truth created it? Or had it existed before this? And whence did it + come? If it was really the dignified and divine thing that it would + someday imagine itself to be, was it not uncanny that it should have come + thus—a nameless, half-human, half-animal thing, kicking inside the + body of a woman? + </p> + <p> + It was Being, in all its ineffable mystery, its monstrous and unendurable + strangeness. They lived face to face with it, they saw a thousand aspects + of it. Sometimes Corydon would be obsessed with the sense of the sheer + weight she carried; a burden fastened upon her and not to be got rid of—an + imposition and torment to her. Then again, she would see herself in + grotesque and even comical lights—as akin to all the animals, a + cousin of the patient cow. And then would come a moment of sudden wonder, + when she would be transfigured, a being divine, conferring the boon of + life upon another. + </p> + <p> + It was in this last way that Thyrsis thought of her. There was about her a + sense of brooding mystery, as of one who walks in the midst of + supernatural presences. She would sit for hours gazing before her, like + Joan of Arc listening to her voices; and he would be touched with awe, and + would kiss her tenderly and with reverence. + </p> + <p> + This brought new meanings into their love, new meanings into his life; he + would clench his hands and vow afresh his battle with the world. How + hideous a thing it was that at this time she should be tormented by fears + of want and failure! That she should have to go without comforts, that she + should even fear to ask for necessities—because she knew how fast + his little store of money was going! Other women had children, and they + did not have to be haunted by the doubt if it was right to have them, if + there would be any place for them in the world. And some of these were + selfish and idle women, too—and yet they had everything they needed! + And here was Corydon, beautiful and noble, the very soul of devotion—Corydon + must be harrowed and tortured! He did not really mind the world’s + treatment of himself, but for this treatment of her—ah, someday the + world should pay for that! Someday it should do penance for its mockery + and its blindness, that had been a blasphemy against the holy spirit + itself! + </p> + <p> + At such times as this he would put his arms about her, and try to whisper + something of the pity and grief that filled his heart. He would try to + tell her how much he really loved her, how utterly he was devoted to her. + Some day she should have her rights, some day he would repay her for all + that she had dared for him. And then the tears would come into Corydon’s + eyes, and she would answer that she feared nothing and cared about + nothing, so long as she had his love. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. After these things, Thyrsis would go at his book again. He would + go at it doggedly, desperately. He had scarcely taken time to get settled + in the tent and to get their housekeeping régime under way, before he had + heard the call of the book and wandered away to wrestle with it. The + writing of it was a matter of life and death with him now—of life + and death, not only for himself, and for Corydon, but for the unborn soul + as well. His money would last him only six or eight weeks, and then he + would have to take to pot-boiling again. So every hour was precious; this + time there could be no blundering permitted. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was not writing now about minstrels and princesses; he was not + painting enraptured pictures of joy and love. The pain of life had become + too real to him. His six months of contact with the world had filled him + with bitterness; and he was forging a sharp spear, that he could drive + into the heart of folly and stupidity. + </p> + <p> + It was the story of Hathawi, the dreamer, which he had come upon in a + Hindoo legend. “The Hearer of Truth,” was to be the title of the book; and + for it Thyrsis was working out a new style. In the original it had been a + fanciful tale; but he meant to take it over to the world of everyday + reality, to give it the atmosphere of utter verihood. He meant to use a + style of biblical simplicity, bare of all ornament, dealing with the most + elemental things. And this might seem easy, but in reality it was the + hardest thing in the world—it was like blank verse. One might toil + all day for a single phrase into which to pack one’s meaning. + </p> + <p> + He wished to show Hathawi from the beginning; the solitary child, the seer + of life’s mystery, who went away into a lonely place to brood. He dwelt in + the high mountains, where the lightning played and the storm-winds shook + him; he disciplined his will by fasting and prayer, so that the self in + him died, and he could perceive eternal things, and aspects of being that + are hidden. He went into the forests and dwelt with the wild things, and + learned to understand their language—not only their beauty and their + power, which are plain; not only their fears and their hatreds, which are + painful to discover; but also their love, which is deepest of all. He + learned to know the life which is in lifeless things—in water and + air and fire; the joys and sorrows of the flowers, and the venerable + wisdom of great trees, and the worship which is in the floods of sunlight. + And having learned these things, Hathawi came back into the world. + </p> + <p> + He found that he was able to read the souls of men, but at first he could + not believe what he read—it was so terrible, and so far from nature. + He preferred to stay among the poor, because they were closer to the heart + of things, and their falsehoods were simple. But he discovered that the + evil and misery of men’s life came from above, and so he went into the + “great world” to dwell. + </p> + <p> + And everywhere he went, men’s innermost thoughts were revealed to him, and + to themselves through him. He acted upon men and women like wine—an + impulse seized them to speak the truth, the truth that they had hidden + even from their own hearts. Afterwards, when they realized what they had + done, they hated Hathawi and feared him; but they said nothing, because + each thought that the secret was his own. + </p> + <p> + But then, as his power grew, Hathawi began to reveal men in more public + ways, and a scandal arose. There was whispered a story of a great + statesman who had declared at a banquet what was his real work in the + world; and one day a bishop arose in his cathedral and said that he taught + the dogmas of his church, because they were necessary to keep the people + in subjection. Then came the famous episode of a policeman who bade the + prisoner go free and arrested the judge instead. Other policemen were + called upon to hinder their comrade, but they declared that he was right; + and then newspaper reporters, when ordered to write about it, avowed that + they would write only what they believed. After which came a convention of + one of the great political parties; and the presidential candidate made a + speech, outlining his actual beliefs, and so destroyed his party. This, of + course, was a national calamity, for all statesmen declared that the + people could not be deceived by one party; and then, too, it was reported + that Hathawi meant to attend the convention of the other party! + </p> + <p> + Because of this they shut him up in jail, charging him with being a + vagrant, which he undoubtedly was. But he won over all the jailers and the + prisoners to his doctrine, and so the jail was emptied. Moreover, it was + found that some of those who loved him most truly had come to share his + power of hearing truth. The madness was spreading everywhere; agitators + were busy among the people, and public safety was threatened. So a certain + very rich man, who in Hathawi’s presence had vowed himself a wolf, engaged + an assassin to strike him down in broad daylight upon the street. + </p> + <p> + Then in order to suppress the disturbance, they spirited the body away and + burned it, and scattered the ashes. But this was a bad thing for them to + do, for the ashes became seeds of the new contagion, and all through the + great city, in the strangest and most unaccountable way, men would + suddenly begin to speak the truth. And, of course this made business + impossible—the merchants and traders had to move away; and how was + it possible to preserve authority, when sooner or later all the lawyers + and the judges and the politicians would speak truth? So the people arose + and declared that they were weary of lies, and they erected a statue of + Hathawi at one of the places where his ashes had fallen, and declared that + every candidate for office must make his speeches there. After that it was + a long time before there were any officials elected—because no man + could be found to whom prominence and power were not more precious than + public welfare. But meanwhile the people thrived exceedingly. + </p> + <p> + Finally, however—the climax of the story—the news of all this + had spread to other nations, and the rulers of these nations perceived + that it was anarchy, and could by no means be permitted—their own + people were threatening to rise. It must be clearly shown that a state + without a government would be plundered by enemies; and so they prepared + to plunder it. And so arose a great agitation in Hathawi’s home-state, and + men called for a dictator, and for preparations of defence. But the + followers of Hathawi cried out, saying, “Let us submit! Let us open our + city to these men, and let them do their will—for the power of the + truth is greater than even they.” And so it was decided. + </p> + <p> + When the hostile rulers heard of this a great fear took possession of + them. They remembered the fate of certain famous diplomatists they had + already sent over; and they dared not trust themselves near the statue of + the Hearer of Truth. So their plans of invasion came to naught; and among + their own people there was laughter and bitter mockery; and behold, one + morning, a statue of Hathawi which some one had set up in a public-square! + Here the lovers of truth gathered by thousands, and the soldiers who were + sent to shoot them laid down their arms and joined them; and so, all over + the world, was the end of the dominion of the lie. + </p> + <p> + Section 11. Such was the outline of Thyrsis’ story. He judged that it might + be a very great story, or a comparatively commonplace one—it all + depended upon the power with which it was visioned. He must get into + himself and wrestle the thing out. This was to be his act of creation—his + baby! + </p> + <p> + It was the first time since his marriage that Thyrsis had tried really to + do what he called work. All things else had been mere echoes of the work + he had done the previous summer; but now he had to do something new, + something that was an echo of nothing else. Every day that he faced the + task, his agony and despair of soul grew greater; for he found that he <i>could</i> + not do the work. He could not even begin to do it—he could not even + try to do it! He was helpless, bound hand and foot! + </p> + <p> + It was not his fault, it was not Corydon’s fault; it was a tragedy + inherent in the very nature of things—in the two natures that were + in himself. There was the man, who loved a woman, and hungered to see her + happy; and there was the artist, to whom solitude was the very breath of + life. To write this book—to write it really—he would have to + spend weeks of brooding over it, thinking about nothing else day and + night; he would have to shape his whole existence to that end to be free + from every distracting circumstance, from everything that called him out + of himself. And how could he hope for such a thing, while he was living in + a tent with another person? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had his artist’s standard of perfection. Of course, he could never + actually be satisfied with what he did; but at least he could feel that it + was the best he was equal to—he could get a real and honest sense of + exhaustion for himself. But now, the moment that he faced the problem + fairly, he saw he could never get that real and honest sense of exhaustion + again. He was dragged up to the issue and forced to face it instantly. The + pressure of circumstances upon him was overwhelming; and he had to make up + his mind to do something he had never done before—instead of really + writing his books, to do the best he could with them! + </p> + <p> + Yet, inevitable as this was, and clearly as he saw it, he could not make + up his mind to it. In reality, he never did make up his mind to it. He did + it, and in his inmost heart he knew that he was doing it; but all the time + he was trying to deny it, was wrestling with agony and despair in his soul + in the effort to do something else. + </p> + <p> + He would go away in the morning and try to think about the book; and just + when he would get started, it would be time for dinner, and there would be + the image of Corydon waiting for him. And so he would go home, and go back + in the afternoon—and when he had got started again, it would be + dark. The next day, having explained his trouble, he would take his lunch + away with him; but in the forenoon there would come a drenching + thunder-storm, and he would have to go back again. Or he would try to work + in the tent at night; and the wind would howl and blow the lamp so that he + could not put his mind on anything. Nor did it avail him to rail at + himself, to tell himself that he was a fool for being at the mercy of such + mishaps. It was none the less a fact that he was at the mercy of them, and + that he could no longer give himself up to the sway of his imagination. + </p> + <p> + And always there was Corydon, yearning for his companionship. It had + always been their idea that they should do the work together; so + completely would they be fused in the fire of love, that she would share + his soul states and write parts of his books. But now that idea had to be + abandoned; and this was <i>her</i> tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “I have to sit and think of my health!” she would exclaim. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t your health, dear,” he would plead; “it’s the health of the + child!” + </p> + <p> + “I know that. But then, am I always to sit at home and be placid, while + you go away to wrestle with the angels?” + </p> + <p> + “Not always, Corydon,” he said. “This will pass—” + </p> + <p> + “If I do,” she cried, “I only stay to wrestle with the demons. And is that + so very good for a pregnant woman?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear!” he protested. + </p> + <p> + “It’s just as I said!” she went on. “I ought not to have had the child! + I’m only a school-girl, with a school-girl’s tasks. And I try and try, but + I can’t help it—everything within me rebels at the cares of + mother-hood.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s one mood, dear,” he said. “But you know that’s not true always.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all the clearer to me,” she insisted, “since we’ve had to give up + our music. I can’t work at the piano any more—I may never be able + to.” + </p> + <p> + “But even if you could, Corydon, I couldn’t afford to get you one now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not. And you have to give up your violin!” + </p> + <p> + “Much time I have to practice it in our present plight!” + </p> + <p> + “I know—I know! But don’t you see, we lose our last hope of growing + together? I’ve a vision that haunts me all the time—you going away + to do your work, and staying for longer and longer periods—and I + sitting at home to mind the baby!” + </p> + <p> + Day after day he would come back, and she would ask him how the book was + going; and he would have to answer that it was not going at all. Then, in + his desperation, he would make up his mind to write what he could—to + be content with this glimpse of one scene, and with that feeble echo of + what he knew the next scene ought to be; and he would bring the result to + Corydon, and would discover with a secret pang that she did not know the + difference. But then he would ask himself—how could she know the + difference? The difference did not exist! His vision of the thing had + existed in himself, and in himself alone; if he never uttered it, the + world would never know what it might have been—and would never care. + Ah, what a future was that to look forward to—to filling the ears of + the world with lamentations concerning the books that he might have + written! And all the time knowing that the ears of the world were deaf to + every sound he made! + </p> + <p> + Section 12. He thought that he realized the bitterness of this tragedy all + at once; but the real bitterness was that he had to realize more and more + of it every day. It was a tragedy he had to live in the house with. He had + to watch it working itself out in all the little affairs of life; he had + to see it manifesting itself in his own soul, and in the soul of Corydon, + and even in the soul of the child. Worst of all to him, the artist, he had + to see it working itself out in what he wrote—in book after book + that went out to represent him to the world, and that did not represent + him at all, but only represented the Snare in which he had been caught! It + was one of the facts about this Snare, that there was no merciful Keeper + to come and put the victim out of his misery with a blow upon the head; + that he was left alone, to writhe and twist and tear himself to pieces, + and to perish of slow exhaustion. It was not a murder—it was a + crucifixion! + </p> + <p> + He could not have told for whom his heart bled most, for himself, or for + Corydon. Here she was, with her grim problems and her bitter necessities; + needing advice and comfort, needing companionship—needing a husband! + And she had married an artist—a reed that would grow “nevermore + again as a reed with the reeds by the river!” That could not grow, even if + it had wanted to! For it was quite in vain that the world cried out to him + to settle down and become as other men; he could not. The thing that was + tearing at his vitals would continue to tear; the only choice he had was + between self-expression and madness. + </p> + <p> + So, wrung as his heart was, he had to go away and as he could. If he + yielded to his desire and stayed by her, then the book would not be + written in time; and so all their hopes would be gone—they would + never win their freedom then! And he would explain this to her; with their + relentless devotion to the truth, they would talk it all out between them. + They would trace every cord and knot of the Snare. And Corydon would grant + that he was right, and that she must submit. He must stay away all day—and + all night, if need be—till the book was done. + </p> + <p> + Not that they were always able to settle their problems in the cold light + of reason. Sometimes Thyrsis, with his artist’s ups and downs, would be + nervous and irritable; he would manifest impatience over trifles, and this + would give rise to tragedies. There was a vast amount of fetching and + emptying of water to be done for their little establishment; and sometimes + a man who was carrying the destinies of the human race in his + consciousness was not as prompt as he might have been in attending to + these humble tasks. And moreover, the water all had to be dipped up from + the lake; and sometimes, when it was stormy, it was a difficult matter to + get it as free from specks as was needed for the ablutions of a fastidious + young lady like Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “If you’d only take a little trouble!” she would say. + </p> + <p> + “Trouble!” he would exclaim. “Do you think I enjoy hearing you complain + about it?” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis, this is dirtier than ever!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. The wind is blowing harder.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you’d only reach out a little ways—-” + </p> + <p> + “I reached out till I nearly fell into the water!” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis, how can I ever wash my face?” + </p> + <p> + And so it would go. Thyrsis would be absorbed in some especially important + mental operation, and it would be a torment to him to have such things + forced upon his attention. Corydon, it seemed to him, was always at the + mercy of externals; and she was forever dragging him out of himself, and + making him aware of them. The frying-pan was not clean enough, or his hair + was unkempt; his trousers were ragged or his coat was too small for him. + Was life always to consist of such impertinences as this? + </p> + <p> + And so Thyrsis, in a sudden burst of rage, gave the water-bucket a kick + which sent it rolling down the bank, and then strode away to his work. But + unfortunately his work was not of a sort which he could do with angry + emotions in his soul. And so very soon remorse overcame him. He returned, + to find that Corydon had rushed out to the end of the point, and flung + herself down upon the rocks in hysterics. And this, of course, was not a + good thing for a pregnant woman, and so he had to set to work to soothe + her. + </p> + <p> + But alas, to soothe her was never an easy task, because of her + sensitiveness, and her exalted ideals of him. However humbly he might + apologize and beg forgiveness, there would remain her grief that it had + been possible for a quarrel to occur between them. She would drive him + nearly wild by debating the event, and rehearsing it again and again, + trying to justify herself to him, and him to himself. Thyrsis was robust, + he wanted to let the past take care of itself; he would tell her of all + the worries that were harassing him, and would plead with her to grant him + the privilege of any ordinary human creature, to manifest annoyance now + and then. And Corydon would promise it—she would promise him + anything he asked for; but this was a boon it did not lie within the + possibility of her temperament to grant. He could be angry at fate and at + the world, and could rage and storm at them all he pleased; but he could + never be harsh with Corydon without inflicting upon her pain that wrecked + her, and wrecked him into the bargain. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, he thought, it was her condition that accounted for this + morbidness. She was liable to fits of depression, and to mysterious + illness—nausea and faintness and what not. Also, she had been told + weird tales about prenatal influences; and he, not having been educated in + such matters, could not be sure what were the facts. So, whenever she had + been unhappy, there was the possibility that she had done some irreparable + harm to the child! And that made more problems for an over-worked and + sensitive artist. + </p> + <p> + He soon saw that he had to suppress forever the side of him that was stern + and exacting. Such things had a place in his own life, but no longer in + Corydon’s. Instead, he would see how she suffered, and his heart would be + wrung, and he would come back again and again to comfort her, and to tell + her how he loved her, how he longed to do what was right. He would set + before her the logic of the situation, so that if things went wrong she + might realize that it was neither his fault nor hers—that it was the + world, which kept them in this misery, and shut them up to suffer + together. So it was, all through their lives, that their remorseless + reason saved them; they would find in the analysis and exposition of the + causes of their own unhappiness the one common satisfaction they had in + life. + </p> + <p> + Section 13. These were the circumstances of the writing of “The Hearer of + Truth”. It was completed in six weeks, and it did not satisfy its author, + the finishing of it brought him no joy. But that, though he did not + realize it, was the one circumstance in its favor—the less it + satisfied him, the more chance there was that the world would know what it + was about. + </p> + <p> + He had the manuscript copied, and then he sent it off to a magazine in + Boston, whose editor had been one of his hundred great men, and had + promised to read the new manuscript at once. Meantime Thyrsis sent for + some books to review, and got to work at another plot to be submitted to + the editor of the “Treasure Chest”. For their own treasure-chest was now + all but empty, and one could not live forever upon blueberries and fish. + </p> + <p> + Day by day they waited; and at last, one fateful afternoon, the farmer + came with some provisions and their mail. There was a letter from Boston, + and Thyrsis opened it and read as follows: + </p> + <p> + “I have read your manuscript, ‘The Hearer of Truth’, and I wish to tell + you of the very great pleasure it has given me. It is noble and fine, and + amazingly clever as well. I must say frankly that I was astonished at the + qualities of maturity and restraint it shows. I think it quite certain + that we shall wish to use it as a serial; but before I can say anything + definite, the manuscript will have to be read by my associates. In the + meantime I wished to tell you personally how highly I think of your work.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis read this, and then, without a word, he passed it on to Corydon. + As soon as the farmer’s back was turned, the two fell into each other’s + arms, and all but wept. It was victory, beyond all question. The magazine + might pay as much as five hundred dollars for the serial rights—and + with that start, they would surely be safe. Besides that, it would mean + recognition for Thyrsis—the world would have to discuss his work! + </p> + <p> + Doing pot-boilers was easy after such a triumph as that. They even treated + themselves to holidays—they purchased a quart of ice-cream on one + day, and hired a boat and went picnicking on another. Thyrsis got out his + fiddle once again, and even became so reckless as to inquire about the + price of a “practice-clavier” for Corydon. Also he began inquiring as to + the cost of houses; when they got the money they would build themselves a + little cabin here—a cabin just the size of the tent, but with a room + upstairs where Thyrsis could do his work. After that they would be free + from all the world—they would never go back to be haunted by the + sight of + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sorrow barricadoed evermore + Within the walls of cities.” + </pre> + <p> + Section 14. So a month passed by; and Thyrsis wrote again to the editor, and + was told that they were still discussing the story. And then, after two + more weeks, there came another letter; and this was the way it read: + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to have to tell you that the decision has been adverse to + using your story. My own opinion of it has not changed in the least; but I + have been unable to induce my associates to view it in the same light. + They seem to be unanimous in the opinion that your work is too radical for + us to put to the front. We have a very conservative, fastidious, and + sophisticated constituency; and this is one of the limitations by which we + are bound. I am more than sorry that things have turned out so, and I + trust I need hardly say that I shall be glad to read anything else that + you may have to submit to us.” + </p> + <p> + And there it was! “A conservative, fastidious, and sophisticated + constituency!” Thyrsis believed that he would never forget that phrase + while he lived. Could one get up a thing like that anywhere in the world + save in Boston? + </p> + <p> + It was a bitter and cruel disappointment—the more so because it had + taken six weeks of his precious time. But there was nothing to be done + about it save to send off the manuscript to another magazine. And when it + had come back from there he sent it to another, and to yet another—paying + each time a total of eighty cents to the express-company, a sum which was + very hard for him to spare. To make an ending at once to the painful + episode, he continued to send it from one place to another, until “The + Hearer of Truth” had had the honor of being declined by a total of fifteen + magazines and twenty-two publishing-houses. The pilgrimage occupied a + period of nineteen months—after which, to Thyrsis’ great surprise, + the thirty-eighth concern offered to publish it. And so the book was + brought out, with something of a flourish, and met with its thirty-eighth + rejection—at the hands of the public! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VII. THE CAPTURE IS COMPLETED + </h2> + <p> + <i>The shadow of a dark cloud had fallen upon the woods, and the voices of + the birds were strangely hushed. </i> + </p> + <p> + “There is a spell about this place for me,” she said, and quoted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Here came I often, often in old days— + Thyrsis and I, we still had Thyrsis then!” + </pre> + <p> + “Where is Thyrsis now?” she asked; and he smiled sadly, and responded: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah me! this many a year + My pipe is lost, my shepherd’s holiday! + Needs must I lose them, needs with heavy heart + Into the world and wave of men depart!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. They returned to the city early in October—not so much + because they minded the cold in the tent, as because their money was gone, + and it was not easy to do hack-work at a distance. One had to be on the + spot, to interview the editors, to study their whims and keep one’s self + in their minds; otherwise some one else got the work. + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis came back to his “world”; and he found this world up in arms + against him. All the opposition that he had ever had to face was nothing + to what he faced now. Society seemed to have made up its collective mind + that he should give in; and every force it could use was brought to bear + upon him—every person he knew joined in the assault upon him. + </p> + <p> + He was bound to admit that they had all the arguments on their side. He + had gone his own obstinate way, in defiance of all advice and of all + precedent; and now he saw what had come of it—exactly what every + common-sense person had foreseen. He and Corydon had tried their “living + as brother and sister”—and here she was with child! And that was all + right, no one proposed to blame him for it; it was what people had + predicted, and they were rather pleased to have their predictions come + true—to see the bubble of his pretenses burst, and to be able to + point out to him that he was like all other men. What they wanted now was + simply that he should recognize his responsibility, and look out for + Corydon’s welfare. Living in tenement-rooms and in tents, like gypsies and + savages, was all right by way of a lark; it was all very picturesque and + romantic in a novel; but it would not do for a woman who was about to + become a mother. Corydon had been delicately reared. She was used to the + comforts and decencies of life; and to get her in her present plight and + then not provide these things for her would be the act of a scoundrel. + </p> + <p> + All through his life the world had had but one message for Thyrsis: “Go to + work!” From the world’s point of view his languages and literatures, his + music and writing were all play; to “work” was to get a “position”. And + now this word was dinned into his ears day and night, the very stones in + the street seemed to cry it at him—“Get a position! Get a position!” + </p> + <p> + As chance would have it, the position was all ready. In the higher regions + they were preparing to open a branch of a great family establishment + abroad, and Thyrsis was invited to take charge of it. He would be paid + three thousand dollars a year at the start, and two or three times as much + ultimately; and what more could he want? He knew nothing about the work, + but they knew his abilities—that if he would undertake it, and give + his attention to it, he would succeed. He would meet people of culture, + they argued, and be broadened by contact with men; as for Corydon, it + would make her whole life over. Surely, for her sake, he could not refuse! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had foreseen just such things. He had braced himself to meet the + shock, and the world found him with his hands clenched and his jaws set. + There was no use in arguing with him, he had but one answer—“No! No! + No!” He would not take that position, and he would not take any other + position—neither now, nor at any future time. He was not a + business-man, he was an artist; and an artist he would remain to the end. + It might as well be understood at the outset; there was nothing that the + world could do or say to him that would move him one inch. They might + starve him, they might kill him, they might do what they could or would—but + never would he give in. + </p> + <p> + “But—what are you going to do?” they cried. + </p> + <p> + He answered, “I am going to write my books.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have already written two books, and nothing has come of them!” + </p> + <p> + “Something may come of them yet,” he said. “And if it doesn’t, I shall + simply go on and write another, and another, and another. I shall continue + to write so long as I have the strength left in me; I shall be trying to + write when I die.” + </p> + <p> + And so, while they argued and pleaded and scolded and wept, he stood in + silence. They could not understand him—he smiled bitterly as he + realized how impossible it was for them to understand even the simplest + thing about him. There was the dapper corporation lawyer and his exquisite + young wife, who came to argue about it; and Thyrsis asked them not to tell + Corydon why they had come. He saw them look at each other significantly, + and he could read their thought—that he was afraid of his wife’s + importunities. And how could he explain to them what he had really meant—that + if they had told Corydon they had come to persuade him to give up his art, + Corydon would probably have found it impossible to be even decently polite + to them! + </p> + <p> + Section 2. So Thyrsis went away, carrying the burden of the scorn and + contempt of every human soul he knew. It was in truth a dark hour in his + life. He was at his wit’s end for the bare necessities. He had reached the + city with less money in his pocket than he had had the year before; and + all the ways by which he had got money seemed to have failed him at once. + All the editors who published book-reviews seemed to have a stock on hand; + or else to know of people whose style of writing pleased their readers + better. And none of them seemed to fancy any ideas for articles that + Thyrsis had to suggest. + </p> + <p> + Worst of all, the editor of the ‘“Treasure Chest” turned down the + pot-boiler which he had been writing up in the country. He would not say + anything very definite about it—he just didn’t like the story—it + had not come up to the promise of the scenario. He hinted that perhaps + Thyrsis was not as much interested in his work as he had been before. It + seemed to be lacking in vitality, and the style was not so good. Thyrsis + offered to rewrite parts of the story; but no, said the editor, he did not + care for the story at all. He would be willing to have Thyrsis try + another, but he was pretty well supplied with serials just then, and could + not give much encouragement. + </p> + <p> + Corydon had yielded to her parents and gone to stay with them for a while; + and Thyrsis had got his own expenses down to less than five dollars a week—including + such items as stationery and postage on his manuscripts. And still, he + could not get this five dollars. In his desperation he followed the cheap + food idea to extremes, and there were times when an invitation to an + honest meal was something he looked forward to for a week. And day after + day he wandered about the streets, racking his brains for new ideas, for + new plans to try, for new hopes of deliverance. + </p> + <p> + In later years he looked back upon it all—knowing then the depth of + the pit into which he had fallen, knowing the full power of the forces + that were ranged against him—and he marvelled that he had ever had + the courage to hold out. But in truth the idea of surrender did not occur + to him; the possibility of it did not lie in his character. He had his + message to deliver. That was what he was in the world for, and for nothing + else; and he must deliver what he could of it. + </p> + <p> + He would go alone, and his vision would come to him. It would come to him, + radiant, marvellous, overwhelming; there had never been anything like it + in the world, there might never be anything like it in the world again. + And if only he could get the world to realize it—if only he could + force some hint of it into the mind of one living person! It was + impossible not to think that some day that person would be discovered—to + believe otherwise would be to give the whole world up for damned. He would + imagine that chance person reading his first book; he would imagine the + publishers and their advisers reading “The Hearer of Truth”—might it + not be that at this very hour some living soul was in the act of finding + him out? At any rate, all that he could do was to try, and to keep on + trying; to embody his vision in just as many forms as possible, and to + scatter them just as widely as possible. It was like shooting arrows into + the air; but he would go on to shoot while there was one arrow left in his + quiver. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Thyrsis reasoned the problem out for himself; he saw what he + wanted, and that it was a rational and honest thing for him to want. He + was a creative artist, engaged in learning his trade. When he had + completed his training, he would not work for himself, he would work to + bring joy and faith to millions of human beings, perhaps for ages after. + And meantime, while he was in the practice-stage, he asked for the bare + necessities of existence. + </p> + <p> + Nor was it as if he were an utter tyro; he had given proof of his power. + He had written two books, which some of the best critics in the country + had praised. To this people made answer that it was no one’s business to + look out for genius and give it a chance to live. But with Thyrsis it was + never any argument to show that a thing did not exist, if it was a thing + which he knew <i>ought</i> to exist. He looked back over the history of + art, and saw the old hideous state of affairs—saw genius perishing + of starvation and misery, and men erecting monuments to it when it was + dead. He saw empty-headed rich people paying fortunes for the manuscripts + of poems which all the world had once rejected; he saw the seven towns + contending for Homer dead, through which the living Homer begged his + bread. And Thyrsis could not bring himself to believe that a thing so + monstrous could continue to exist forever. + </p> + <p> + There was no other department of human activity of which it was true. If a + man wanted to be a preacher, he would find that people had set up + divinity-schools and established scholarships for which he could contend. + And the same was true if he wished to be an engineer, or an architect, or + a historian, or a biologist; it was only the creative artist of whom no + one had a thought—the creative artist, who needed it most of all! + For his was the most exacting work, his was the longest and severest + apprenticeship. + </p> + <p> + Brooding over this, Thyrsis hit upon another plan. He drew up a letter, in + which he set forth what he wanted, and stated what he had so far done; he + quoted the opinions of his work that had been written by men-of-letters, + and offered to submit the books and manuscripts about which these opinions + had been written. He sent a copy of this letter to the president of each + of the leading universities in the country, to find out if there was in a + single one of them any fellowship or scholarship or prize of any sort, + which could be won by such creative literary work. Of those who replied to + him, many admitted that his point was well taken, that there should have + been such provision; but one and all they agreed that none existed. There + were rewards for studying the work of the past, but never for producing + new work, no matter how good it might be. + </p> + <p> + Then another plan occurred to him. He wrote an anonymous article, setting + forth some of his amusing experiences, and contrasting the credit side of + the “pot-boiling” ledger with the debit side of the “real art” ledger. + This article was picturesque, and a magazine published it, paying + twenty-five dollars for it, and so giving him another month’s lease of + life. But that was all that came of it—there was no rich man who + wrote to the magazine to ask who this tormented genius might be. + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrsis, in his desperation, joined the ranks of the begging + letter-writers. He would send long accounts of his plight to eminent + philanthropists—having no idea that the secretaries of eminent + philanthropists throw out basketsful of such letters every day. He would + read in the papers of some public-spirited enterprise—he would hear + of this man or that woman who was famous for his or her interest in + helpful things—and he would sit down and write these people that he + was starving, and implore them to read his book. In later years, when he + came to know of some of these newspaper idols, it was a comfort to him to + feel certain that his letters had been thrown away unread. + </p> + <p> + Also he begged from everybody he met, under whatever circumstances he met + them. If by any chance the person might be imagined to possess money, + sooner or later would come some hour of distress, when Thyrsis would be + driven to try to borrow. On one occasion he counted it up, and there were + forty-three individuals to whom he had made himself a nuisance. With half + a dozen of them he had actually succeeded; but always promising to return + the money when his next check came in—and always scrupulously doing + this. There was never anyone who rose to the understanding of what he + really wanted—a free gift, for the sake of his art. There was never + anyone who could understand his utter shamelessness about it; that fervor + of consecration which made it impossible for a man to humiliate him, or to + insult him—to do anything save to write himself down a dead soul. + </p> + <p> + People were quite clear in their views upon this question; a man must earn + his own way in the world. And that was all right, if a man were in the + world for himself. But what if he were working for humanity, and had no + time to think about himself? Was that truly a disgraceful thing? Take + Jesus, for instance; ought he to have kept at his carpenter’s trade, + instead of preaching the Sermon on the Mount? Or was it that his right to + preach the Sermon was determined by the size of the collection he could + take among the audience? + </p> + <p> + And then, while he pondered this problem of “earning one’s own way,” + Thyrsis was noting the lives of the people who were preaching it. What + were <i>they</i> doing to earn the luxuries they enjoyed? Even granting + that one recognized their futile benevolence as justifying them personally—what + about the tens of thousands of others who lived in utter idleness, + squandering in self-indulgence and ostentation huge fortunes of which they + had never earned a penny? The boy could not go upon the streets of the + city without having this monstrous fact flaunted in his face in a thousand + forms. So many millions for folly and vice, and not one cent for his art! + This was the thing upon which he was brooding day and night—and + filling his soul with an awful bitterness which was to horrify the world + in later years. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. He might not come to see Corydon in her home; but she would meet + him in the street, and they would walk in the park, a pitiful and mournful + pair. They had to walk slowly, and often he would have to help her, for + her burden had now become great. She had altered all her dresses, and she + wore a long cape, and even then was not able to hide the disfigurement of + her person. They would sit upon a bench in the cold, and talk about the + latest aspects of his struggle, what he was doing and what he hoped to do. + Corydon would bring him the opinions of a few more members of the + bourgeois world, and they would curse this world and these people + together. For there was no more thought of giving up on Corydon’s side + than there was on his; it was not for nothing that he had talked to her + upon the hill-top in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, however, time was passing, and the prospect of her approaching + confinement hung over them like a black thunder-cloud. It came on + remorselessly, menacingly. The event was due about Christmas time, and + there must be some money then—there must be some money then! But + where was it to be found? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had tried another story for the “Treasure Chest,” but the editor + had not liked his plot. Also he was taking “The Hearer of Truth” from one + place to another; but with less and less hope, as he learned from various + editors and publishers how radical and subversive they considered it. He + took it now mechanically, as a matter of form—making it his rule + always to count upon rejection, so that he might never be disappointed. + </p> + <p> + One of Corydon’s rich friends had told her of a certain famous surgeon, + and Corydon had gone to see him. He had a beautiful private hospital, and + his prices were unthinkable; but he had seemed to be interested in her, + and when she told him her circumstances, he had said that he would try to + “meet her halfway.” But even with the reductions he quoted, it would cost + them nearly a hundred and fifty dollars; and how could Thyrsis get such a + sum? Even if the surgeon were willing to wait—what prospect was + there that he could ever get it? + </p> + <p> + This again was the curse of their leisure-class upbringing. They did not + know how poor women had their babies, and they shrunk from the thought of + finding it out. Corydon had met this man, and had been impressed by him; + and Thyrsis realized, even if she did not, that she had got her heart set + upon the plan. And if he did not make it possible, and then anything were + to go wrong with her, how would he ever be able to forgive himself? This + event would come but once, and might mean so much to them. + </p> + <p> + So he said to himself that he would “raise the money”. But the days passed + and became weeks, and the weeks became months, and there was no sign of + the raising. And then suddenly came one of those shafts of sunlight + through the clouds—one of those will-o’-the-wisps that were forever + luring Thyrsis into the swamps. Another editor liked “The Hearer of + Truth”; another editor said that it was a great piece of literature, and + that he would surely use it! So Thyrsis went to the great surgeon and told + him that he would be able to pay him in a little while; and the + arrangement was made for Corydon to come. And then the editor put the + “great piece of literature” away in his desk, and forgot all about it for + a month—while Thyrsis waited, day by day, in an agony of suspense. + </p> + <p> + The appointed time had come—the day when Corydon must go to the + hospital; and still the editor had not reported, and there was only + fifteen or twenty dollars, earned by weeks of verse-writing and reviewing. + So in desperation Thyrsis made up his mind to give up his violin. He had + paid ninety dollars for it three years before; and now, after taking it + round among the dealers, he sold it for thirty-five dollars. + </p> + <p> + So, to the very gateway of life itself, Thyrsis was hounded by these + spectres of want; even to the hospital they came, and followed him inside. + Here was a beautiful place, a revelation to him of the possibilities of + civilization and science. But it was all for the rich and prosperous, it + was not for him; he felt that he had no business to be there. + </p> + <p> + What a contrast it all made with the tenement-room in which he had to + house! Here were glimpses to be had of rich women, soft-skinned and fair, + clad in morning-gowns of gorgeous hue; here were baskets of expensive + fruits and armfuls of sweet-scented flowers; and here was he with his worn + clothing and his haggard face, his hungry stomach and still hungrier + heart! Must not all these people know that he had had to ask for special + rates, and then for credit on top of that? Must they not all know that he + was a failure—that most worthless of all worthless creatures, the + man who cannot support his family? What did it mean to them if he had + written masterpieces of literature—what would it avail with them + that he was the bearer of a new religion! Thyrsis had heard too much of + the world’s opinion of him; he shrunk from contact with his + fellow-creatures, reading an insult into every glance. He was like a dog + that has been too much beaten, and cringes even before it is struck. + </p> + <p> + Section 5. But these thoughts were for himself; he did not whisper them to + Corydon. However people might despise him, they did not blame her, and + there was no need of this bitterness in her cup. Corydon was beautiful—ah + God, how beautiful she looked, lying there in the snowy bed, with the + snowy lace about her neck and arms! How like the very goddess of + motherhood she looked, a halo of light about her forehead. She, too, must + have flowers, to whisper to her of hope and joy; and so he had brought her + three pitiful little pinks, which he had purchased from a lame girl upon + the corner. The tears started into Corydon’s eyes as she saw these—for + she knew that he had gone without a part of his dinner in order to bring + them to her. + </p> + <p> + Everybody had come to love her already, he could see. How gentle and kind + they were to her; and how skillfully they did everything for her! His + heart was full of thankfulness that he had been able to bring her to this + haven of refuge. And resolutely he put aside all thoughts of his own + humiliation—he swept his mind clear of everything else, and went + with her to face this new and supreme experience of her life. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay with me?” she had pleaded; and he had promised that he + would stay. She could not bear to have him out of her sight at all, and so + they made him a bed upon the couch, and he spent the night there; and + through the next day he sat with her and read to her. But now and then he + would know that her thoughts had wandered, and he would look at her and + see her eyes wide with fear. “Oh, Thyrsis,” she would whisper, “I’m only a + child; and I’m not fit to be a mother!” + </p> + <p> + He would try to comfort her and soothe her. But in truth, he too was full + of fears and anxieties. He had felt the dome-like shape within her + abdomen, which they said was the head of the child; and he could not + conceive how it was ever to be got out. But they told him that the thing + had happened before. There was nothing for either of them to do but to + wait. + </p> + <p> + They were in the hands of Nature, who had brought them thus far, who had + had her will with them so utterly. And now her purpose was to be revealed + to them—now they were to know the wherefore of all that they had + done. They were like two children, travelling through a dark valley; they + walked hand in hand, lifting their eyes to the mountain-tops, and seeking + the first signs of the coming light. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. Outside, whenever they opened the window, they could hear the + noise of the busy city; and it seemed so strange that street-cars should + jangle on, and news-boys shout, and tired men hurry home to their dinners—while + such a thing as this was preparing. Thyrsis gave utterance to the thought; + and the doctor, who was in the room, smiled and responded, “It happens + twice every second in the world!” + </p> + <p> + This was the house-physician, who was to take charge of the case; a young + man, handsome and rather dapper. He went about his work with an air of its + being an old story to him—an air which was at once reassuring and + disturbing. The two sat and watched him, while he made his preparations. + </p> + <p> + He had two white-gowned nurses with him, and he spoke to them for the most + part in nods. One of them was elderly and grey-haired, and apparently his + main reliance; the other was young and pretty, and her heart went out to + Corydon. She sat by the bedside and confided to her that she was a pupil, + and that this was only her third “case”. + </p> + <p> + “Will it hurt me much?” the girl asked, weakly. + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly, before there was time for an answer, she turned white, + and clutched Thyrsis’ hand with a low cry. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Her fingers closed upon his convulsively, and she started up, crying + aloud. + </p> + <p> + The doctor was standing by the window, opening a case of instruments. He + did not even turn. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor!” Thyrsis cried, in alarm. + </p> + <p> + He put the case down and came toward the bed. “I guess there is nothing + wrong,” he said, with a slight smile. He laid his hand upon the shuddering + girl. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right,” he said, “I shall examine her in a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away, while Thyrsis and the young nurse held Corydon’s hand and + whispered to her soothingly. + </p> + <p> + She sank back and lay tossing from side to side, moaning; and meantime the + doctor went quietly on, arranging his basins and bottles, and giving his + orders. Then finally he came and made his examination. + </p> + <p> + “She is doing very well,” he said, “and now, Miss Mary, I have an + engagement for the theatre for this evening. I think there will be no need + of me for some hours.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis started, aghast. “Doctor!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Something might happen!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be only two or three blocks away,” was the reply—“They will + send for me if there is need.” + </p> + <p> + “But this pain!” cried Thyrsis, excitedly. “What is she to do?” + </p> + <p> + The man stood by the bedside, washing his hands. “You cannot have a + child-birth without pain,” he said. “These are merely false pains, as we + call them; the real birth-pains may not come for hours—perhaps not + until morning. There are membranes which have to be broken, and muscles + which have to be stretched—and there is no way of doing it but this + way.” + </p> + <p> + He stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Do not be worried,” he said. + “Whatever happens, the attendant will know what to do.” + </p> + <p> + “The theatre!” It seemed so strange! To be sure, it was unreasonable—if + a man had several cases each week to attend to, he could not be expected + to suffer with each one. But at least he need not have mentioned the + theatre! It gave one such a strange feeling of isolation! + </p> + <p> + Section 7. However, he was gone, and Thyrsis turned to Corydon, who lay + moaning feebly. It was like a knife cutting her, she said; she could not + bear to lie down, and when she tried to sit up she could not endure the + weight of her own body. She found it helped her for Thyrsis to support + her, and so he sat beside her, holding her tightly, while she wrestled + with her task. The nurse fanned her brow, on which the sweat stood in + drops. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis’ position strained every muscle in his body; it made each minute + seem an hour. But he clung there, till his head reeled. Anything to help + her—anything, if only he could have helped her! + </p> + <p> + But there was no help; she was gone alone into the silent chamber of pain, + where there comes no company, no friend, no love. His spirit cried out to + her, but she heard him not—she was alone, alone! Is there any + solitude that the desert or the ocean knows, that is like the solitude of + suffering? + </p> + <p> + It would come over her in spasms, and Thyrsis could feel her body quiver; + it would be all he could do to hold her. And minute after minute, hour + after hour, it was the same, without a moment’s respite—until she + broke into sobbing, crying that she could not bear it, that she could not + bear it! She clutched wildly at Thyrsis’ hand, and her arms shook like a + leaf. + </p> + <p> + He ran in fright for the elder nurse, who had left the room. She came and + questioned Corydon, and shook her head. “There is nothing to be done,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “But something is wrong!” Thyrsis cried. He had been reading a book, and + his mind was full of images of all sorts of accidents and horrors, of + monstrosities and “false presentations.” “You must send for the doctor,” + he repeated, “I know there <i>must</i> be something wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “I will send for the doctor if you wish,” was the reply. “But you must + order it. The birth has not yet begun, you know—when it does the + character of the pains will change altogether, and she will know. Meantime + there is nothing whatever for the doctor to do.” + </p> + <p> + “He might give her an opiate!” Thyrsis exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “If he did,” said the woman, “that would stop the birth. And it must + come.” + </p> + <p> + So they turned once more to the task. Thyrsis bore it until it seemed to + him that his body was on fire; then he asked the nurse to take his place. + He reeled as he tried to walk to the sofa; he flung himself down and lay + panting. Outside he could still hear the busy sounds of the street—the + world was going on its way, unknowing, unheeding. There came a chorus of + merry laughter to him—his soul was black with revolt. + </p> + <p> + He went back to his post, biting his lips together. + </p> + <p> + She was only a child—she was too tender; it was monstrous, he cried. + Why, she was being torn to pieces! She writhed and quivered, until he + thought she was in convulsions. And then, little by little, all this faded + from his thoughts; he had his own pain to bear. He must hold her just so, + with the grip of a wrestler; his arms ached, and his temples throbbed, and + he fought with himself and whispered to himself—he would stay there + until he dropped. + </p> + <p> + Would the doctor never come? It was preposterous for him to leave her like + this. The time passed on; he was wild with impatience, and suddenly + Corydon sank back and burst into tears. He could stand it no more, and + sent for the nurse again. + </p> + <p> + “You must send for the doctor!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “He has just come in,” the woman answered; “I heard him close the door.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor entered the room, softly. He was perfectly groomed, clad in + evening-dress, and with his gloves and his silk hat in his hand. Thyrsis + hated him at that moment—hated him with the fury of some tortured + beast. He was only an assistant; and were not assistants notoriously + careless? Why had the great surgeon himself not come to see to it? + </p> + <p> + “How does she bear it?” he said, to the nurse; and he took off his + overcoat and coat, and rolled up his sleeves, while she reported progress. + Then he felt Corydon’s pulse, and after washing his hands, made another + examination. Thyrsis watched him with his heart in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + He rose without saying anything. + </p> + <p> + “Has it presented?” the nurse asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” he said, and turned to look at the temperature of the room. + </p> + <p> + It was so, then—there was nothing to be done! Thyrsis was dazed—he + could hardly believe it. He had never dreamed it could be anything like + this. + </p> + <p> + “How long is this to last, doctor?” he cried. “She is suffering so + horribly!” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it will be until morning,” he said—“it is a question of the + rigidity of certain muscles. But you need not be alarmed, she is doing + very well.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke a few words to the patient, and then turned towards the door. “I + shall sleep in the next room,” he said to his assistant; “you may call me + at any time.” + </p> + <p> + Section 8. So the two went apart again; and the leaden-footed hours crept + by, and the girl still wrestled with the fiend. The young nurse was asleep + on the couch, and the elder sat dozing in her chair; the two were alone—all + alone! One of the window-shades was raised, and Thyrsis could see far over + the tops of the buildings. Somewhere out there was another single light, + where perhaps some other soul counted the fiery pulses of torture. A death—or + another birth, perhaps! The doctor had said it happened twice every + second! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was unskilled in pain, and perhaps he bore it ill; he feared that + the nurses thought so too—that Corydon called too often for + something, or cried out too much in mere aimless misery. + </p> + <p> + But the time sped on, and at last a faint streak of day appeared in the + sky, and the shadows began to pale in the room. Thyrsis started, realizing + that it was morning. He had given up the morning, as a thing that would + never come again. He insisted upon sending for the doctor, who came, + striving not to yawn, but to look pleased. Once more he shook his head; + there was nothing to do. + </p> + <p> + The street began to waken. The milkman came, his cans rattling; now and + then he shouted to his horse, or whistled, or banged upon a gate. Then the + sun came streaming into the room. The newsboys began to call—the + young nurse woke up and began to straighten her hair. The elder nurse also + opened her eyes, but did not stir; she seemed to challenge anyone to + assert that she had ever been asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, Miss Mary,” ventured the young nurse, timidly, “we had best + prepare the patient.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon seemed to rest a little easier now, and they carried her and laid + her on the couch. They made the bed, with many sheets and with elaborate + care; and then they brought her back and dressed her, putting a short gown + upon her, and drawing long white bags over her limbs. Ah, how white she + was, and what fearful lines of suffering had been graven into her + forehead! + </p> + <p> + She lay in a kind of stupor, and Thyrsis, exhausted, began to doze. He + knew not how long a time had passed—it had been an hour, perhaps + two, when suddenly he opened his eyes and sat up with a bound galvanized + into life by a cry from Corydon. She had started forward, grasping around + her wildly, uttering a series of rising screams. He clutched her hand, and + stared around the room in fright. + </p> + <p> + They were alone. He leaped up; but the nurse ran into the room at the same + instant. She gazed at the girl, whose face had flushed suddenly purple; + she came to her, and took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “You feel some pain?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Corydon could not speak, but she nodded; a moment later she sunk back with + a gasp. + </p> + <p> + “A kind of bearing-down pain?” said the nurse. “Different from the other?” + </p> + <p> + Corydon gasped her assent again. + </p> + <p> + “That is the birth,” the nurse said. “The doctor will be here in a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + Again the horrible spasm seized the girl, and brought her to a sitting + posture; again her hand clutched Thyrsis’ with a grip like death, and + again the veins on her forehead leaped out. Like the surging of an ocean + billow, it seemed to sweep over her; and then suddenly she screamed, and + sank back upon the pillow. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was wild with alarm; but the doctor entered, placid as ever. “So + they’ve come?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Nothing seemed to disturb him. He was like a being out of another region. + He took off his coat and bared his arms; he put on a long white apron, and + washed his hands elaborately again, and then once more examined his + patient. His face was opposite to Thyrsis, and the latter watched his + expression, breathless with dread. But the doctor only said, “Ah, yes.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Corydon. “These pains that you feel,” he said, “are from the + compressing of the womb. Don’t let them frighten you—everything is + just as it should be. You will find that you can help at each pang by + holding your breath; just as soon as you cry out, it releases the + diaphragm, and the pressure stops, and the pain passes. You must bear each + one just as long as you can. I don’t want you to faint, of course—but + the longer the pressure lasts, the sooner it will all be over.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was staring at him with her wild eyes—she looked like a + hunted creature in a trap. It sounded all so very simple—but the + horror of it drove Thyrsis mad. Ah, God, it was monstrous—it was + superhuman—it was a thing beyond all thinking! It wrung all his + soul, it shook him as the tempest shakes a leaf—the sight of this + awful agony. + </p> + <p> + It was like the sudden closing of a battle; the shock of squadrons, the + locking of warriors in a grip of death. There was no longer time for words + now, no longer time for a glance about him; the spasms came, one after + another, relentless, unceasing, inevitable—each trooping upon the + heels of the last; they were uncounted—uncountable—piling upon + one another like waves upon the sea, like the gusts of a raging storm. And + this girl, this child, that he had watched over so hungrily, that was so + tender and so sensitive—it was like wild horses tearing her apart! + The agony would flame up in her, he would see her body turn rigid, her + face flush scarlet, her teeth become set and her gums fleshed. The muscles + would stand out in her cheeks, the perspiration start upon her forehead. + She would grip Thyrsis’ hand until all the might of both his arms was not + enough to match her. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the bed knelt the young nurse, wrestling with the + other hand; and Thyrsis could see her face flush too, each time—until + at last a cry seem to tear its way from the girl’s throat, and would sink + back, faint and white. + </p> + <p> + It was a new aspect of life to Thyrsis, a new revelation of being; it was + pain such as he had never dreamed it was horror the like of which was + unknown in his philosophy. All the suffering of the night was nothing to a + minute of this; it came upon her with the rush of a flood of waters—it + seized her—instant, insistent, relentless as the sweep of the + planets. Thyrsis had been all unprepared for it; he cried out for time to + think—to realize it. But there was no time to think or to realize + it. The thing was here—now! It glared into his eyes like a fiend of + hell; it was fiery, sharp as steel—and it had to be seized with the + naked hands! + </p> + <p> + The pangs came, each one worse than the last. They built themselves up in + his soul in a symphony of terror; they lifted him out of himself, they + swept him away beyond all control, like a leaf in the autumn wind. He had + never known such a sensation before—his soul seemed whirled into + pieces. His feeling was apart from his action; he could not control his + thoughts; he was going mad! He loved her so—she was so beautiful; + and to see her thus, in the grip of horror! + </p> + <p> + He tried to get hold of himself again—he talked to himself, pinning + his attention on the task of his hands. Perhaps maybe it was his fancy—it + did not really hurt her so! Maybe— + </p> + <p> + He spoke to her, calling to her, in between the crises. She turned her + eyes upon him, looking unutterable agony; she could not speak. And then + again came the spasm, and she reared herself to meet it. She seemed to + loom before his eyes; she was no longer human, but in her agony + transfigured. She was the suffering of being, made flesh; a figure epic, + colossal, worthy of an Angelo; the mighty mother herself, the + earth-mother, from whose womb have come the races! + </p> + <p> + And then—“Perhaps she would be more comfortable with another + pillow,” said the doctor, and the spell was broken. + </p> + <p> + Corydon shook her head with swift impatience. This was her conflict, the + gesture seemed to say. They had only to let her alone—she had no + words to spare for them. + </p> + <p> + “How long does this last?” Thyrsis asked, his voice trembling. The doctor + made a motion to him to be silent—evidently he did not wish Corydon + to hear the answer to that question. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. For the girl’s soul was rising within her; perhaps from the deeps + of things there came comfort to her, from the everlasting, universal + motherhood of life. Nature must have told her that this at least was pain + to some purpose; something was being accomplished. And she shut her jaws + together again, and closed with it—driving, driving, with all the + power of her being. A feeling of awe stole over Thyrsis as he watched her—a + feeling the like of which he had never known in his life before. She was a + creature consecrated, made holy by suffering; she was the sacredness of + life incarnate, a thing godlike, beyond earth. It came as a revelation, + changing the whole aspect of life to him. It was hard to realize—that + woman, woman who endured this, was the same being that he had met in the + world all his life—laughing and talking, careless and commonplace. + This—this was woman’s <i>fate</i>! It was the thing for which woman + was made, and the lowest, meanest of them might have to bear it! He swore + vows of reverence and knighthood; he fell upon his knees before her, + weeping, his soul white-hot with awe. Ah what should he do that he might + be worthy to live upon the earth with a woman? + </p> + <p> + And this was no mere fine emotion; there was no room for imagination in it—the + reality exceeded all imagination. Overwhelming it was, furious, + relentless; his thoughts strove to roam, but it seized him by the hair and + dragged him back. Here—<i>here!</i> + </p> + <p> + She was wrung and shaken with her agony, her eyes shut, her face uplifted, + her muscles turned to stone. And the minutes dragged out into hours—there + was no end to it—there was no end to it! There was no meaning—it + was only naked, staring terror. It beat him up again and again; he would + sink back exhausted, thinking that he could feel no more; but it dragged + him up once more—to agony without respite! The caverns of horror + were rent open; they split before his eyes—deeper, deeper—in + vistas and abysses from which he shrunk appalled. Here dwelt the furies, + despair and madness—here dwelt the demon-forces of being, grisly + phantoms which come not into the light of day. Their hands were upon him, + their claws were in his flesh; and over their chasms he shuddered—he + scented the smoke of that seething pit of life, whose top the centuries + have sealed, and into which no mortal thing may gaze and live. + </p> + <p> + Life—life—here was life, he felt. What had he known of it + before this?—the rest was pageantry and sham. Beauty, pleasure, love—here + they were in the making of them—here they were in the real truth of + them! Raw, naked, hideous it was; and it was the source of all things + else! His being rose in one titan throb of rebellion. It was monstrous—it + was unthinkable! He wanted no such life—he had no right to it! Let + there be an end of it! No life that ever was could be worth such a price + as this! It was a cheat, a horror—there could be no justice in such + a thing! There could be no God in it—it was oppression, it was + wrong! He thought of the millions that swarmed on the earth—they had + all come from this! And it was happening every hour—every second! He + saw it, the whole of it—the age-long agony, the universal birth-pang + of being. And he hated it, hated it with a wild, raging hatred—he + would have annihilated it with one sweep of his arm. + </p> + <p> + And yet—there was no way to annihilate it! It was here—it was + inevitable. And it was everlasting—it was an everlasting delusion, + an everlasting madness. It was a Snare! + </p> + <p> + Yes, he came back to the thought—that was the image for it! It + mattered not how much you might cry out, you were in it, and it held you! + It held you as it held Corydon, in throb after throb of torment. She + moaned, she choked, she tossed from side to side; but it held her. It + seemed to him that the storm of her agony beat upon her like the tempest + upon a mountain pine-tree. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. The doctor’s hands were red with blood now, like a butcher’s. He + bent over his work, his lips set. Now and then he would speak to the young + nurse, whom he was teaching; and his words would break the spell of + Thyrsis’ nightmare. + </p> + <p> + “You can see the head now,” he said once, turning to the boy. + </p> + <p> + And Thyrsis looked; through the horrible gaping showed a little patch, the + size of a dollar—purplish black, palpitating, starting forward when + the crises shook the mother. “And that is a head!” he whispered, half + aloud. + </p> + <p> + “But how can it ever get out?” he cried suddenly with wildness. + </p> + <p> + “It will get out,” the doctor answered, smiling. “Wait—you will + see.” + </p> + <p> + “But the baby will be dead!” he panted. + </p> + <p> + “It is very much alive,” replied the other. “I can hear its heart beating + plainly.” + </p> + <p> + All the while Thyrsis had never really believed in the child—it was + too strange an idea. He could think only of the woman, and of her endless + agony. Every minute seemed a life-time to him—the long morning had + come and gone, and still she lay in her torment. He was sick in body, and + sick in soul; she had exerted the strength of a dozen men, it seemed to + him. + </p> + <p> + But now her strength was failing her, he was certain; her moans were + becoming more frequent, her protests more vehement. The veins stood out on + the doctor’s forehead as he worked with her—muscular, like a + pugilist. Gigantic, he seemed to Thyrsis—terrible as fate. Time and + again the girl screamed, in sudden agony; he would toil on, his lips set. + Once it was too much even for him—her cries had become incessant, + and he nodded to the nurse, who took a bottle from the table, and wetting + a cloth with it, held it to Corydon’s face. Then she shouted aloud, again + and again—wildly, and more wildly, laughing hysterically; she began + flinging her arms about—and then calling to Thyrsis, as her eyes + closed, murmuring broken sentences of love, “babbling o’ green fields.” It + was too much for the boy—there was a choking in his throat, and he + rushed from the room and sank down upon a chair in the hall, crying like a + child. + </p> + <p> + After a while he rose up. He paced the hall, talking to himself. He could + not go on acting in this way—he must be a man. Others had borne this—he + would bear it too; he would get himself together. It would all be over + before long, and then how he would be ashamed of himself! + </p> + <p> + He went back. “It is the chloroform that makes her do that,” said the + young nurse, soothingly. “She is out of pain when she cries out so.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon was coming back from her stupor; the strife began again. She cried + out for its end, she could bear no more. “Help me! Help me!” she moaned. + </p> + <p> + The head was the size of a saucer now—but each time that she + screamed it would go back. Thyrsis stood up to get the strength to grip + her hand; her face stared up into the air, looking like the face of a + wolf. And still there was no end—no end! + </p> + <p> + There was an hour more of that—the room seemed to Thyrsis to reel. + Corydon was crying, moaning that she wished to die. There was now in sight + a huge, bulging object—black, monstrous—rimmed with a band of + bleeding, straining flesh, tight like the top of a drum. The doctor was + bent over, toiling, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “No more! No more!” screamed the girl. “Oh, my God! my God!” + </p> + <p> + And the doctor answered her, panting: “Once more! once more! Now! now!” + And so on, for minute after minute; luring her on, pleading with her, + promising her, lying to her—“Once more! Once more! This will be the + last!” He called to her, he rallied her; he signalled to Thyrsis to help + him—to inspire her, to goad her to new endurance. + </p> + <p> + And then another titan effort, and suddenly—incredibly—there + burst upon Thyrsis’ sight an apparition. Sick at heart, numb with horror, + dazed—he scarcely knew what it was. It happened so swiftly that he + had hardly time to see; but something leaped forth something enormous, + supernatural! It came—it came—there seemed never to be an end + to it! He started to his feet, staring, crying out; and at the same moment + the doctor lifted the thing aloft, with a cry of exultation. He held it + dangling by one leg. Great God! It was a man! + </p> + <p> + A man! A thing with the head of a man, the body of a man, the legs and + arms, the face of a man! A thing hideous—impish—demoniac! A + thing purple and dripping with blood—ghastly—unthinkable—monstrous—a + spectre of nightmare dreams! + </p> + <p> + And suddenly the doctor lifted his hand and smote it; and the mouth of the + thing opened, and there came forth a purplish froth—and then a cry! + It was a sound like a tin-pan beaten—a sound that was itself a + living presence, an apparition; a thing superhuman, out of another world—like + the wailing of a lost spirit, terrifying to every sense! With Thyrsis it + was like the falling down of towers within him—his whole being + collapsed, and he sunk down upon the bed, sobbing, choking, convulsed. + </p> + <p> + Section 11. When he looked up again the elder nurse had the baby in her + arms; and there was a wan smile on Corydon’s face. + </p> + <p> + The doctor’s hand was in the ghastly wound, and he was talking to the + young nurse, giving her instruction, in a strange, monotonous tone. “The + placenta,” he was saying, “often has to be removed; we do it by twisting + it round and round—very gently, of course. Then it comes—so!” + </p> + <p> + There came a rush of blood, and Thyrsis turned away his head. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the basin,” said the doctor. “There!—And now the next thing + is to see that the uterus contracts immediately. We assist it by + compressing the walls, thus. It must be tightly bandaged.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had turned to see the child. He looked at it, and clenched his + hands to control his emotions. Yes, it was a man! it was a man! Not a + monster, not a demon—a baby! + </p> + <p> + His boy! himself! God, what a ghastly thing to realize! It had his + forehead, it had his nose! It was a caricature of himself! A caricature + grotesque and impish, and yet one that no human being could mistake—a + caricature by the hand of a master! + </p> + <p> + And it was a living thing! It had power of motion—it twisted and + writhed, it bent its arms and legs! It winked its eyelids, it opened and + shut its mouth, it breathed and made sounds! And it had feeling, too! It + had cried out when it was struck! + </p> + <p> + Gently, with one finger, he touched it; and the contact with its flesh + sent a shudder through every nerve of him. His child! His child! And a + living child! A creature that would go on; that would eat and sleep and + grow, that would learn to make sounds, and to understand things! That + would come to think and to will! That would be a man! + </p> + <p> + “Is it—is it all right?” he asked the nurse, in a trembling whisper. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a magnificent boy,” she said. And then she struck a match, and held + the light in front of its eyes; and the eyes turned to follow the light. + “He sees!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Yes, he could see! And Thyrsis had already heard that he could speak! What + could it not do—this marvellous object! It was Nature’s supreme + miracle—it was the answer to all the riddles, the solution of all + the mysteries! It was a vindication of the subterfuges, a reward for the + sacrifices, a balm for the pain! It was the thing for which all the rest + had been, it was the crown and consummation of their love—it was + Life’s supreme shout of triumph and exultation! + </p> + <p> + The nurse was holding the child up before Corydon; and she was gazing at + it, she was feeding her eyes upon it. And oh, the smile that came upon her + face—the ineffable smile! The pride, and the relief, and the + beatific happiness! This thing she had done—it was her act of + creation! Her battle that had been fought, her victory that had been won; + and now they brought her the crown and the guerdon! To Thyrsis there came + suddenly the words of Jesus: “A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, + because her hour hath come; but as soon as she is delivered of the child, + she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the + world.” And he sunk down beside the bed, and caught the woman’s hand in + his, and began to sob softly to himself. + </p> + <p> + Section 12. Later on he went into the street. Evening was come again—for + twenty-two hours that siege had lasted! And the boy had eaten nothing + since noon of the day before, and he was weak and dizzy. + </p> + <p> + But how strange the world seemed to him all at once! Peopled with phantom + creatures, that came he knew not whence, and went he knew not whither! + Creatures of awe and horror, who came out of chaos, and went back into + annihilation! Who were flung here and there by cosmic forces, played with + by tragic destinies! And all of them without any sense of the perpetual + marvel of their own being! They ate and dressed and slept, they laughed + and played and worked, they hated and loved and got and spent, with no + thought of the wonder of their lightest breath, with no sense of the + terrors that ringed them about—the storms that swept them hither and + thither, the million miracles that were wrought for them every instant of + their lives! + </p> + <p> + He went into a restaurant, and sat down; and in the seat beside him, close + at his elbow, was a man. He was a fat man—eating roast pork, and + apple-sauce, and mashed potatoes, and bread. And Thyrsis looked at him + with wondering eyes. “Man,” he imagined himself saying, “do you know how + you came into this world? A thing impish, demoniac—purple and + dripping with blood—a spectre of nightmare dreams?” + </p> + <p> + “W-what?” the man gasped. + </p> + <p> + “And you know nothing of the pain that it cost! You have no sense of the + strangeness of it! You never think what your coming meant to some woman!” + </p> + <p> + And then—in the seat opposite was a woman; and Thyrsis watched her. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he thought, “a woman! Can it be that you know what you are? The + fate that you play with—the power that dwells in you! To create new + life, that may be handed down through endless ages!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis did not say these things; they were what he wanted to say—what + he thought that he ought to say. But then he reminded himself that these + things were forbidden; these mighty facts of child-birth, of life-creation—they + might not be spoken about! They must be kept hidden, veiled with mystery—if + one wished to refer to them, he must employ metaphors and polite evasions. + </p> + <p> + And as Thyrsis sat and thought about this, he clenched his hands. Some day + the world would hear about it—some day the world would think about + it! Some day people would behold life—would realize what it was and + what it meant. They did not realize it now—else how could it be that + women, who bore the race with so much pain and sorrow, should be drudges + and slaves, or the ornaments and playthings of men? Else how could it be + that life, which cost such a fearful price, should be so cheap upon the + earth? For every man that lived and walked alive, some woman had had to + bear this agony; and yet men were pent up in mines and sweatshops, they + were ground up in accidents in factories and mills—nay, worse than + that, were dressed up in gaudy uniforms, and armed with rifles and + machine-guns, and marched out to slaughter each other by tens and hundreds + of thousands! + </p> + <p> + So, as he walked the streets that night, Thyrsis made a vow. Some day he + would put before the world this vision that had come to him, some day he + would blast men’s souls with it. He would shake them with this horror, he + would thrill them with this sense of the infinite preciousness and + holiness of life! He would drive it into them like a barbed arrow—that + never afterwards in all their lives would they be rid of. Never afterwards + would they dare to mock, never afterwards would they be able to rest until + these things had been done away with, until these horrors had been driven + from the earth. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II. Love’s Captivity + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VIII. THE CAPTIVE BOUND + </h2> + <p> + <i>They sat with the twilight shadows about them. Memories too poignant + assailed them, and her hand trembled as it lay upon his arm. </i> + </p> + <p> + “How strange it was!” she whispered. “Have we kept the faith?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” he answered; and in a low voice he read— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And long the way appears, which seem’d so short + To the less practised eye of sanguine youth; + And high the mountain-tops, in cloudy air, + The mountain-tops where is the throne of Truth, + Tops in life’s morning-sun so bright and bare!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. This was a golden hour in Thyrsis’ life. The gates of wonder were + flung open, and all things were touched with a new and mystic glow. He + scarcely realized it at the time; for once he was too much moved to think + about his own emotions, the artist was altogether lost in the man. Even + the room in which he lodged was relieved of its sordidness; it was a thing + that men had made, and so a part of the mystery of becoming. He yearned + for some one to whom he could impart his great emotion; but because of the + loneliness of his life he could find no one but the keeper of his + lodging-house. Even she became a human thing to him, because of her + interest in the great tidings. If all the world loved a lover, it loved + yet more one through whom the supreme purpose of love had been + accomplished. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis went each day to the hospital, to watch the new miracle unfolding + itself; to see the Child asserting its existence as a being with a life of + its own. He could never tire of watching it; he watched it asleep, with + the faint heaving of its body, and the soft, warm odor that clung to it; + he watched its awakenings—the opening of its eyes, and the sucking + movements that it made perpetually with its lips. They had dressed it up + now, and hid some of its strangeness; but each morning the nurse would + undress it, and give it a bath; and then he marvelled at the short crooked + legs, and the tiny red hands that clutched incessantly at the air, and the + strange prehensile feet, that carried one back to distant ages, hinting at + the secrets of Nature’s workshop. Sometimes they would permit him to hold + this mystic creature in his arms—after much exhortation, and + assurance that his left arm was properly placed at the back of its head. + One found out in this way what a serious business life really was. + </p> + <p> + Corydon lay back among her pillows and smiled at these things. Most + wonderful it was to him to see how swiftly she recovered from her ordeal, + how hourly the flush of health seemed to steal back into her cheeks. He + became ashamed of the memory of his convulsive anguish and his blind + rebellions. He saw now that her pain had not been as other pain; it was a + constructive pain, a part of the task of her life. It was a battle in + which she had fought and conquered; and now she sat, throned in her + triumphal chariot, acclaimed by the plaudits of a multitude of hopes and + joys unseen. + </p> + <p> + There came the miracle of the milk. Incessantly the Child’s lips moved, + and its hands groped out; it was an embodied demand for new experience—for + life, it knew not what. But Nature knew, and had timed the event to this + hour. And Thyrsis watched the phenomenon, marvelling—as one marvels + at the feat of engineers, who tunnel from opposite sides of a mountain, + and meet in the centre without the error of an inch. + </p> + <p> + It was in accordance with the impression which Corydon made upon him, as a + dispenser of abundance, a goddess of fruitfulness, that there should have + been more milk than the Child needed. The balance had to be drawn off with + a little vacuum-pump; and Thyrsis would watch the tiny jets as they + sprayed upon the glass bulb. The milk was rich and golden-hued; he tasted + it, with mingled wonder and shuddering. + </p> + <p> + These procedures filled the room with a warm, luscious odor, as of a + dairy; they were eminently domestic procedures, such as in fancy he had + been wont to tease her about. But he had few jests at present—he was + in the inner chambers of the temple of life, and hushed and stilled with + awe. The things that he had witnessed in that room were never to be + forgotten; each hour he pledged himself anew, to the uttermost limits of + his life. The voice of skeptic reason was altogether silent in him now. + And also he was interested to observe that all protest was ended in + Corydon; the impulses of motherhood had now undisputed sway in her. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. BUT even in such an hour of consecration, the sordid world + outside would not leave him unmolested. It was as if the black clouds had + parted for a moment, while the sunlight poured through; and now again they + rolled together. The great surgeon, who had told Thyrsis that he would + wait for his money, professed now to have forgotten his agreement. Perhaps + he had really forgotten it—who could tell, with the many things he + had upon his mind? At any rate, Corydon found herself suddenly confronted + with a bill, which she was powerless to pay; with white cheeks and + trembling lips she told Thyrsis about it—and so came more worry and + humiliation. The very food that she ate became tasteless to her, because + she felt she had no right to it; and in a few days she was begging Thyrsis + to take her away. + </p> + <p> + So he helped to carry her downstairs, and back to her parents’ home; and + then he returned to his own lonely room, and sat for hours in the bitter + cold, with his teeth set tightly, and the nails dug into the palms of his + hands. It so happened that just then the editor was beginning to change + his mind about “The Hearer of Truth”; and so he had new agonies of anxiety + and disappointment. + </p> + <p> + Again he might not come to see Corydon; and this led to a great + misfortune. For she could not do without him now, her craving for him was + an obsession; and so she left her bed too soon, and climbed the stairs to + his room. Again and again she did this, in spite of his protests; and + when, a little later, the doctors found that she had what they called + “womb-trouble”, they attributed it to this. Perhaps it was not really so, + but Corydon believed it, and through all the years she laid upon it the + blame for innumerable headaches and backaches. Thus an episode that might + have been soon forgotten, stayed with her, as the symbol of all the + agonies of which her life was made. + </p> + <p> + She would come, bringing the baby with her; and they would lay it upon the + bed, and then sit and talk, for hours upon hours, wrestling with their + problems. Later on, when Corydon was able, they would go to the park, + craving the fresh air. But in midwinter there were few days when they + could sit upon a bench for long; and so they would walk and walk, until + Corydon was exhausted, and he would have to help her back to the room. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis in these days was like a wild animal in a cage; pacing back and + forth and testing every corner of his prison. But they never thought of + giving up; never in all their lives did that possibility come into their + discourse. And doggedly, blindly, they kept on with their studies. Corydon + mastered new lists of German words, and they read Freitag’s “Verlorene + Handscrift” together, and von Scheffel’s “Ekkehard”, and even attempted + “Iphigenie auf Tauris”—though in truth they found it difficult to + detach themselves to quite that extent from the world of every-day. It is + not an easy matter to experience the pure <i>katharsis</i> of tragedy, + with a baby in the room who has to be nursed every hour or two, and who is + liable to awaken at any moment and make some demand. + </p> + <p> + He was such an intricate and complicated baby, with so many things to be + understood—belly-bands and diapers and irrational length of skirts. + Sometimes, when Corydon was quite exhausted, the attending to these + matters fell to Thyrsis, who became for the time a most domestic poet. He + once sent an editorial-room into roars of merriment by offering to review + a book upon the feeding of infants. But he told himself that even the + hilarious editors had been infants once upon a time; and he had divined + that there were secrets about life to be learned, and great art-works to + be dreamed, even amid belly-bands and diapers. Also, Thyrsis would brave a + great deal of ridicule in order to be paid a dollar for the reading of a + book that he really wanted to read. For books that one wanted to read came + so seldom; and dollars were so difficult to earn! + </p> + <p> + It seemed as if the task grew harder every week. He went without cuffs, + and wore old and frayed collars, and washed his solitary necktie until it + was threadbare, and lived upon prunes and crackers, and gave up the + gas-stove in his room—and still he could scarcely manage to get + together the weekly rent. He studied the magazines in the libraries, and + racked his wits for new ideas to interest their editors. He haunted + editorial-rooms until his presence became a burden, and he brought new + agonies and humiliations upon himself. He would part from Corydon in the + afternoon, and shut himself in his room; and sitting in bed to keep warm, + he would work until midnight at some new variety of pot-boiler. After + which he would go out to walk and clear his brain—and even then, + exhausted as he was, his vision would come to him again, wonderful and + soul-shaking. So he would walk on, and go back to write until nearly dawn + at something he really loved. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. It was so that he wrote his poem, “Caradrion”. It was out of + thoughts of Corydon, and of the tears which they shed in each other’s + presence, that this poem was made. Thyrsis had a fondness for burrowing + into strange old books, in which one found the primitive wonder of the + soul of man, first awakening to the mystery of life. Such a book was + Physiologus, with his tales of strange beasts and magic jewels. “There is + a bird called Caradrion”, Thyrsis had read.... “And if the sick man can be + healed, Caradrion goes to him, and touches him upon the mouth, and takes + his sickness from him; and so the man is made well.” And out of this hint + he had fashioned the legend of the two children who had grown up together + in “the little cot, fringed round with tender green”; one of them Cedric, + and one Eileen—for he had given the names that Corydon preferred. + </p> + <p> + They grew “unto the days of love”, so the story ran— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And Cedric bent above her, stooping light, + To press a kiss upon her tender cheek. + And said, ‘Eileen, I love thee; yea I love, + And loved thee ever, thou my soul’s delight.’ +</pre> + <p> + So time sped on, until there came + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To Cedric once a strange unlovely thought, + That haunted him and would not let him be. + ‘Eileen,’ he said, ‘there is a thing called death, + Of which men speak with trembling at the lips; + And I have thought how it would be with me + If I should never gaze upon thee more.’” + </pre> + <p> + So Cedric went to find out about these matters; he sought a witch—“the + haggard woman, held in awe.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He found her crouching by a caldron fire; + Far gleams of light fled through the vault away. + And tongues of darkness flickered on the wall. + Then Cedric said, ‘I seek the fate to know’. + And the witch laughed, and gazed on him and sang: + + ‘Fashioned in the shadow-land, + Out into darkness hurled; + Trusted to the Storm-wind’s hand, + By the Passion-tempest whirled! + Ever straining, + Never gaining, + Never keeping, + Young or old! + Whither going + Never knowing, + Wherefore weeping, + Never told! + Rising, falling, disappearing, + Seeking, calling, hating, fearing; + Blasted by the lightning shock, + Trampled in the earthquake rock; + Were I man I would not plead + In the roll of fate to read!’ + + “Then Cedric shuddered, but he said again, + ‘I seek the fate,’ and the witch waved her hand; + And straight a peal of thunder shook the ground, + And clanged and battered on the cavern walls, + Like some huge boulder leaping down the cliff. + And blinding light flashed out, and seething fire + Shattered the seamy crags and heaving floor.” + </pre> + <p> + And so in a vision of terror Cedric saw the little vale, and the cot + “fringed round with tender green”; and upon the lawn he saw Eileen, lying + as one dead. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And Cedric sprang, and cried, ‘My love! Eileen!’ + And on the instant came a thunder-crash + Like to the sound of old primeval days, + Of mountain-heaving shock and earthquake roar, + Of whirling planets shattered in the dark.” + </pre> + <p> + And so, half wild with grief and despair, Cedric wandered forth into the + world; and after great suffering, the birds took pity upon him, and gave + him advice—that he should seek Caradrion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Caradrion?’ cried Cedric, starting up, + ‘Speak swiftly, ere too late, where dwelleth he?’ + ‘Ah, that I know not,’ spake the little voice, + ‘Yet keep thy courage, seek thou out the stork, + The ancient stork that saw from earliest days, + Sitting in primal contemplation lost, + Sphinx-like, seraphic, and oracular, + Watching the strange procession of men’s dreams.’” + </pre> + <p> + But the stork was cruel and would not heed him, and led Cedric a weary + chase through the marshes and the brakes. But Cedric pursued, and finally + seized the bird by the throat, and forced the secret from him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Fare southward still, + Fronting the sun’s midnoon, all-piercing shaft, + Unto the land where daylight burns as fire; + Where the rank earth in choking vapor steams, + And fierce luxurious vegetation reeks. + So shalt thou come upon a seamèd rock, + Towering to meet the sun’s fierce-flashing might, + Baring its granite forehead to the sky. + There on its summit, in a cavern deep, + Dwells what thou seekest, half a bird, half man, + Caradrion, the consecrate to pain.’” + </pre> + <p> + Then came the long journey and the search for the seamèd rock. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Twas night; and vapors, curling, choked the ground, + And the rock writhed like flesh of one in pain. + But Cedric mounted up to find the cave, + Crying aloud: ‘I seek Caradrion.’ + And so, till from the cavern depth a voice: + ‘Come not, except to sorrow thou be born.’ + And Cedric, panting, stretched his shrunken arms: + ‘Another’s sorrow would I change to joy, + And mine own joy to sorrow; help thou me.’ + To which the voice, sunk low, replied: ‘Come thou.’ + And Cedric came, unfearing, in the dark, + And saw in gloomy night a form in pain, + With wings stretched wide, and beating faint and fast. + ‘Art thou Caradrion?’ he murmured swift, + And echo gave reply, ‘Caradrion’.” + </pre> + <p> + So Cedric told of his errand, and pleaded for help; he heard the answer of + the voice: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Yea, I can save her, if thou be a soul + That can dare pain and face the rage of fate; + A soul that feareth not to look on death.’ + ‘Speak on,’ said Cedric, shaking, and he spoke: + ‘This is my law, that am Caradrion, + Whose way is sorrow and whose end is death; + That by my pain some fleeting grace I win, + Some joy unto another I can give. + Far through this world of woe I seek, and find + Some soul crushed utterly, and steeped in pain; + And when it sleeps, I stoop on silent wing, + And with a kiss take all its woe away— + Take it for mine, and then into this cave + Return alone, the blessing’s price to pay.’ + Then up sprang Cedric. ‘Nay,’ he,’ cried, ‘then swift, + Ere life be gone!’ But once more spake the voice: + ‘Nay, boy, my race is run, my power is spent; + This hope alone I give thee, as thou wilt; + Whoso stands by and sees my heart-throb cease, + Who tastes its blood, my power and form are his, + And forth he fares in solitary flight, + Caradrion, the consecrate to pain. + And so my word is said; now hide thee far + In the cave’s night, and wrestle there in prayer.’ + But Cedric said, ‘My prayer is done; I wait.’ + So in the cave the hours of night sped by, + And sounds came forth as when a woman fights + In savage pain a life from hers to free.” + </pre> + <p> + Then in the dawn a dark shadow flew from the cave, and sped across the + blue, and came to the little vale, where Eileen lay dying, as he had seen + her in the vision in the “haggard woman’s” cavern. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then Cedric sprang, and cried, ‘My love! Eileen!’ + And Eileen heard him not; nor knew he wept.— + For mighty sorrow burst from out his heart, + And flooded all his being, and he sunk, + And moaned: ‘Eileen, I love thee! Yea, I love, + And loved thee ever; and I can not think + That I shall never gaze upon thee more. + My life for thine—ah, that were naught to give, + Meant not the gift to see thee nevermore! + Never to hear thy voice. Nay, nay, Eileen, + Gaze on me, speak to me, give me but one word, + And I will go and never more return.’ + But Eileen answered not; he touched her hand, + And she felt nothing. Then he whispered, low, + ‘Oh, may God keep thee—for it must be done— + Guard thee, and bless thee, thou my soul’s delight! + And when thou waken’st, wilt thou think of me, + Of Cedric, him that loved thee, oh so true? + Nay, for they said thou shouldst no sorrow know, + And that would be a sorrow, yea, it would. + And must thou then forget me, thou my love? + And canst not give me but one single word, + To tell me that I do not die in vain? + Gaze at me, Eileen, see, thy love is here, + Here as of old, above thee stooping light, + To press a kiss upon thy tender lips.— + Ah, I can kiss thee—kiss thee, my Eileen, + Kiss as of yore, with all my passion’s woe!’ + And as he spoke he pressed her to his heart, + Long, long, with yearning, and he felt the leap + Of molten metal through his throbbing veins; + His eyes shot fire, and anguish racked his limbs, + And he fell back, and reeled, and clutched his brow. + An instant only gazed he on her face, + And saw new life within her gray cheek leap, + And her dark eyelids tremble. Then with moan, + And fearful struggle, swift he fled away, + That she might nothing of his strife perceive. + And then, reminded of his gift of flight, + He started from the earth, and beat aloft, + Each sweep of his great wings a torture-stroke + Upon his fainting heart. And thus away, + With languid flight he moved, and Eileen, raised + In new-born joy from off her couch of pain, + Saw a strange bird into the distance fade.” + </pre> + <p> + And so Cedric went back to the seamèd rock, and there he heard a voice + calling, “I seek Caradrion!” And as before he answered, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Come not, except to sorrow thou be born!” + </pre> + <p> + And again, in the cave— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The hours of night sped by. + And sounds came forth as when a woman fights + In savage pain, a life from hers to free. + + But Eileen dwelt within the happy vale, + Thinking no thought of him that went away.” + </pre> + <p> + Section 4. This had come so very easily to Thyrsis that he could not believe + that it was good. “Just a little story,” he said to Corydon, when he read + it to her, and he was surprised to see how it affected her—how the + tears welled into her eyes, and she clung to him sobbing. It meant more to + her than any other thing that he had written; it was the very voice of + their tenderness and their grief. + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrsis took it to the one editor he knew who was a lover of poetry, + and was surprised again, at this man’s delight. But he smiled sadly as he + realized that the editor did not use poetry—they did not praise so + recklessly when it was a question of something to be purchased! + </p> + <p> + “The poem is too long for any magazine,” was the verdict, “and it’s not + long enough for a book. And besides, poetry doesn’t sell.” But none the + less Thyrsis, who would never take a defeat, began to offer it about; and + so “Caradrion” was added to the list of stamp-consuming manuscripts, and + set out to see the world at the expense of its creator’s stomach. + </p> + <p> + So there was one more wasted vision, one more futile effort—and one + more grapple with despair, in the hours when he and his wife sat wrapped + in a blanket in the tenement-room. Corydon was growing more nervous and + unhappy every day, it seemed to him. There were, apparently, endless + humiliations to be experienced by a woman “whose husband did not support + her”. Some zealous relative had suggested to her the idea that the + “hall-boys” might think she was not really married; and so now she was + impelled to speculate upon the psychology of these Ethiopian + functionaries, and look for slights and disapproval from them! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis, from much work and little sleep, was haggard and wild of aspect; + the cry of the world, “Take a position!” rang in his ears day and night. + The springs of book-reviews had dried up entirely, and by sheer starvation + he was forced to a stage lower yet. A former college friend was editing a + work of “contemporary biography”, and offered Thyrsis some hack-writing. + It meant the carrying home of huge bundles of correspondence from the + world’s most brightly-shining lights, and the making up of biographical + sketches from their eulogies of themselves. With every light there came a + portrait, showing what manner of light it was. As for Thyrsis, he did his + writing with the feeling that he would like to explore with a poniard the + interiors of each one of these people. + </p> + <p> + For nearly three months now an eminent editor had been trying to summon up + the courage to accept “The Hearer of Truth”. He had written several + letters to tell the author how good a work it was; and now that it was to + be definitely rejected, he soothed his conscience by inviting the author + to lunch. The function came off at one of the most august and stately of + the city’s clubs, a marble building near Fifth Avenue, where Thyrsis, with + a new clean collar, and his worn shoes newly shined, passed under the + suspicious eyes of the liveried menials, and was ushered before the + eminent editor. About the vast room were portraits of bygone dignitaries; + and there were great leather-upholstered arm-chairs in which one might see + the dignitaries of the present—some of them with little tables at + their sides, and decanters and soda and cracked ice. They went into the + dining-room, where everyone spoke and ate in whispers, and the waiters + flitted about like black and white ghosts; and while Thyrsis consumed a + cupful of cold <i>bouillon</i>, and a squab <i>en casserole</i>, and a + plate of what might be described as an honorific salad, he listened to the + soft-voiced editor discussing the problem of his future career. + </p> + <p> + The editor’s theme was what the public wanted. The world had existed for a + long time, it seemed, and was not easily to be changed; it was necessary + for an author to take its prejudices into consideration—especially + if he was young, and unknown, and—er—dependent upon his own + resources. It seemed to Thyrsis, as he listened, that the great man must + have arranged this luncheon as a stage-setting for his remarks—planning + it on purpose to light a blaze of bitterness in the soul of the hungry + poet. “Look at me,” he seemed to say—“this is the way the job is + done. Once I was poor and unknown like you—actually, though you + might not credit it, a raw boy from the country. But I had taste and + talent, and I was judicious; and so now for thirty years I have been at + the head of one of the country’s leading magazines. And see—by my + mere word I am able to bring you here into the very citadel of power! For + these men about you are the masters of the metropolis. There is a rich + publisher—his name is a household word—and you saw how he + touched me on the shoulder. There is an ex-mayor of the city—you saw + how he nodded to me! Yonder is the head of one of the oldest and most + exclusive of the city’s landed families—even with him I am + acquainted! And this is power! You may know it by all these signs of + mahogany furniture, and leather upholstery, and waiters of reverential + deportment. You may know it by the signs of respectability and awesomeness + and chaste abundance. Make haste to pay homage to it, and enroll yourself + in its service!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis held himself in, and parted from the editor with all courtesy; but + then, as he walked down Fifth Avenue, his fury burst into flame. Here, + too, was power—here, too, the signs of it! Palaces of granite and + marble, arid towering apartment-hotels; an endless vista of carriages and + automobiles, with rich women lolling in them, or descending into shops + whose windows blazed with jewels and silver and gold. Here were the + masters of the metropolis, the masters of life; the dispensers of + patronage—that “public” which he had to please. He would bring his + vision and lay it at their feet, and they would give him or deny him + opportunity! And what was it that they wanted? Was it worship and + consecration and love? One could read the answer in their purse-proud + glances; in the barriers of steel and bronze with which they protected the + gates of their palaces; in the aspects of their flunkeys, whose casual + glances were like blows in the face. One could read the answer in the + pitiful features of the little errand-girl who went past, carrying some + bit of their splendor to them; or of the ragged beggar, who hovered in the + shelter of a side-street, fearing their displeasure. No, they were not + lovers of life, and protectors; they were parasites and destroyers, + devourers of the hopes of humanity! Their splendors were the distilled + essence of the tears and agonies of millions of defeated people—their + jewels were drops of blood from the heart of the human race! + </p> + <p> + Section 5. So, with rage and bitterness, Thyrsis was gnawing out his soul in + the night-time; distilling those fierce poisons which he was to pour into + the next of his works—the most terrible of them all, and the one + which the world would never forgive him. + </p> + <p> + There came another episode, to bring matters to a crisis. In the far + Northwest lived another branch of Thyrsis’ family, the head of which had + become what the papers called a “lumber-king”. One of this great man’s + radiant daughters was to be married, and the family made the selecting of + her trousseau the occasion for a flying visit to the metropolis. So there + were family reunions, and Thyrsis was invited to bring his wife and call. + </p> + <p> + Corydon voiced her perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “What do they want to see <i>us</i> for?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I belong to their line,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But—you are poor!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said, “but the family’s the family, and they are too proud to + be snobbish.” + </p> + <p> + “But—why do they ask me?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis pondered. “They know we have published a book,” he said. “It must + be their tribute to literature.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they people of culture?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not unless they’ve tried very hard,” he answered. “But they have old + traditions—and they want to be aristocratic.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t go,” said Corydon. “I couldn’t stand them.” + </p> + <p> + And so Thyrsis went alone—to that same temple of luxury where he had + called upon the college-professor. And there he met the lumber-king, who + was tall and imposing of aspect; and the lumber-queen, who was verging on + stoutness; and the three lumber-princesses, who were disturbing creatures + for a poet to gaze upon. It seemed to Thyrsis that he had been dwelling in + the slums all his life—so sharp was the shock which came to him at + the meeting with these young girls. They were exquisite beyond telling: + the graceful lines of their figures, the perfect features, the radiant + complexions; the soft, filmy gowns they wore, the faint, intoxicating + perfumes that clung to them, the atmosphere of serenity which they + radiated. There was that in Thyrsis which thrilled at their presence—he + had been born into such a world, and might have had such a woman for his + mate. + </p> + <p> + But he put such thoughts from him—he had made his choice long ago, + and it was not the primrose-path. Perhaps he was over-sensitive, acutely + aware of himself as a strange creature with no cuffs, and with hardly any + soles to his shoes. And all the time of these women was taken up by the + arrival of packages of gowns and millinery; their conversation was of + diamonds and automobiles, and the forthcoming honeymoon upon the Riviera. + So it was hard for him not to feel bitterness; hard for him to keep his + thoughts from going back to the lonely child-wife wandering about in the + park—to all her deprivations, her blasted hopes and dying glories of + soul. + </p> + <p> + The family was going to the matinée; as there was room in their car, they + asked Thyrsis to go with them. So he watched the lumber-king (who had + refused to lend him money, but had offered him a “position”) draw out a + bank-note from a large roll, and pay for a box in one of Broadway’s great + palaces of art. And now—having been advised so often to study what + the public wanted—now Thyrsis had a chance to recline at his ease + and follow the advice. + </p> + <p> + “The Princess of Prague”, it was called; it was a “musical comedy”; and + evidently exactly what the public wanted, for the house was crowded to the + doors. The leading comedian was said by the papers to be receiving a + salary of a thousand dollars a week. He held the center of the stage, clad + in the costume of a lieutenant of marines, and winked and grinned, and + performed antics, and sang songs of no doubtful significance, and emitted + a fusillade of cynical jests. He was supposed to be half-drunk, and making + love to a run-away princess—who would at one moment accept his + caresses, and then spurn him coquettishly, and then execute an unlovely + dance with him. In between these diverting procedures a chorus would come + on, a score or so of highly-painted women, hopping and gliding about, each + time clad in new costumes more cunningly indecent than the last. + </p> + <p> + From beginning to end of this piece there was not a single line of real + humor, a spark of human sentiment, a gleam of intelligence; it was a kind + of delirium tremens of the drama. To Thyrsis it seemed as if a whole + civilization, with all its resources of science and art—its music + and painting and costumes, its poets and composers, its actors, singers, + orchestra, and audience—had all at once fallen victims to an attack + of St. Vitus’ dance. He sat and listened, while the theatre full of people + roared and howled its applause; while the family beside him—mother + and father and daughters—laughed over jokes that made him ashamed to + turn and look at them. In the end the realization of what this scene meant—not + only the break-down of a civilization, but the trap in which his own + spirit was caught—made him sick and faint all over. He had to ask to + be excused, and went out and sat in the lobby until the “show” was done. + </p> + <p> + The family found him there, and the bride-to-be inquired if he “felt + better”; then, looking at his pale face, an idea occurred to her, and + after a bit of hesitation, she asked him if he would not stay to dinner. + In her mind was the conflict between pity for this poor boy, and doubt as + to the fitness of his costume; and Thyrsis, having read her mind in a + flash, was divided between his humiliation, and his desire for some food. + In the end the baser motive won; he buried his pride, and went to dinner.—And + so, as the fates had planned it, the impulse to his next book was born. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. There came another guest to the meal—the rector of the + fashionable church which the family attended at home. He was a young man, + renowned for the charm of his oratory; smooth-shaven, + pink-and-white-cheeked, exquisite in his manners, gracious and + insinuating. His ideas and his language and his morals were all as + perfectly polished as his finger-nails; and never before in his life had + Thyrsis had such a red rag waved in his face. But he had come there for + the dinner, and he attended to that, and let Dr. Holland provide the flow + of soul; until at the very end, when the doctor was sipping his <i>demi-tasse</i>. + </p> + <p> + The conversation had come, by some devious route, to Vegetarianism; and + the clergyman was disapproving of it. That made no difference to Thyrsis, + who was not a vegetarian, and knew nothing about it; but how he hated the + arguments the man advanced! For that which made the doctor an + anti-vegetarian was an attitude to life, which had also made him a + Republican and an Imperialist, a graduate of Harvard and a beneficiary of + the Apostolic Succession. Because life was a survival of the fittest, and + because God had intended the less fit to take the doctor’s word as their + sentence of extermination. + </p> + <p> + The duty of animals, as the clergyman set it forth to them, was to convert + plant-tissue into a more concentrated and perfect form of nutriment. “The + protein of animal flesh,” he was saying, “is more nearly allied to human + tissue; and so it is clearly more fitted for our food.” + </p> + <p> + Here Thyrsis entered the conversation. “Doctor Holland,” he said, mildly, + “I should think it would occur to you to follow your argument to its + conclusion.” + </p> + <p> + The other turned to look at him. “What conclusion?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you would become a cannibal,” Thyrsis replied. + </p> + <p> + And then there was silence at the table. When Dr. Holland spoke again it + was to hurry the conversation elsewhere; and from time to time thereafter + he would steal a puzzled glance at Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + But this the boy did not see. His thoughts had gone whirling on; here, in + this elegant dining-room, the throes of creation seized hold of him. For + this was the image he had been seeking, the phrase that would embrace it + all and express it all—the concentrated bitterness of his poisoned + life! Yes, he had them! He had them, with all their glory and their power! + They were Cannibals. <i>Cannibals</i>! + </p> + <p> + So, when he set out from the hotel, he did not go home, but walked instead + for uncounted hours in the park. And in those hours he lived through the + whole of his new book, the unspeakable book—“The Higher + Cannibalism”! + </p> + <p> + In the morning he told Corydon about it. She cried in terror, “But, + Thyrsis, nobody would publish it!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “But then,” she asked, “how can you write it?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall write it,” he said, “if I have to die when I get through”. So he + shut himself up in his room once more. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. A famous scientist began the story—reasoning along the + lines of Dr. Holland’s argument. The grass took the inorganic matter, and + made it into food; the steer ate the grass, and carried it to the next + stage; and beyond that was one stage more. So the scientist began making + experiments—in a quiet way, of course. He reported the results + before a learned scientific body, but his colleagues were so scandalized + that the matter was hushed up. + </p> + <p> + The seed had been sown, however. A younger man took up the idea, and made + researches in the South Seas—substantiating the claim that those + races which took to anthropophagy had invariably supplanted the others. + The new investigator printed his findings in a book which was circulated + privately; and pretty soon he was called into consultation by the + master-mind of the country’s finance—the richest man in the world. + This man was old and bald and feeble; and now suddenly there came to him a + new lease of life—new health and new enthusiasm. It was given out + that he had got it by wandering about bare-footed in the grass, and + playing golf all day—an explanation which the public accepted + without question. No one remarked the fact that the old man began devoting + his wealth to the establishing of foundling asylums; nor did any one think + it suspicious that the younger generation of this multi-millionaire should + rise so suddenly to power and fame. + </p> + <p> + But there began to be strange rumors and suspicions. There were young + writers, who had developed a new technique, and had carried poetic + utterance to undreamed of heights; and in this poetry were cryptic + allusions, hints of diabolic things. A Socialist paper printed the ménu of + a banquet given by these “Neo-Nietzscheans”, and demanded to know what one + was to understand by <i>filet de mouton blanc</i>, and wherein lay the + subtle humor of <i>paté de petit bête</i>. And at last the storm broke—a + youth scarcely in his teens published a book of poems in which the dread + secret was blazoned forth to the world with mocking defiance. There were + frantic attempts to suppress this book, but they failed; and then a + prosecuting officer, eager for notoriety, placed the youth upon trial for + his life. And so the issue was drawn. + </p> + <p> + The public at large awakened to a dazed realization of the head-way which + the new idea had made. It had become a cult of the ruling-class, the + esoteric religion of the state; everywhere its defenders sprang up—it + seemed as if all the intellectual as well as the material power of the + community was under its spell. To oppose it was not merely bad form—it + was to incur a stigma of moral inferiority, to be the victim of a + “slave-ethic”. + </p> + <p> + With the scientific world, of course, its victory was speedy; the new + doctrine was in line with recognized evolutionary teaching. The great + names of Darwin and Spencer were invoked in its support; and, of course, + when it came to economic science, there could be no two opinions. Had <i>laissez-faire</i> + ever meant anything, if <i>laissez-faire</i> did not mean this? + </p> + <p> + At the very outset, the country was startled by the publication of a book + by a college professor, famed as a leading sociologist, in which the case + was presented without any attempt at sophistication. It was a fact, + needing no attestation, that the mass of mankind had always lived in a + state of slavery. At the present hour, under the forms of democracy, there + were a quarter of a million men killed every year in industry, and half a + million women living by prostitution, and two million children earning + wages, and ten million people in want; and in comparison with these + things, how humane was the new cult, how honest and above-board, how clean + and economical! For the first time there could be offered to the submerged + tenth a real social function to be performed. Once let the new teaching be + applied upon a world-wide scale, and the proletariat might follow its + natural impulse to multiply without limit; there would be no more + “race-suicide” to trouble the souls of eminent statesmen. + </p> + <p> + And this at the time when the attention of the community was focussed upon + the new <i>cause célèbre</i>! When the public prints were filled with an + acrimonious discussion as to the meaning of the instructions given to the + jury. If anyone chose to will his body to a purchaser, said the judge, and + then go and commit suicide, there was no law to prevent him; and, of + course, the subsequent purposes of the purchaser had nothing to do with + the point at issue. This was a matter of taste—here the learned + justice rapped for order—a matter of prejudice, largely, and the + question at issue was one of law. There was no law controlling a man’s + dietetic idiosyncrasies, and it was to be doubted if constitutionally any + such law would stand—certainly not in a federal court, unless it + chanced to be a matter of interstate commerce. + </p> + <p> + In their bewilderment and dismay, the people turned to the Church. Surely + the doctrines of Christianity would stand like a barricade against this + monstrous cult. But already within the Church there had been rumors and + disturbances; and now suddenly a bishop arose and voiced his protest + against this attempt “to drag the Church into the mire of political + controversy.” It must be made perfectly clear, said the bishop, that + Christianity was a religion, and not a dietetic dogma. Its purpose was to + save the souls of men, and not to concern itself with their bodies. It had + been stated that we should have the poor always with us; which made clear + the futility of attempting to change the facts of Nature. Also it was + certain that the founder of Christianity had been a meat-eater; and though + there might be more than one interpretation placed upon his command + concerning little children—- + </p> + <p> + There we might leave Thyrsis with the established Church. He had it just + where he wanted it, and he shook it until its smoothly-shaven pink and + white cheeks turned purple, and the <i>demi-tasse</i> went flying out of + its beautifully manicured fingers! And while he did it he laughed aloud in + hideous glee, and in his soul was a cry like the hunting-call of the lone + gray wolf, that he had heard at midnight in his wilderness camp. So far a + journey had come the little boy who had been dressed up in scarlet and + purple robes, and had carried the bishop’s train at the confirmation + service! And so heavy a penalty did the church pay for its alliance with + “good society”! + </p> + <p> + Section 8. Thyrsis paid a week’s living expenses to have this manuscript + copied; and then he took it about to the publishers. First came his friend + Mr. Ardsley, who had become his chief adviser. When Thyrsis went to see + him, Mr. Ardsley drew out an envelope from his desk, and took from it the + opinion of his reader. “‘What in the world is the matter with this boy?’” + he read. “That’s the opening sentence.” + </p> + <p> + And then he fixed his eyes upon the boy. “What in the world <i>is</i> the + matter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sat silent; there was no reply he could make. He was strongly + tempted to say to the man, “The matter is that I am not getting enough to + eat!” + </p> + <p> + But already Thyrsis himself had judged “The Higher Cannibalism” and + repudiated it. It was born of his pain and weakness, and it was not the + work he had come into the world to do. So at the end he had placed a poem, + which told of a visit from his muse, after the fashion of Musset’s + “Nuits”; the muse had been sad and silent, and in the end the poet had + torn up the product of his hours of despair, and had renewed his faith + with the gracious one. + </p> + <p> + Meantime the long winter months dragged by, and still there was no gleam + of hope. For Corydon it was even harder than for her husband. He at least + was expressing his feelings, while she could only pine and chafe, without + any sort of vent. Her life was a matter of colorless routine, in which + each day was like the last, except in increased monotony. She tried hard + not to let him see how she suffered; but sometimes the tears would come. + And her unhappiness was bad for the child, which in the beginning had been + robust and magnificent, but now was not growing properly. Thyrsis would + have ridiculed the idea that nervousness could affect her milk; but the + time came when, in later life, he saw the poisons of fatigue and fear in + test-tubes, and so he understood why the child had not been able to lift + its head until it was a year old, and had then been well on the way to + having “rickets.” + </p> + <p> + All their life was so different from the way they had dreamed it! The + dream still lured them; but its voice grew fainter and more remote. How + were they to keep it real to themselves, how were they to hold it? Their + existence was made up of endless sordidness, of dreary commonplace, that + opposed them with its passive inertia where it did not actively attack + them. “Ah, Thyrsis!” Corydon would cry to him, “this will kill us if it + lasts too long!” + </p> + <p> + For one thing, they no longer heard any music at all—She was not + strong enough to practice the piano; and his violin was gone. Here in the + great city an endless stream of concerts and operas and recitals flowed + past; and here were they, like starving children who press their faces + against a pastry-cook’s window and devour the sweets with their eyes. + Thyrsis kept up with musical and dramatic progress by reading the accounts + in the papers and magazines; but this was a good deal like slaking one’s + thirst with a mirage. He used to wonder sometimes if he were to write to + these great artists—would they invite him to hear them, or would + they too despise him? He never had the courage to try. + </p> + <p> + Once in the course of the long winter some one presented Corydon with two + tickets to the opera, and they went together, in a state of utter bliss. + It was an unusual experience for Thyrsis, for their seats were in the + orchestra, and hitherto he had always heard his operas from the upper rows + in the fifth balcony, where the air was hot and stifling, and the singers + appeared as a pair of tiny arms that waved, and a head (frequently a bald + head) that emitted a thin, far-distant voice. This had become to him one + of the conventions of the opera; and now to discover the singers as + full-sized human beings, with faces and legs and loud voices, was very + disturbing to his sense of illusion. + </p> + <p> + Also, alas, they had not been free to select the opera. It was “La + Traviata”; and there was not much food for their hungry souls in this + farrago of artificiality and sham sentiment. They shut their eyes and + tried to enjoy the music, forgetting the gallant young men of fashion and + their fascinating mistresses. But even the music, it seemed, was tainted; + or could it be, Thyrsis wondered, that he could no longer lose himself in + the pure joy of melody? Many kinds of corruption he had by this time + learned about; the corruption of men, and of women, and of children; the + corruption of painting and sculpture, of poetry and the drama. But the + corruption of music was something which even yet he could not face; for + music was the very voice of the soul—the well-spring from which life + itself was derived. Thyrsis thought, as he and Corydon wandered about in + the foyers of this palatial opera-house, was there anywhere on earth a + place in which heaven and hell came so close together. A place where the + lust and pride of the flesh displayed themselves in all their glory; and + in contrast with the purest ecstasies the human spirit had attained! He + pointed out one rich dowager who swept past them; her breasts all but + jostling out of her corsage as she walked, her stomach squeezed into a + sort of armor-plate of jewels, her cheeks powdered and painted, her head + weighted with false hair and a tiara of diamonds, her face like a mask of + pride and scorn. And then, in juxtaposition with that, the <i>Waldweben</i> + and the <i>Feuerzauber</i>, or the grim and awful tragedy of the Siegfried + funeral-march! There were people in this opera-house who knew what such + music meant; Thyrsis had read it in their faces, in that suffocating + top-gallery. He wondered if some day the demons that were evoked by the + music might not call to them and lead them in revolt, to drive the + money-changers from the temple once again! + </p> + <p> + Section 9. Another editor was reading “The Hearer of Truth,” and a publisher + was hovering on the brink of venturing “The Higher Cannibalism”; and so + the two had new hopes to lure them on. When the spring-time had come, they + would once more escape from the city, and would put up their tent on the + lake-shore! They spent long afternoons picturing just how they would live—what + they would eat, and what they would wear, and what they would study. As + for Cedric—so they had called the baby—they saw him playing + beneath the big tree in front of the tent. And what fun they would have + giving him his bath on the little beach inside the point! + </p> + <p> + “I’ll fix up a clothes-basket for him to sleep in!” declared Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, dear!” said Corydon. “I’ve told you many times before—we’ll + <i>have</i> to have a crib for him!” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” cried he; and there would follow an argument which gave pain to + his economical soul. + </p> + <p> + Corydon declared herself willing to do her share in the matter of saving + money; but it seemed to him that whenever he suggested a concrete idea, + there would be objections. “We can get up at dawn,” he would say, “and + save the cost of oil.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she would answer. + </p> + <p> + “And we can do our own laundry,” he would continue. But immediately + another argument would begin; it was impossible to persuade Corydon that + diapers could be washed in cold water, even when one had the whole of the + Great Lakes for a washtub. + </p> + <p> + They would go on to contemplate the glorious time when they would have + money enough to build a home of their own, that could be inhabited in + winter as well as in summer; Corydon always referred to it with the line + from “Caradrion”—“the little cot, fringed round with tender green.” + It would be fine for the baby, they agreed—he should never have to + go back to the city again. Thyrsis had a vision of him as he would be in + that home: a brown and freckled country boy, with what were known, in the + dialect of “dam-fool talk”, as “yagged panties and bare feets”. + </p> + <p> + But Corydon would protest at that picture. “It’s all right,” she said, “to + put up with ugliness if you have to. But what’s the use of making a fetish + of it?” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be ugliness,” replied he. “It would be Nature! ‘Blessings on + thee, little man!’” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all very well. But I want Cedric to have curls—” + </p> + <p> + “Curls!” he cried. “And then a Fauntleroy suit, I suppose!” + </p> + <p> + “No—at least not while we’re poor. But I want him to look decent——” + </p> + <p> + “If you have curls, then you’ll want a nurse-maid to brush them!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Thyrsis! Can’t a mother take care of her child’s own hair?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Some</i> mothers can—they have nothing better to do. But if you + were going in for the hair-dresser’s art, why did you cut off your own?” + </p> + <p> + And so would come yet new discussions. “You’ll be wanting me to maintain + an establishment!” Thyrsis would cry, whenever these aesthetic impulses + manifested themselves. He seemed to be haunted by that image of an + establishment. All married men came to it in the end—there seemed to + be something in matrimony that predisposed to it; and far better adopt at + once the ideals and habits of the gypsies, than to settle into + respectability with a nurse-maid and a cook! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was under the necessity of sweeping clean his soul, because of all + the luxury and wantonness he saw in this metropolis, and the madness to + which it goaded his soul. Some day fame would come to him, he knew—wealth + also, perhaps; and oh, there must be one man in all the city who was not + corrupted, who did not learn extravagance and self-indulgence, who + practiced as well as preached the life of faith! And so, again and again, + he and Corydon would renew the pledges of their courtship-days—pledges + to a discipline of Spartan sternness. + </p> + <p> + Poor as he was, Thyrsis still found time to figure over the things he + meant to do when he got money: the publishing-house that was to bring out + his books at cost, and the free reading-rooms and the circulating + libraries. Also, he wanted to edit a magazine; for there was a great truth + which he wished to teach the world. “We must make these things that we + have suffered count for something!” he would say to Corydon, again and + again. “We must use them to open people’s eyes!” He was thinking how, when + at last he had escaped from the pit, he would be in a position to speak + for those others who were left behind. Men would heed him then, and he + could show them how impossible it was for the creative artist to do his + work, and at the same time carry on the struggle for bread. He would + induce some rich man to set aside a fund for the endowment of young + writers; and so the man who had a real message might no longer have to + starve. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had by this time tried all the world, and he knew that there was + no one to understand. Just about now he was utterly stranded, and had to + borrow money for even his next day’s food. And oh, the humiliations and + insults that came with these loans! And worse yet, the humiliations and + insults that came without any loans! There was one rich man who advanced + him ten dollars; Thyrsis, when he returned it, sent a check he had + received from some out-of-town magazine—and in return was rebuked by + the rich man for failing to include the “exchange” on the check. Thyrsis + wrote humbly to inquire what manner of thing the “exchange” on a check + might be; and learned that he was still in the rich man’s debt to the sum + of ten cents! + </p> + <p> + His case was the more hopeless, he found, because he was a married man. + The world might have pardoned a young free-lance who was willing to “rough + it” and take his chances for a while; but a man who had a wife and child—and + was still prating about poetry! To the world the possession of a wife and + child meant self-indulgence; and when a man had fallen into that trap, he + simply had to settle down and take the consequence. How could Thyrsis + explain that his marriage had not been as other men’s? How could he hint + at such a thing, without proving himself a cad? + </p> + <p> + Section 10. The work of “contemporary biography” had come to an end; there + followed weeks of seeking, and then another opening appeared—Mr. + Ardsley offered him a chance to do some manuscript-reading. This was + really a splendid opportunity, for the work would not be difficult, and + the payment would be five dollars for each manuscript. Thyrsis accepted + joyfully, and forthwith carried off a couple of embryo books to his room. + </p> + <p> + It was a new and curious occupation, which opened up to him whole worlds + whose existence he had not previously suspected. Through his + review-writing he had become acquainted with the books that had seen the + light of day; now he made the startling discovery that for every one that + was born, there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, that died in the womb. + He could see how it went—the hordes of half-educated people who read + books and were moved to write something like them. Each manuscript was a + separate tragedy; and often there would be a letter or a preface to make + certain that one did not miss the sense of it. Here would be a + settlement-worker, burning with a message, but unable to draw a character + or to write dialogue; here would be a business-man, who had studied up the + dialect of the region where he spent his summer vacations, and whose style + was so crude that one winced as he turned the pages; here would be a poor + bookkeeper, or a type-writer, or other cog in the business machine, who + had read of the fortunes made by writers of fiction, and had spent all his + hours of leisure for a year in composing a tale of the <i>grand monde</i>, + or some feeble imitation of the sugar-coated “historical romance” of the + hour. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes as he read these manuscripts, a shudder would come over Thyrsis; + how they made him realize the odds in the game of life! These thousands + and tens of thousands panting and striving for success; and he lost in the + throng of them! What madness it seemed to imagine that he might climb over + their heads—that he had been chosen to scale the heights of fame! + Their letters and prefaces sounded like a satire upon his own attitude, a + <i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of his claims to “genius”. Here, for instance, + was a man who wrote to introduce himself as America’s first epic poet—stating + incidentally that he was an inspector of gas-meters, and had a wife and + six children. His poem occupied some six hundred foolscap sheets, finely + bound up by hand; it set forth the soul-states of a Byron from Alabama—an + aristocratic hero who was refused by the lady of his heart, and voiced his + anger and perplexity in a long speech, two lines of which stamped + themselves forever upon the mind of the reader—- + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But I! he cried. My limbs are straight, + My purse well-filled, my veins all F. F. V.!” + </pre> + <p> + As a method of earning one’s living, this was almost too good to be true. + The worse the manuscripts were the easier was his task; in fact, when he + came upon one which showed traces of real power and interest he cursed his + fate, for then it might take several days to earn his five dollars. But + for the most part the manuscripts were bad enough, and he could have + earned a year’s income in a week, if only there had been enough of them. + So he made a great effort to succeed at the work, and filled his reports + with epigrams and keen observations, carefully adapted to what he knew was + Mr. Ardsley’s point of view. He allowed time for these devices to be + effective, and then paid a visit to find out about the prospects. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ardsley,” he began, “I am going to try to meet you half way with a + book.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “I want to write a novel that you can publish. I believe that I can do + it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ardsley warmed immediately. “I have always been certain that you + could,” said he. He went on to expound to Thyrsis the ethics of + opportunism—how it would not be necessary to be false to his + convictions, to write anything that he did not believe—but simply to + put his convictions into a popular form, and to impart no more than the + public could swallow at the first mouthful. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis told him the outline of a plot. He would write a story of the + struggles of a young author in the metropolis—not such a young + author as himself, a rebel and a frenzied egotist, but a plain, everyday + young author whom other people could care about. He had the “local color” + for such a tale, and he could do it without too much waste of time. Mr. + Ardsley thought it an excellent idea. + </p> + <p> + After which Thyrsis came, very cautiously, to the meat of the matter. “I + want to get away into the country to write it,” he said; “and so I wanted + to ask you about the manuscripts you are sending me. Have you found my + work satisfactory?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “And do you think you can send them through the summer?” + </p> + <p> + “I presume so. It depends upon how many come to us.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you couldn’t arrange to let me have any more of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at present,” said Mr. Ardsley. “You see, I have regular readers, + whose work I know. I’ll send you what I have to spare.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Thyrsis. “I’ll be glad to have all you can give me.” + </p> + <p> + So he went away; and in the little room he and Corydon had an anxious + consultation. He had been getting about twenty dollars a month; which was + not enough for the family to exist upon. “Our only hope is a new book,” he + declared; and Corydon saw that was the truth. “Each week that I stay here + is a loss,” he added. “I have to pay room-rent.” + </p> + <p> + “But can you stand tenting out in April?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll chance it,” he replied—“if you’ll say the word.” + </p> + <p> + She saw that her duty was before her; she must nerve herself and face it, + though it tore her heartstrings. She must stay and take care of the baby, + while he went away to work! + </p> + <p> + He sat and held her hands, and saw her bite her lips and fight to keep + back the tears in her eyes. Their hearts had grown together, so that it + was like tearing their flesh to separate them. They had never imagined + that such a thing could come into their lives. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis,” she whispered—“you’ll forget me!” + </p> + <p> + He pressed her hands more tightly. “No, dear! No!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But you’ll get used to living without me!” she cried. “And it’s the time + in my life when I need you most!” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay, dearest, if you say so.” + </p> + <p> + She exclaimed, “No, no! I must stand it!” + </p> + <p> + And seeing her grief, his heart breaking with pity, a strange impulse came + to Thyrsis. He took her hands in his, and knelt down before her, and began + to pray. It had been years since he had thought of prayer, and Corydon had + never thought of it in her life. It came from the deeps of him—a few + stammering words, simple, almost childish, yet exquisite as music. He + prayed that they might have courage to keep up the fight, that they might + be able to hold their love before them, that nothing might ever dim their + vision of each other. It was a prayer without theology or metaphysics—a + prayer to the unknown gods; but it set free the well-spring of tenderness + and pity within them; and when he finished Corydon was sobbing upon his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IX. THE CAPTIVE IN LEASH + </h2> + <p> + <i>They were standing on the hill-top, watching the last glimmer of the + sinking moon. As the faint perfume of the clover came to them upon the + warm evening wind, she sighed, and whispered— </i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here! + ‘Mid city noise, not as with thee of yore, + Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home!” + </pre> + <p> + She paused. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he said, and she quoted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then through the great town’s harsh, heart-wearying roar, + Let in thy voice a whisper always come, + To chase fatigue and fear: + Why faintest thou? I wandered till I died. + Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. Thyrsis made his plans and packed his few belongings. There came + another pass from the “higher regions”, and he took the night-train once + more, and came to the little town upon the shores of Lake Ontario. Once + more the sun shone on the crystal-green water, and the cold breeze blew + from off the lake. There was still snow in the ravines of the deep woods, + but Thyrsis got his tent out of the farmer’s barn, and patched up the + holes the mice had gnawed, and put it up on the old familiar spot. + </p> + <p> + It was strange to him to be there without Corydon. There were so many + things to remind him of her—a sudden memory would catch him + unawares, and stab him like a knife. There was the rocky headland where + they had swam, and there was the pine-tree that the lightning had + splintered, one day while they were standing near. When darkness came, and + he was unpacking a few old things that they had left up in the country, + his loneliness seemed to him almost more than he could bear; he sat by the + little stove, holding a pair of her old faded slippers in his hands, and + felt his tears trickling down upon them. + </p> + <p> + But it took him only a day or two to drive such things out of his mind. + There was no time for sentiment now—it was “Clear ship for action!” + For once in his life he was free, and had a chance to work. He was full of + his talk with Mr. Ardsley, and meant to do his best to be “practical.” And + so behold him wandering about in the water-soaked forests, or tramping the + muddy roads, or sitting by his little stove while the cold storms beat + upon the tent—wrestling with his unruly Pegasus, and dragging it + back a hundred times a day to what was proper, and human, and interesting! + </p> + <p> + The neighbors had warned him that it was too early for tenting, but + Thyrsis had vowed he would stand it. And now, as if to punish him for his + defiance, there was emptied out upon him the cave of all the winds; for + four weeks there were such storms of rain and sleet and snow as the region + had never known in April. There were nights when he sat wrapped in + overcoats and blankets, with a fire in the stove; and still shivering for + the gale that drove through the canvas. There came one calm, starlit night + when he lay for hours almost frozen, and sat up in the morning to find a + glass of water at his bedside frozen solid. Thirteen degrees the + thermometer showed, according to the farmer; and oh, the agony of getting + out of bed, and starting a fire with green wood! In the end Thyrsis poured + in half a can of kerosene, and got the stove red-hot; and then he turned + round to warm his back, and smelled smoke, and whirled about to find his + tent in a blaze! + </p> + <p> + With a bucket of water and a broomstick he beat out the fire, and went for + a run to warm up. But when he came back there was more wind, so that he + could not keep warm in the tent, and more rain, so that he could not find + shelter in the woods. In the end he discovered a ruined barn, in a corner + of which he would sit, wrapped in his blankets and writing with cold + fingers. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps all these mishaps had something to do with the refusal of his + ideas to flow. But apparently it was in vain that Thyrsis tried at any + time to work at things that were interesting to other people. Perhaps he + could have worked better at them, if there had not been so many things + that were interesting to <i>him</i>. He would find himself confronted with + the image of the society clergyman, or of the sleek editor in his club, or + some other memory out of the world of luxury and pride. And each day came + the newspaper, with its burden of callousness and scorn; and perhaps also + a letter from Corydon, with something to goad him to new tilts with the + enemies of his soul. + </p> + <p> + So, before long, almost without realizing it, he was putting the + “interesting” things aside, and girding himself for another battle. His + message was still undelivered; and in vain he sought to content himself by + blaming the world for this. Until he had forced the world to hear him, he + had simply not yet done his work. He must take his thought and shape it + anew—into some art-work finer, stronger, truer than he had yet + achieved. + </p> + <p> + Day after day he pondered this idea—eating with it and walking with + it and sleeping with it; until at last, of a sudden, the vision came to + him. It came late at night, while he was undressing; and he sat for five + or ten minutes, with his shirt half off, as if in a trance. Then he put + the shirt on again, and went out to wander about the woods, laughing and + talking to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Genius surrounded by Commercialism”—that was his theme; and it + would have to be a play. Its hero would be a young musician, a mere boy, a + master of the demon-voices of the violin; he would be rapt in his vision, + and around him a group of people who would be embodiments of the world and + all its forces of evil. One by one they came trooping before Thyrsis’ + fancy, with all their trappings of pomp and power, their greatness and + their greed—sinister and cruel figures, but also humorous, very + creatures of the spirit of comedy! Yes, he had a comedy this time—a + real comedy! + </p> + <p> + Section 2. In this hour, of course, Thyrsis forgot all about the “plot” he + had outlined to Mr. Ardsley, and about his promises to be “practical.” + Something arose within him, imperious and majestic, and swept all this out + of the way with one gesture of the hand. He dropped everything else and + plunged into the play. Never yet in his life had anything taken hold of + him to such an extent; it drove him so that he forgot to eat, he forgot to + sleep. He would work over some part of it until he was exhausted—and + then, without warning, some other part would open out in a vista before + him, and he would spring up in pursuit of that. Characters and episodes + and dialogue, wild humor, scalding satire, grim tragedy—they + thronged and jostled and crowded one another in his imagination. + </p> + <p> + “The Genius” was the title of the play. Its protagonist had come home + after completing his education in Vienna; and there was the family + gathered to greet him. Mr. Hartman, the father, was a wholesale grocer—a + business large enough to have brought wealth, but painfully tainted with + “commonness”. Then there was Mrs. Hartman, stout and tightly-laced, who + had studied the science of elegance while her husband studied sugar. There + was the elder son, who under his mother’s guidance had married well; and + Miss Violet Hartman, who was looking up to the perilous heights of a + foreign alliance. + </p> + <p> + Only of late had the family come to realize what an asset to their career + this “Genius” might be. They had humored him in his strange whim to devote + his life to fiddling; money had been spent on him freely—he brought + home with him a famous Cremona instrument for which three thousand dollars + had been paid. But now it was dawning upon them that this was an “ugly + duckling”; he was to make his <i>début</i> in the metropolis, where an + overwhelming triumph was expected; and then he would return to the home + city in the middle West, and would play at <i>musicales</i>, which even + the most exclusive of the “<i>élite</i>” must attend. + </p> + <p> + There was also the great Prof. Reminitsky, the teacher who had made Lloyd, + and had come to New York with him; and there was the Herr Prof. von Arne, + of the University of Berlin, a world-renowned psychiatrist, author of “The + Neurosis of Inspiration”. The Herr Professor had come to America to make + some studies for his forthcoming masterpiece on the religious mania; and + he was glad to see his old friend Reminitsky, whose seventeen-year-old + musical prodigy was most interesting material for study. + </p> + <p> + Prof. Reminitsky was the world’s greatest authority in the art of tearing + the human soul to pieces by means of horse-hair rubbed with resin and + scraped over the intestines of a pig. There were no tricks of + finger-gymnastics and of tone-production that he had not mastered. As for + the emotions produced thereby, he felt them, but in a purely professional + way; that is, the convictions he had concerning them related to their + effects upon audiences, and more especially upon the score or two of + critical experts whose psychology had been his life-study. But having + studied also the psychology of youth, he knew that his <i>protégé</i> must + needs have other convictions concerning his performances. This was his + supreme greatness—that he understood the paranoia of enthusiasm, and + used this understanding to tempt his pupils to new heights of achievement. + </p> + <p> + In all of which, of course, his friend von Arne was a great help to him. + Von Arne had dug through a score of great libraries, and had travelled all + the world over, frequenting cafes and salons, monasteries and + prayer-cells, prisons and hospitals and asylums—wherever one might + get new glimpses of the extraordinarily intricate phenomena of the + aberration called “Genius”. He had several thousand cases of it at his + finger-tips—he had measured its reaction-times and calculated its + cephalic index, and analyzed its secretions and tested it for indecan. He + knew trance and clairvoyance, auto-suggestion and telepathic + hallucination, epilepsy and hysteria and ecstasy; and over the head of any + disputatious person he would swing the steam-shovel of his erudition, and + bury the unfortunate beneath a wagon-load of Latin and Greek derivatives. + </p> + <p> + Also, there was Moses Rosen, the business-manager. Moses was short, and + wore a large diamond ring, and he also was a specialist in the phenomena + of “Genius”. He studied them from the point of view of the box-office, and + his tests were quite as definite as those of the psychological laboratory. + There came to Moses an endless stream of prodigies, all of them having + long hair and picturesque aspects, and talking rapidly and rolling their + eyes; the problem was to determine which of them had the faculty of true + Genius, which not only talked rapidly and rolled its eyes, but also had + the power of causing money to flow in through a box-office window. + </p> + <p> + In this case Moses felt that the prospects were good; the only trouble + being that the prodigy intended to render a <i>concerto</i> by a strange + composer—a stormy and unconventional thing which would annoy the + critics. Moses suggested something that was “classic”; and agreed with + Mrs. Hartman that there ought to be something corresponding to “good form” + in music. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. So all these strange creatures were poking and peering and + smelling about the “Genius”; and meanwhile, there came at intervals faint + strains of music from a distant room. At last Lloyd Hartman entered; + beautiful, pale and sensitive—a haunted boy, and the most haunting + figure that had yet come to Thyrsis’ imagination. Also, it was the hardest + piece of work he had ever undertaken; for the character had come to him, + not as a formula or a collection of phrases, but as an intuition, a part + of his own soul; and he would work out a scene a score of times, finding + words to phrase it, and then rejecting them. By what speeches could he + give his sense of the gulf that lay between Lloyd and the people about + him? For this boy could not cope with them in argument, he would have no + mastery of the world of facts. He must be without any touch of + sophistication, of cynicism; and yet, when he spoke to them, it must be + clear that he knew them for different beings from himself. He would go + with them meekly; but one would feel that it was because his path lay in + their direction. When the point came that their ways parted, he would go + his own way; and just there lay the seed of the tragi-comedy. + </p> + <p> + The family gathers about him, and he answers their questions. He will wear + the kind of tie that his sister prefers, and they may set any date they + please for the <i>musicales</i> at home. He hears the “copy” which Moses + has prepared for his advertisements; and then he sits, absent-minded, + while they talk about him. Music is in his thoughts, and gradually it + steals into his aspect and the gestures of his hand. They watch him, and a + pall comes over them: until at last the mother exclaims that he makes her + nervous, and leads the family off. + </p> + <p> + Then Miss Arnold is announced—Helena Arnold, who has been + recommended as accompanist at the great concert. She is young and + beautiful; and the two go into the next room to play, while the professors + remain to talk over this new complication. + </p> + <p> + Prof. von Arne, of course, lays especial emphasis upon the sex-element in + psychopathology; he and Reminitsky have talked the subject out many years + ago, and adopted a definite course of action. The abnormalities incidental + to sex-repression were innumerable, and for the most part destructive; but + there could be no question that all the more striking phenomena of the + neurosis called “Genius” were greatly increased in their intensity by this + means. So, in dealing with his pupils, and especially with a prodigy like + young Hartman, Prof. Reminitsky would call into service all the + paraphernalia of religious mysticism; teaching his pupil to regard woman + as the object of exalted adoration, a being too holy to be attained to + even in thought. And now, of course, when the proposed accompanist turns + out to be a decidedly alluring young female, it is necessary to take + careful heed. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile from the distance come bursts of wild music; and at last Helena + returns—pale, and deeply agitated. “It is that <i>concerto!</i>” she + says, and then asks to be excused from talking. Lloyd comes, and stands by + the door watching her. When his teacher begins to open business + negotiations, he asks him abruptly to leave them alone. + </p> + <p> + Helena asks, “Who wrote that music?” He tells her a ghastly story of a + titan soul who starved in a garret and shot himself, crushed by the + mockery of the world. + </p> + <p> + “I might have saved him!” the boy exclaims. “I was so busy with the music + I forgot the man!” + </p> + <p> + They talk about this epoch-making <i>concerto</i>, and how Lloyd means to + force it upon the public. “And you shall play it with me!” he exclaims. + “You are the first that has ever understood it!” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot play it!” she protests; to which he answers, “It was like his + voice come back from the grave!” And so we see these two souls cast into + the crucible together. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. The second act showed the aftermath of the great concert, and + took place in the drawing-room of the Hartman family’s apartment, at four + o’clock in the morning. We see Moses and the two professors, who have not + been able to tear themselves away; dishevelled, <i>distrait</i>, wild with + vexation, they pace about and lament. Failure, utter ruin confronts them—the + structure of their hopes lies in the dust! They blame it all on “that + woman”—and members of the family concur in this. It was she who kept + Lloyd to his resolve to play that mad <i>concerto;</i> and then, to cast + aside all the master had taught them, all the results of weeks of drilling—and + to play it in that frantic, demonic fashion. Now the men await the morning + papers, which will bring them the verdict of “the world”; and they shudder + with the foreknowledge of what that verdict will be. + </p> + <p> + Lloyd and Helena enter. They have been walking for hours, and have not + been thinking of “the world”. They listen, half-heeding, to the protests + and laments; they could not help it, they explain—the music took + hold of them. + </p> + <p> + The two professors go off to get the papers, and Moses goes into the next + room to rest; after which it becomes clear to the audience that Lloyd and + Helena are fighting the sex-duel. + </p> + <p> + “You do not care about people,” she is saying, sombrely. + </p> + <p> + To which his reply is, “It is not to be found in people.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet from people it must come!” she insists. + </p> + <p> + He answers, “They do not even know what I mean; and they have no + humility.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a problem,” Lloyd continues, after a pause. “Shall one go on alone, + or wait and bring others with him?—You have brought that problem + into my life.” + </p> + <p> + She answers to this, “I cannot see how my love will hinder you.” + </p> + <p> + He replies, “If you love <i>me</i>, who will love my art?” + </p> + <p> + So it goes—until the professors return with their freight of the + world’s Philistinism. And here came a scene, over which Thyrsis shook for + many a day with merriment. The accounts of the concert are read; Moses + awakens and comes in; and as the agony increases, the members of the + family appear, one by one, clad in their dressing-gowns, and adding their + lamentations to the chorus. Gone is all the prestige of the two + professors, gone all the profits of Moses, gone all the visions of social + triumphs in the city of the middle West! + </p> + <p> + To all of which uproar the two listen patiently; until at last the mother, + in a transport of vexation, turns upon Helena, and accuses her of + ensnaring the boy. And then—the climax of the scene—Lloyd + springs up; all that Genius in him, which has so far gone into music, + turns now into rage and scorn. He pictures these people—pawing over + his inspiration with their unclean hands—peering at it, weighing it, + chaffering over it—taking it into the market-place to be hawked + about. He shows them what they are, and what that “world” is, to which + they would offer his muse as a whore. And then at the climax of his + speech, as he is waving his violin in the air, the Herr Prof. von Arne + ventures to put in a word; and the boy whirls upon him, and brings down + the three thousand-dollar treasure upon the eminent psychiatrist’s head! + </p> + <p> + The third act, which was the hardest of all to write, was to take place in + a garret. Lloyd has gone away alone, and three years have passed, and now + he lies dying of a wasting disease. Helena has come to him again—and + still they are fighting the duel. “A woman will do anything for a man but + renounce him,” says Lloyd; and she cannot understand this fierce instinct + of his. + </p> + <p> + She has come and found him; and he lies gasping for breath, and speaking + in broken sentences. Yet he will not have her bring grief into his + chamber; he has fought his way through grief, and through hatred and + contempt, and now he lies at peace upon the bosom of nature. No longer is + he wrapped up in his own vision; he has learned from the million suns in + the sky and the million trees of the forest. He tells her that the thing + called “Genius” springs ceaselessly from the heart of life. + </p> + <p> + He has cast out fear; and with it he has cast out love. “What are you?” he + asks. “What am I?” And he sets forth in blazing words his vision of the + soul, which is as a flash of light in a raindrop, and yet one with the + eternal process. As the fruit of his life he leaves one symphony in + manuscript, and some pages of writing in which he has summed up his faith. + That is enough, he says—that is victory; for that he fled away, and + killed his love. + </p> + <p> + The two professors come, having learned that Lloyd is dying. But even they + cannot divert him. He tells von Arne that his learning will submit itself, + and that scientists will be as gardeners, tending the young flowers of + faith. His mother and father come, and he whispers that even for them + there is hope—that in the deepest mire of respectability the spark + of the soul still glows. His mother bursts into weeping by his bed, and he + tells her that even from the dungeon of pride there may be deliverance. So + he sends them all away to pray. + </p> + <p> + Then Helena sits at the piano and plays a few bars of that sonata of + Beethoven’s which is an utterance of most poignant grief, and which some + publisher has cruelly misnamed the “Moonlight”. And after long silence, + the dying man communes with his muse. A light suffuses the room, and he + whispers, “Take thine own time; for the seeds of thy glories are planted + in the hearts of men!” + </p> + <p> + Section 6. Over these things Thyrsis would work for six hours at a stretch, + sitting without moving a muscle; for days and nights he would wander about + at random in the woods. He ate irregularly, of such things as he could put + his hands upon; and sleep fled from him like a mistress spurned. When, + after a couple of months, he had finished the task, there was an incessant + throbbing in his forehead, and—alas for the sudden tumble from the + heights of Parnassus!—he had lost almost entirely the power of + digesting food. + </p> + <p> + But the play was done. He sent it off to be copied, and wrote paeans of + thanksgiving to Corydon. Once more he had a weapon, newly-forged and + sharpened, wherewith to pierce that tough hide of the world! + </p> + <p> + There remained the practical question: What did one do when he had a play + completed? What was the first step to be taken? Thyrsis pondered the + problem for several days; and then, as chance would have it, his eye was + caught by a newspaper paragraph to the effect that “Ethelynda Lewis, the + popular <i>comédienne</i>, is to be starred in a serious drama next + season, under the management of Robertson Jones. Miss Lewis’s play has not + yet been selected.” Now, as it happened, “Ethelynda Lewis” had been on the + play-bill of “The Princess of Prague”, that tragic “musical comedy” to + which Thyrsis had been taken; but he never noticed the names of actors and + actresses, and had no suspicions. He sent his manuscript to this future + star; and a week later came a note, written on scented monogram paper in a + tall and distinguished chirography, acknowledging the receipt of his play + and promising to read it. + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrsis turned to attack the manuscripts which had been accumulating + while he was writing. They were coming more frequently now—apparently + Mr. Ardsley liked his work. To Corydon, who had gone to the country with + her parents, he wrote that he was getting some money ahead, and so she + might join him before long. + </p> + <p> + This brought him a deluge of letters; and it forced him to another swift + descent into the world of reality. “I have told you nothing of my + sufferings,” wrote Corydon. “At least a score of times I have written you + long letters and then torn them up, saying that your work must not be + disturbed. But oh, Thyrsis, I do not think I can stand it much longer! Can + you imagine what it means to be shut up in a boarding-house, without one + living soul to understand about me?” + </p> + <p> + She would go on to tell of her griefs and humiliations, her longings and + rages and despairs. Then, too, Cedric was not growing as he should. “He is + beautiful,” she wrote, “and every one loves him. But he makes not the + least attempt to sit up, and I am very much worried. I fear that I ought + not to go on nursing him—I am too nervous to eat as I should. And + then I think of the winter, and that we may still be separated, and I do + not see how I am to stand it. It is as if I were in a prison. I think of + you, and I cannot make you real to me.” + </p> + <p> + To all of which Thyrsis could only reply with vague hopes—and then + go away for a tramp in the forest, and call to his soul for new courage. + He had still troubles enough of his own. For one thing, the fiend in his + stomach was not to be exorcised by any spell he knew. It was all very + picturesque to portray one’s hero as dying of disease; but in reality it + was not at all satisfactory. Thyrsis did not die, he merely ate a bowl of + bread and milk, and then went about for several hours, feeling as if there + were a football blown up inside of him. + </p> + <p> + He had a touching faith in the medical profession in those days, and + whenever there was anything wrong with him, he would turn the problem over + to a doctor and his soul would be at rest. In this case the doctor told + him that he had dyspepsia—not a very difficult diagnosis—and + gave him a bottle full of a red liquid to be taken after meals. To Thyrsis + this seemed an example of the marvels of science, of the adjustment of + means to ends; for behold, when he had taken the red liquid, the bread and + milk disappeared as if by magic! And he might go on and eat anything else—if + there was trouble, he had only to take more of the red liquid! So he + plunged into work on a pot-boiler, and wrote Corydon to be of cheer, that + the dawn was breaking. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. Corydon, in the meantime, had received a copy of his play; and he + was surprised at the effect it had upon her. “It is marvellous,” she + wrote; “it is like a blaze of lightning from one end to the other. And + yet, much as I rejoice in its power, the main feeling it brought me was of + anguish; for it seemed to me as if in this play you had spoken out of your + inmost soul. Can it be that you are really chafing against the bond of our + love? That you feel that I have hold of you and cling to you; and that you + resent it, and shrink from me? Oh Thyrsis, what can I do? Shall I bid you + go, and blot the thought of you from my mind? Is that what you truly want? + ‘A woman will do anything for a man but renounce him!’ Did you not shudder + for me when you wrote those words? + </p> + <p> + “It is two o’clock in the morning, and so far I have not been able to + sleep. I have lain awake with torturing thoughts; and then the baby + wakened up, and I had to put him to sleep again—any indisposition of + mine always affects him. I am sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, + writing with a candle; and hoping to get myself sufficiently exhausted, so + that I shall no longer lie awake. + </p> + <p> + “Go and find your vision over my corpse, and may God bless you!... I wrote + that hours ago, and I tried to mean it. I try to tell myself that I will + take the child and go away, and crush my own hopes and yearnings, and give + my life to him. But no—I cannot, I cannot! It is perfectly futile + for me to think of that—I crave for life, and I cannot give up. + There is that in me that will never yield, that will take no refusal. + Sometimes I see myself as a woman of seventy, still seeking my life. Do + you not realize that? I feel that I shall never grow old! + </p> + <p> + “How strange a thing it is, Thyrsis, that you and I, who might do so much + with so little chance, should have no chance at all. I read of other poets + and their wives—at least they managed to have a hut on some + hillside, and they did not absolutely starve. + </p> + <p> + “I am tired now; perhaps I can sleep. But I will tell you something, + Thyrsis—does it sound so very foolish? Not only will I never grow + old, but I will never give up your love! Yes, some day you will find out + how to seek your vision in spite of the fact that I am your wife!” + </p> + <p> + Section 8. Another day, there would be moods of peace, and even of + merriment; it was always like putting one’s hand into a grab-bag, to open + a new letter from Corydon. In after years he would read them, and strange + were the memories they brought! + </p> + <p> + “My Thyrsis,” she wrote: “I have been reading a story of Heine in + Zangwill’s “Dreamers of the Ghetto”. I did not know about Heine. He loved + and married a sweet little woman of the people—Mathilde—who + didn’t appreciate his writings. I am not only going to love you, but I am + going to appreciate your writings! Some day I am going to be educated—and + won’t it be fine when I am educated? + </p> + <p> + “I keep very busy, but I have not so much time as I had last summer. I + live almost all my life in hope—the present is nothing. I think I + get more strength by gazing at my baby than in any other way. I wonder if + I can ever infuse into him my inspiration and my desire. It is wonderfully + exciting to me to think of what a free soul could do, if it possessed my + spirit and my dreams. Ah, even you don’t know! I smile to myself when I + think how surprised you might some day be! Oh, my baby, my baby, surely + you will not fail me—little soul that is to be. This is what I say + to him, and then I squeeze him in ecstasy, and he coughs up his milk. Dear + funny little thing, that is so pleased with a red, white and blue rattle. + At present he is grinning at it ecstatically—and he is truly most + horribly cunning. His favorite expression is ‘Ah-boo, ah-boo’; and is not + that just <i>too</i> bright? Everybody tries to spoil him—even a + twelve-year-old boy here wanted to kiss him. And wonder of wonders, he has + two teeth appearing in his lower gums! Poor me—he bites hard enough + as he is.” + </p> + <p> + And then again: + </p> + <p> + “My Beloved: I am sitting with my candle once more. It is too hot for a + lamp. I have been reading ‘Paradise Lost’, and truly I am astonished that + it is so beautiful. Also I have been reading a book about Unitarianism, + and I did not know that such things had been written. But I think it is + hardly worth while to call one’s self a Unitarian. I was thinking that I + will go back and read the Bible through. I would not mind, if I knew I did + not have to believe it. + </p> + <p> + “Also; this week, I read ‘Paul and Virginia’. Oh, do not write anything to + me about our meeting, until you are sure it can be! It breaks my heart. + </p> + <p> + “Did it ever occur to you that we might embark for the tropics? We’d have + a hut, and I might learn to raise fruits and vegetables. I sigh for some + verdant isle—and I am not joking. We might find some place where + steamers came now and then, and some one in New York could attend to your + manuscripts. + </p> + <p> + “To-night I was trying to put my baby to sleep and he wouldn’t go, but + just lay in my lap and kicked and grinned. I tried to coax him to go to + sleep, but if I was the least bit impatient he’d begin to cry. And then + he’d grin at me so roguishly, as if to say, ‘Let’s play before I go to + sleep!’ Finally I looked right at him and said, ‘Now, you have played long + enough, and I wish you to be a good boy and go to sleep!’ And then he + laughed, and I put him on his side and he went to sleep! Wasn’t that + bright for a baby just seven months old? + </p> + <p> + “I think I write you much more interesting letters than you write me. To + be sure I have no books into which to put my thoughts. Also, I have a + great deal of time to compose letters to you; Cedric wakes me up so much + in the night, and often I cannot go to sleep again. It plays havoc with me + as a rule; and yet sometimes, when I’m not too exhausted, there is a + certain joy in watching by the dim candle light the rosy upturned face and + the little groping mouth. Oh Thyrsis, he is all mine and yours, and we + must make him glad he was borned, mustn’t we?” + </p> + <p> + Section 9. Such letters would come at a time when Thyrsis was almost + prostrated with exhaustion; and great waves of loneliness and yearning + would sweep over him. Ah God, what a fate it was—to labor as he + labored, and then to have no means of recreation or respite, no hand to + smooth his forehead, no voice to whisper solace! Who could know the + tragedy of that aspect of his life? + </p> + <p> + There came one day an incident that almost broke his heart. Down the lake + came a private yacht, beautiful and swift, clean as a new penny, its + bronze and white paint glistening in the sunlight. It anchored not far out + from the point where Thyrsis camped, and a boat put off, and from it three + young girls stepped ashore. They were slender and graceful, clad all in + white—as spotless as the vessel itself, and glowing with health and + joyfulness. They cast shy glances at the tent, and asked Thyrsis to direct + them to the nearest farm-house; he watched them disappear through the + woods, and saw them return with a basket of fruit. + </p> + <p> + It was just at sunset, and there was a new moon in the sky, and the + evening star trembled upon the bosom of the waters. There in the magic + stillness lay the vessel—and suddenly came the sounds of a guitar, + and of young voices singing. Wonderful to tell, they sang—not + “ragtime” and “college songs,” but the chorus of the “Rheintoechter,” and + Schubert’s “Auf dem Wasser zu singen”, and other music, unknown to + Thyrsis, exquisite almost beyond enduring. It pierced him to the heart; he + sat with his hands clenched, and every nerve of him a-quiver, and the hot + tears raining down his cheeks. It was loveliness not of this earth, it was + an apparition; that presence which had been haunting him ever since he had + come to this spot— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, + Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; + Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, + And hear old Triton blow his wreathéd horn.” + </pre> + <p> + The music died away, and rose again; and the deeps of his spirit were + opened, and ecstasy and grief welled up together within him. Then he made + out that the anchor was being lifted; and he was tempted to spring up and + cry out to them to stay. But no—what did they know of him? What + would they care about him? So he crouched by the bank, drinking greedily + the precious notes; and as the yacht with its gleaming lights stole away + into the twilight, all the poet’s soul went yearning with it. Still he + could hear the faint strains swelling— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Blow, blow, breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea!” + </pre> + <p> + He sat with his face hidden in his hands, shuddering. Here he was, + wrestling in the pit with sickness and despair—and there above him + were the heights of art. If only he could live with such music, what + prodigies could he not perform. And they who possessed it—did it + mean to them what it meant to him? They who had everything that life could + offer—music and art, freedom and beauty and health—all the + treasures of life as their birthright—had they never a thought of + those who had nothing, and were set to slave in the galleys of their + pleasure-craft? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was always coming upon some aspect of this thing called Privilege. + Corydon had suggested that there might be some work that she could do at + home; and so one day he was looking over the advertisements in a + newspaper, and came upon a composition by a man who was seeking a + governess for his three children. It was written in a style all its own; + it revealed a person accustomed to specify exactly what he wanted, and it + occupied three or four inches, as if symbolic of the fact that he did not + consider expense. He described the life of his children; they had servants + and a tutor to attend to their physical and mental needs, and the father + now sought a friend and, companion, to take charge of their spiritual and + social development. The specifications evoked a picture of an + establishment, in which all the community’s resources, all the sciences + and arts of civilization, were set at work to create joy and power for + three young people. What a contrast it made with the care that little + Cedric was getting, as revealed in his mother’s letters! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis could see in his mind’s eye the master and provider of this + establishment. How well he knew the type—how often had he sat in + some quiet corner and listened while it revealed itself. A man alert and + aggressive; immaculate in appearance as the latest fashion-plate, and + overlaid with a veneer of culture—yet underneath it still the + predatory talons, the soul of the hawk. He was a “practical” man; that is, + he understood profit. He was trained to see where profit lay, and swift to + seize upon it. As a business-man he ruled labor, and crushed his + competitors, and directed legislatures and political machines; as a lawyer + he protected his kind from attack, as a judge he bent the law to the ends + of greed. So he lived in palaces, and travelled about in private-cars and + yachts, and had servants and governesses for his children, and valets and + secretaries to attend himself. And whenever by any chance he got a glimpse + of Thyrsis’ soul, how he hated it! On the other hand, to Thyrsis he was a + portent of terror. He ruled in every field of human activity; and yet one + saw that if his rule continued, it would mean the destruction of + civilization! Whenever Thyrsis met one of these men, whether in + imagination or reality, he found himself with hands clenched, and every + nerve of him a-tingle with the lust of combat. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. A most trying thing it was to a man who carried the burden of + the future in his soul—to have to wrestle with an obstinate stomach! + But so it was again; the magic red liquid seemed to be losing its power. + Then, the pot-boiler was not going well; and to cap the climax, the + manuscripts stopped coming. Thyrsis, after waiting two or three weeks in + suspense and dread, wrote to Mr. Ardsley, and received a reply to the + effect that he would not be able to send any more. Mr. Ardsley had sent + them because of his interest in the proposed “practical” novel; and now he + had learned that the poet had been giving his time to the writing of an + impossible play! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis’ predicament was a desperate one, and drove him to a desperate + course. It was now midsummer; and run down from overwork as he was, could + he face the thought of returning to the sweltering city, to go to work in + some office? Or was he to hire out as a farm-laborer, under he knew not + what conditions? He recoiled from either of these alternatives; and then + suddenly, as he racked his brains, a wild idea flashed over him. For years + he had talked and dreamed of escaping from civilization. He had pictured + himself upon some tropic island, where bananas and cocoanuts grew; or + again in some Northern wilderness, where he might hunt and fish, and live + like the pioneers. And now—why not do it? He had an axe and a rifle + and a fishing-rod; and only a few days previously he had heard a man + telling of a lake in the Adirondacks, where not a dozen people went in the + course of a year. + </p> + <p> + It was early one morning the idea came to him; and within an hour he had + struck his tent and packed his trunk. He stowed his camp-stuff and bedding + in a dry-goods box, and leaving his tent with the farmer, he purchased a + ticket to a place on the edge of the wilderness. He put up at a + village-hotel, and the next day drove fifteen miles by a stage, and five + more by a wagon, and spent the night at a lumber-camp far in the + wilderness. The next day, carrying as much of his belongings as he could, + he walked three miles more, and came to the tiny lake that was his goal. + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps half a mile long; the virgin forest hung about it like a + great green curtain, and the shadows of the blue mountains seemed as if + painted upon its surface. Thyrsis gave a gasp of delight as he pushed + through the bushes and saw it; he stripped and plunged into the crystal + water—and hot and tired and soul-sick as he was, the coolness of it + was like a clasp of protecting arms. There was a rock rising from the + centre, and he swam out and stood upon it, and gazed about him at all the + ravishing beauty, and laughed and whooped so that the mountains rang with + the echoes. + </p> + <p> + He found an abandoned “open-camp”, or shed, the roof of which he made + water-proof with newspapers and balsam-boughs. He cut fresh boughs for his + bed, and spread his blankets upon them, and went back to the + lumber-shanties, and purchased a box of prunes and a bag of rice. There + were huckleberries in profusion upon the hills, and in the lakes were + fish, and in the forests squirrels and rabbits, partridges and deer. There + were the game-laws, to be sure; but there was also a “higher law”, as + eminent authorities had declared. As one of the wits at the lumber-camp + put it, “If any wild rabbit comes rushing out to bite you, don’t you + hesitate to defend yourself!” + </p> + <p> + So, with the sum of one dollar and twenty-three cents in his pocket-book, + Thyrsis began the happiest experience of his life. He watched the sun rise + and set behind the mountains; and sometimes he climbed to the summits to + see it further upon its way. He watched the progress of the tempests + across the lake, and swam in the water while the rain splashed his face + and the lightning splintered the pines in the forest. He crouched in the + bushes and saw the wild ducks feeding, and the deer that came at sunset to + drink. He watched the loons diving, and spying him out with their wild + eyes—sometimes, as they rose in flight, beating the surface of the + water with a sound like thunder. At night he heard their loud laughter, + and the creaking cries of the herons flying past. Sometimes far up in the + hills a she-fox would bark, or some too-aged tree of the forest would come + down with a booming crash. Thyrsis would lie in his open camp and watch + the moonlight through the pines, and prayers of thankfulness would well up + within him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Peace of the forest, rich, profound, + Gather me closely, fold me round!” + </pre> + <p> + There had been much carrying and hard work to do before he was settled, + and there was more of it all through his stay. He had to cook all his + meals and clean up afterwards; and because the nights were cold and his + blankets few, there was much firewood to be cut. Also, there was no food + unless he went out and found it, and so he spent hours each day tramping + about in the forests. By the time he had got home and had cleaned the game + and cooked it, he was ravenously hungry, and there was never any question + as to what would digest. This was just what he had sought; and so now, + deliberately, he banned all the muses from his presence, and poured the + rest of the dyspepsia-medicine into the lake. His muscles became hard, and + the flush of health returned to his cheeks, and as he went about his tasks + he laughed and sang, and shouted his defiance to the world. And to Corydon + he wrote his newest plan—to earn a little in the city that winter, + and come back in the early spring and build a log-cabin for herself and + the baby! + </p> + <p> + Section 11. Twice a week his mail came to the lumbercamp, in care of the + friendly foreman. Each time that he went out to get it, he hoped for some + new turn. There was a publisher interested in “The Hearer of Truth”, and + an editor was reading “The Higher Cannibalism”; also, and most important + of all, Miss Ethelynda Lewis had now had “The Genius” for nearly two + months, and had not yet reported. Thyrsis wrote to remind her, and after + another two weeks, he wrote yet more urgently. At last came a note—“I + have been away from the city, and have not had a chance to read the play. + I will attend to it at once.” And then, after three weeks more, Thyrsis + wrote again—and at last came a letter that made his heart leap. + </p> + <p> + “I have read your play”, wrote the popular <i>comédienne</i>: “I am very + much interested in it indeed. I have asked my manager to read it, and will + write you again shortly.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sent this to Corydon, and again there was rejoicing and + expectation. “If only I can get the play on,” he wrote, “our future is + safe, for the profits from plays are enormous. It will be a great piece of + luck if I have found the right person at the first attempt.” + </p> + <p> + More weeks passed. Thyrsis watched the pageant of autumn upon the + mountains—he saw the curtains of the lake-shore change to gold and + scarlet, and from that to pale yellow and brown; and now, with every + lightest breeze that stirred, there were showers of leaves came fluttering + to the ground. The deer left the lake-shore and took to the “hard-wood”, + and the drumming of partridges thundered at sunset. The nights were + bitterly cold, and he spent a good part of his day chopping logs and + carrying them to camp, so that he might keep a blazing fire all night. + There were hunting-parties in the woods, and he got a deer, and sold part + of it, and had the rest hanging near his camp. + </p> + <p> + And then one night came the first snow-storm; in the morning it lay white + and sparkling in the sunlight—and oh, the wonder of a hunting-trip, + when the floor of the wilderness was like a page on which could be read + the tale of all that happened in the night! One could hardly believe that + so many creatures were in these woods—there were tracks everywhere + one looked. Here a squirrel had run, and here a partridge; here had been a + porcupine, with feet like a baby’s, and here a fox, and here a bear with + two cubs. And in yon hollow a deer had slept through the night, and here + he had blown away the snow from the moss; here two bucks had fought; and + here one of them had been started by a hunter, and had bounded away with + leaps that it was a marvel to measure. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis nearly lost his life at these fascinating adventures; for another + storm came up, and covered his tracks, and when he tried to find his way + back by the compass, he found that he had forgotten which end of the + needle pointed to the North! So he wandered about for hours; and in the + end had to decide by the toss of a penny whether he should get out to the + main road, or wander off into twenty miles of trackless wilderness, + without either food or matches. Fortunately the penny fell right; and he + spent the night at a farmhouse, and the next day got back to the + lumber-camp. + </p> + <p> + And there was a letter from Ethelynda Lewis! Thyrsis tore it open and read + this incredible message: + </p> + <p> + “Your play has been carefully considered, and I am disposed to accept it. + It is certainly very unusual and interesting, and I think it can be made a + success. There are, however, certain changes which ought to be made. I am + wondering if you will come to the city, so that we can talk it over. It + would not be possible to settle a matter so important by mail; and there + is no time to be lost, for I am ready to go ahead with the work at once, + and so is my manager.” + </p> + <p> + Section 12. Nothing that the mail had ever brought to Thyrsis had meant so + much to him as this. He was transported with delight. Yes, for this he + would go back to the city!—But then, he caught his breath, realizing + his plight. How was he to get to the city, when he had only three dollars + to his name? + </p> + <p> + He turned the problem over in his mind. Should he send a telegram to some + relative and beg for help? No, he had vowed to die first. Should he write + to the actress, and explain? No, for that would kill his chances. There + was just one way to be thought of; venison in the woods was worth eleven + cents a pound, and the smallest of deer would get him to the city! + </p> + <p> + And so began a great adventure. Thyrsis wrote Miss Ethelynda that he would + come; and that night he loaded up some more buckshot “shells”, and before + dawn of the next day was out upon the hunt. The snow was gone now; and + with soft shoes on his feet he wandered all day through the wilderness—and + was rewarded by two chances to shoot at the white tails of flying deer. + </p> + <p> + And then came night, and he rigged up a “jack”, a forbidden apparatus made + of a soap-box and a lantern and a tin-plate for a reflector. He had an + ingenious arrangement of straps and cords, whereby he could fasten this + upon his head; and he had found an old lumber-trail where the deer came to + feed upon the soft grass. Down this he crept like a thief in the night, + with the light gleaming ahead, and the deer tramping in the thickets and + whistling their alarms. Now and then one would stand and stare, his + eye-balls gleaming like coals of fire; and at last came the roar of the + gun, and the jacklight tumbled to the ground. When Thyrsis lighted up + again and went to examine, there were spots of blood upon the leaves—but + no deer. + </p> + <p> + So the next day he was up again at dawn, watching by one of the runways to + the lake. And then came another tramp, through the thickets and over the + mountains—and more shots at the “flags” of the elusive enemy. + Thyrsis’ back ached, and his feet were as if weighted with lead, but still + he plodded on and on—it was his life against a deer’s. + </p> + <p> + If only he had had a boat, so that he could have set up his “jack” in + that! But he had no boat—and so he wrapped himself in blankets and + sat to watch another runway at sunset; and when no deer came he decided to + stay on until the moon rose. It was a bitterly cold night, and his hands + almost froze to the gun-barrel when he touched it. And the moon rose, and + forthwith went behind a cloud—and then came a deer! + </p> + <p> + There was hardly a trace of motion in the air, but somehow the creature + half-scented Thyrsis; and so it stood and trumpeted to the night. Oh, the + wildness of that sound—and the thumping of the heart of the hunter, + and the breathless suspense, and the burning desire. The deer would take a + step, and a twig would crack; and then it would stand still again, and + Thyrsis would listen, crouching like a statue, clutching his weapon and + striving to penetrate the darkness. And then the deer would take two or + three more steps, and stand again; and then, in sudden alarm, bound away; + and then come back again, step by step—fascinated by this mysterious + thing there in the darkness. For three mortal hours that creature pranced + and cavorted about Thyrsis, while he waited with chattering teeth; then in + the end it took a sudden fright, and went bounding away through the + thicket. + </p> + <p> + So came another day’s hunting; and at sundown another watch by a runway; + and another deer, that approached from the wrong direction, and came upon + a man, worn out by three days and nights of effort, lying sound asleep at + his post! + </p> + <p> + But there could be only one ending to this adventure. Thyrsis was out for + a deer, and he would never quit until he got one. All his planning and + wandering had availed him nothing; but now, the next morning, as he + stepped out from his camp with a bucket in his hand—behold, at the + edge of a thicket, a deer! Thyrsis stood rooted to the spot, staring + blankly; and the deer stood staring at him. + </p> + <p> + It was a time of agony. Should he try to creep back to his gun, or should + he make a sudden dash? He started to try the latter, and had a pang of + despair as the deer whirled and bolted away. He leaped to the camp and + grabbed his gun and sprang out into sight again—and there, off to + the right, was another deer. It was a huge buck, with wide-spreading + antlers, rising out of the bushes where it stood. It saw Thyrsis, and + started away; and in a flash he raised his gun and fired. He saw the deer + stumble, and he fired the other barrel; and then he started in wild + pursuit. + </p> + <p> + He had been warned to beware of a wounded deer; but he forgot that—he + forgot also that he had no more shells upon him. He ran madly through the + forest, springing over fallen logs, plunging through thickets—he + would have seized hold of the animal with his bare hands, if only he could + have caught up with it. + </p> + <p> + The deer was badly hurt. It would leap ahead, and then stumble, half + falling, and then leap again. Even in this way, the distance it covered + was amazing; Thyrsis was appalled at the power of the creature, its + tremendous bounds, the shock of its fall, and the crashing of the + underbrush before it. It seemed like a huge boulder, leaping down a + precipice; and Thyrsis stood at a safe distance and watched it. According + to the poetry-books he should have been ashamed—perhaps moved to + tears by the reproachful look in the great creature’s eyes. But assuredly + the makers of the poetry-books had never needed the price of a + railroad-ticket as badly as Thyrsis did! + </p> + <p> + He only realized that night how desperate his need had been. He lay in his + berth on board a train for the city—while back at his “open-camp” a + wild blizzard was raging, and the thermometer stood at forty degrees below + zero. But Thyrsis was warm and comfortable; and also he was brown and + rugged, once more full of health and eagerness for life. All night he + listened to the pounding of the flying train; and fast as the music of it + went, it was not fast enough for his imagination. It seemed as if the + rails were speaking—saying to him, over and over and over again, + “Ethelynda Lewis! Ethelynda Lewis! Ethelynda Lewis!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK X. THE END OF THE TETHER + </h2> + <p> + <i>They sat still watching upon the hill-top, drinking in the scent of the + clover. </i> + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if only we might have come back here!” she sighed. “If only tee had + never had to leave!” + </p> + <p> + “That way lies unhappiness” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she answered; and then quoted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Yet, Thyrsis, let me give my grief its hour + In the old haunt, and find our tree-topp’d hill! + Who, if not I, for questing here hath power?” + </pre> + <p> + “I wonder,” said he, “if the poet put as much into these stanzas as we + find in them!” + </p> + <p> + Section 1. Through the summer Corydon had been living week by week upon the + hope that her husband would be able to send for her; all through the fall + she had been dreaming of the arrangements they would make for the winter. + But by now it had become clear that they would have to be separated for a + part of the winter as well. She had sent him long letters, full of hopes + and yearnings, anxieties and rebellions; but in the end she had brought + herself to face the inevitable. And then it transpired that even a greater + sacrifice was required of her—she was to be forbidden to see Thyrsis + at all! If a man did not support his wife, said the world, it was + common-sense that he should not have any wife; that was the quickest way + to bring him to his senses. And so the two had threshed out that problem, + and chosen their course; they would live in the same city, and yet confine + themselves to writing letters! + </p> + <p> + A curious feeling it gave Thyrsis, to know that she was so near to him, + and yet not to be going to meet her! He could not endure any part of the + city where he had been with her, and got himself a hall bedroom on the + edge of a tenement-district far up town. Then he had his shoes shined, and + purchased a clean collar, and wrote Miss Ethelynda Lewis that he was ready + to call. While he was waiting to hear from her, there came to him a + strange adventure; assuredly one of the strangest that ever befell a + struggling poet, in a world where many strange adventures have befallen + struggling poets. + </p> + <p> + For six months Thyrsis had not seen his baby; and there had come in the + meantime so many letters, telling so many miraculous things about that + baby! So many dreams he had dreamed about it, so many hopes and so many + prayers were centered in it! Twenty-two hours had he sat by the bedside + when it was born; and through all the trials that had come afterwards, how + he had suffered and wept for it! Now his heart was wrung with longing to + see it, to touch it—his child. He wrote Corydon that he could not + stand it; and Corydon wrote back that he was right—he should surely + see the baby. And so it was arranged between them that Thyrsis was to be + at a certain place in the park, and she would send the nurse-girl there + with little Cedric. + </p> + <p> + He went and sat upon a bench; and the hour came, and at last down the path + strolled a nurse-girl, wheeling a baby-carriage. He looked at the girl—yes, + she was Irish, as Cordon had said, and answered all specifications; and + then he looked at the baby, and his heart sank into his boots. Oh, such a + baby! With red hair and a pug-nose, plebeian and dull-looking—such a + baby! Thyrsis stared at the maid again—and she smiled at him. Then + she passed on, and he sank down upon a bench. Great God, could it be that + that was his child? That he would have to go through life with something + so ugly, so alien to him? A terror seized him. It was like a nightmare. He + was hardly able to move. + </p> + <p> + But then he told himself it could not be! Corydon had written him all + about the baby; it was beautiful, with a noble head; everyone loved it. + But then, were not mothers notoriously blind? Had there ever been a mother + dissatisfied with her child? Or a father either, for that matter? Was it + not a kind of treason for him to be so disgusted with this one—since + it so clearly must be his? + </p> + <p> + There was none other in sight; and though he waited half an hour, none + came. At last he could stand it no more, but hurried away to the nearest + telegraph-office. “Has baby red hair?” he wrote. “Did he come to the + park?” And then he went to his room and waited, and soon after came the + reply: “Baby has golden hair. Nurse was ill. Could not come.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis read this, and then shut the door upon the messenger-boy, and + burst into wild, hilarious laughter. He stood there with his arms + stretched out, invoking all posterity to witness—“What do you think + of <i>that?</i> What do you think of <i>that?</i>” + </p> + <p> + And a full hour later he was sitting by his bedside, his chin supported on + his hands, and still invoking posterity. “Will you ever know what I went + through?” he was saying. “Will you ever realize what my books have cost?” + Then he smiled grimly, thinking of Voltaire’s cruel epigram—that + “letters addressed to posterity seldom reach their destination!” + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Thyrsis received a reply to his note, and went to call upon Miss + Ethelynda Lewis. Miss Lewis dwelt in a luxurious apartment-house on + Riverside Drive, where a colored maid showed him into a big parlor, full + of spindle-legged gilt furniture upholstered in flowered silk. Also the + room contained an ebony grand piano, and a bookcase, in which he had time + to notice the works of Maupassant and Marie Corelli. + </p> + <p> + Then Miss Lewis entered, clad in a morning-gown of crimson “liberty”. She + was <i>petite</i> and exquisite, full of alluring dimples—and + apparently just out of a perfumed bath. Thyrsis sat on the edge of his + chair and gazed at her, feeling quite out of his element. + </p> + <p> + She placed herself on the flowered silk sofa and talked. “I am immensely + interested in that play,” she said. “It is <i>quite</i> unique. And you + are so young, too—why, you seem just a boy. Really, you know I think + you must be a genius yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis murmured something, feeling uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “The only thing is,” Miss Lewis went on, “it will need a lot of revision + to make it practical.” + </p> + <p> + “In what part?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The love-story, principally,” said the other. “You see, in that respect, + you have simply thrown your chances away.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You have made your hero act so queerly. Everyone feels that he is in love + with Helena—you meant him to be, didn’t you? And yet he goes away + from her and won’t see her! Everyone will be disappointed at that—it’s + impossible, from every point of view. You’ll have to have them married in + the last act.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis gasped for breath. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” continued Miss Lewis, “I am to play the part of Helena, and I + am to be the star. And obviously, it would never do for me to be rejected, + and left all up in the air like that. I must have some sort of a + love-scene.” + </p> + <p> + “But”—protested the poet—“what you want me to change is what + my play is <i>about!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s a new kind of love,” he stammered—“a different kind.” + </p> + <p> + “But, people don’t understand that kind of love.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Miss Lewis, that’s why I wrote my play! I want to <i>make</i> them + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can’t do anything like that on the stage,” said Miss Lewis. “The + public won’t come to see your play.” And then she went on to explain to + him the conditions of success in the business of the theatre. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis listened, with a clutch as of ice about his heart. “I am very + sorry, Miss Lewis,” he said, at last—“but I couldn’t possibly do + what you ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t do it!” cried the other, amazed. + </p> + <p> + “It would not fit into my idea at all.” + </p> + <p> + “But, don’t you want to get your play produced?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it, I want to get my play produced. If I did what you want me + to, it wouldn’t be my play. It would be somebody else’s play.” + </p> + <p> + And there he stood. The actress argued with him and protested. She showed + him what a great chance he had here—one that came to a new and + unknown writer but once in a lifetime. Here was a manager ready to give + him a good contract, and to put his play on at once in a Broadway theatre; + and here was a public favorite anxious to have the leading role. It would + be everything he could ask—it would be fame and fortune at one + stroke. But Thyrsis only shook his head—he could not do it. He was + almost sick with disappointment; but it was a situation in which there was + no use trying to compromise—he simply could not make a “love-story” + out of “The Genius”. + </p> + <p> + So at last there came a silence between them—there being nothing + more for Miss Lewis to say. + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose you won’t want the play,” said Thyrsis, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered, with vexation. “I’ll have to think about it + again, and talk to my manager. I had not counted on such a possibility as + this.” + </p> + <p> + And so they left it, and Thyrsis went away. The next morning he received a + letter from “Robertson Jones, Inc.”, asking him to call at once. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Robertson Jones, the great “theatrical producer”, was large and + ponderous, florid of face and firm in manner—the steam-roller type + of business-man. And it became evident at once that he had invited Thyrsis + to come and be rolled. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lewis tells me you can’t agree about the play,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Thyrsis, faintly. + </p> + <p> + And then Mr. Jones began. He told Thyrsis what he meant to do with this + play. Miss Lewis was one of the country’s future “stars”, and he was + willing to back her without stint. He had permitted her to make her own + choice of a role, and she should have her way in everything. There were + famous playwrights bidding for a chance to write for her; but she had seen + fit to choose “The Genius”. + </p> + <p> + “Personally,” said Mr. Jones, “I don’t believe in the play. I would never + think of producing it—it’s not the sort of thing anybody is + interested in. But Miss Lewis likes it; she’s been reading Ibsen, and she + wants to do a ‘drama of ideas’, and all that sort of thing, you know. And + that’s all right—she’s the sort to make a success of whatever she + does. But you must do your share, and give her a part she can make + something out of—some chance to show her charm. Otherwise, of + course, the thing’s impossible.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jones paused. “I’m very sorry”—began Thyrsis, weakly. + </p> + <p> + “What’s your idea in refusing?” interrupted the other. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis tried to explain—that he had written the play to set forth a + certain thesis, and that he was asked to make changes that directly + contradicted this thesis. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever had a play produced?” demanded the manager abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “Have you written any other plays?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Your first trial! Well, don’t you think it a good deal to expect that + your play should be perfect?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think”—began Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you see,” persisted the other, “that people who have been in this + business all their lives, and have watched thousands of plays succeed and + fail, might be able to give you some points on the matter?”—And then + Mr. Jones went on to set forth to Thyrsis the laws of the theatrical game—a + game in which there was the keenest competition, and in which the “ante” + was enormously high. To produce “The Genius” would cost ten thousand + dollars at the least; and were those who staked this to have no say + whatever in the shaping of the play? Manifestly this was absurd; and as + the manager pressed home the argument, Thyrsis felt as if he wanted to get + up and run! When Mr. Jones talked to you, he looked you squarely in the + eye, and you had a feeling of presumption, even of guilt, in standing out + against him. Thyrsis shrunk in terror from that type of personality—he + would let it have anything in the world it wanted, so only it would not + clash with him. But never before had it demanded one of the children of + his dreams! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jones went on to tell how many things he would do for the play. It + would go into rehearsal at once, and would be seen on Broadway by the + first of February. They would pay him four, six and eight per cent., and + his profits could not be less than three hundred dollars a week. With + Ethelynda Lewis in the leading role the play might well run until June—and + there would be the road profits the next season, in addition. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis’ brain reeled as he listened to this; it was in all respects + identical with another famous temptation—“The devil taketh him upon + a high mountain, and showeth him all the kingdoms of the earth!” + </p> + <p> + “And then there is England”—the man was saying. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Thyrsis, wildly. “No!” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>why</i> not?” demanded the other. + </p> + <p> + “It’s impossible! I <i>couldn’t</i> do it!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you couldn’t do the writing?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t know how to!” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, that’s easily arranged. Let me get some one to collaborate + with you. There’s Richard Haberton—you know who he is?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Thyrsis, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “He’s the author of ‘The Rajah’s Diamond’—it’s playing with five + companions now, and its third season. And he dramatized ‘In Honor’s Cause’—you’ve + seen that, no doubt. We have paid him some sixty thousand dollars in + royalties so far. And he’ll take the play and fix it over—you + wouldn’t have to stir a finger.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sprang up in his agitation. “Please don’t ask me, Mr. Jones,” he + cried. “I simply <i>could</i> not do it!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed strange to Thyrsis, when he thought it over afterwards, that the + great Robertson Jones should have taken the trouble to argue so long with + the unknown author of a play in which he did not believe. Was it that + opposition incited him to persist? Or had he told Ethelynda Lewis he would + get her what she wanted, and was now reluctant to confess defeat? At any + rate, so it was—he went on to drive Thyrsis into a corner, to tear + open his very soul. Also, he manifested anger; it was a deliberate affront + that the boy should stand out like this. And Thyrsis, in great distress of + soul, explained that he did not mean it that way—he apologized + abjectly for his obstinacy. It was the <i>ideas</i> that he had tried to + put into his play, and that he could not give up! + </p> + <p> + “But,” persisted the manager—“write other plays, and put your ideas + into them. If you’ve once had a Broadway success, then you can write + anything you please, and you can make your own terms for production.” + </p> + <p> + That thought had already occurred to Thyrsis; it was the one that nearly + broke down his resistance. He would probably have surrendered, had the + play not been so fresh from his mind, and so dear to him; if he had had + time enough to become dissatisfied with it, as he had with his first novel—or + discouraged about its prospects, as he had with “The Hearer of Truth”! But + this child of his fancy was not yet weaned; and to tear it from his + breast, and hand it to the butcher—no, it could not be thought of! + </p> + <p> + Section 4. So he parted from Mr. Jones, and went home, to pass two of the + most miserable days of his life. He had pronounced his “<i>Apage,</i> <i>Satanas!</i>”—he + had turned his back upon the kingdoms of the earth. And so presumably—virtue + being its own reward—he should have been in a state of utter bliss. + But Thyrsis had gone deeper into that problem, and asked himself a + revolutionary question: Why should it always be that Satan had the + kingdoms of the earth at his bestowal? Thyrsis did not want any kingdoms—he + only wanted a chance to live in the country with his wife and child. And + why, in order to get these things, must a poet submit himself to Satan? + </p> + <p> + Then came the third morning after his interview; and Thyrsis found in his + mail another letter from Robertson Jones, Inc. It was a letter brief and + to the point, and it struck him like a thunderbolt. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Ethelynda Lewis has decided that she wishes to accept your play as + it stands. I enclose herewith a contract in duplicate, and if the terms + are acceptable to you, will you kindly return one copy signed, and retain + the other yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis read, not long after that, of a young playwright who died of + heart-failure; and he was not surprised—if all playwrights had to go + through experiences such as that. He could hardly believe his eyes, and he + read the letter over two or three times; he read the contract, with Mr. + Jones’ impressive signature at the bottom. He did not know anything about + theatrical contracts, but this one seemed fair to him. It provided for a + royalty upon the gross receipts, to be paid after the play had earned the + expenses of its production. Thyrsis had hoped that he might get some cash + in advance, but that was not mentioned. In the flush of his delight he + concluded that he would not take the risk of demanding anything + additional, but signed the contract and mailed it, and sent a telegram to + acquaint Corydon with the glorious tidings. + </p> + <p> + Section 5. One of the consequences of this triumph was that Thyrsis + purchased a new necktie and half a dozen collars; and another was that an + angry world was in some part appeased, and permitted the struggling poet + to see his wife and child once more. + </p> + <p> + They met in the park; and strange it was to him to see Corydon after six + months’ absence. She was beautiful as ever, somewhat paler, though still + with the halo of motherhood about her. He could scarcely realize that she + was his; she seemed like a dream to him—like some phantom of music, + thrilling and wonderful, yet frail and unsubstantial. She clung to his + arm, trembling with delight, and pouring out her longing and her grief. + There came to them one of those golden hours, when the deeps of their + souls welled up, and they pledged themselves anew to their faith. + </p> + <p> + Even stranger it was to see the child; to be able to look at him all he + pleased, and to speak to him, and to hold him in his arms! He was as + beautiful as Thyrsis could have wished, and the father had no trouble at + all in being interested in him; his smiles were things to make the angels + jealous. Thyrsis would push his carriage out into the park, and they would + sit upon a bench and gaze at him—each making sure that the other had + missed none of his fine points. + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to make sounds now, and had achieved the word “puss-ée”. + This originally had signified the woolly kitten he carried with him, but + now by a metonymy it had come to include all kinds of living things; and + great was the delight of the parents when a big red automobile flashed + past, and the baby pointed his finger, exclaiming gleefully, “Puss-ée!” It + is an astonishing thing, how little it takes to make parents happy; + regarded, purely as an abstract proposition, it would be difficult to + explain why two people who possessed between them a total of sixty-four + teeth, more or less, should have been so much excited by the discovery + that the baby had four. + </p> + <p> + But parenthood, as Thyrsis found, meant more than charming baby-prattle + and the counting of teeth. Little Cedric’s tiny fingers were twisted in + his heart-strings—he loved him with a love the intensity of which + frightened him when he realized it. And sometimes things went wrong, and + then with a pang as from the stab of a knife would come the thought that + he might some day lose this child. So much pain and toil a child cost, so + much it took of one’s strength and power; and then, such a fragile thing + it was—exposed to so many perils and uncertainties, to the ravages + of so many diseases, that struck like a cruel enemy in the dark! Corydon + and Thyrsis were so ignorant—they were like children themselves; and + where should they turn for knowledge? There were doctors, of course; but + this took so much money—and even with all the doctors, see how many + babies died! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was learning the bitter truth of Bacon’s saying about “giving + hostages to fortune.” And dearly as he loved the child, the artist in him + cried out against these ties. Where now was that care-free outlook, that + recklessness, that joy in life as a spectacle, which made up so much of + the artist’s attitude? When one had a wife and child one no longer enjoyed + tragedies—one lived, them; and one got from them, not <i>katharsis</i>, + but exhaustion. One became timid and cautious and didactic, and other + inartistic things. One learned that life was real, life was earnest, and + the grave was not its goal! + </p> + <p> + Cedric had been weaned; but still he was not growing properly. Could it be + that there was something wrong with what they fed him? Corydon would come + upon advertisements telling of wonderful newly-discovered foods for + infants, and giving pictures of the rosy and stalwart ones who were fed + upon these foods. She would take to buying them—and they were not + cheap foods either. Then, during the winter, the child caught cold; and + they took that to mean that it had been in some way exposed—that was + what everybody said, and what the name “cold” itself suggested. So Corydon + would add more flannel dresses and blankets, until the unfortunate mite of + life would be in a purple stew. And still, apparently, these mysterious + “colds” were not to be thwarted. Thyrsis felt that in all this there must + be something radically wrong, and yet he knew not what to do. Surely it + should not have been such a task to keep life in one human infant. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, the training of the baby was going badly. He lived in close + contact with nervous people who were disturbed if he cried; and so + Corydon’s energies were given to a terrified effort to keep him from + crying. He must be dandled and rocked to sleep, he must be played with and + amused, and have everything he cried for; and it was amazing how early in + life this little creature learned the hold which he had upon his mother. + His chief want had come to be to sleep all day and lie awake half the + night; and during these hours of wakefulness he pursued the delightful + pastime of holding some one’s hand and playing with it. Corydon, nervous + and sick and wrestling with melancholia, would have to lie awake for + uncounted hours and submit to this torment. The infant had invented a name + for the diversion; he called it “Hoodaloo mungie”—which being + translated signified “Hold your finger”. To the mother this was like the + pass-word of some secret order of demons, who preyed upon and racked her + in the night; so that never after in her life could she hear the phrase, + even in jest, without experiencing a nervous shock. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. This was a period of great hopefulness for Thyrsis, but also of + desperate struggle. For until the production of his play in January, he + had somehow to keep alive, and that meant more hack-work. Also he had to + lay something by, for after the rehearsals the play would go on the road + for a couple of weeks, to be “tried on the dog”; and during that period he + must have money enough to travel, and stay at hotels, and also to take + Corydon with him, if possible. + </p> + <p> + The rehearsals began an interesting experience for him; he was introduced + into a new and strange world. Thyrsis himself was shy, and disposed to run + away and hide his emotions; but here were people—the actor-folk—whose + business it was to live them in sight of the world. And these emotions + were their life; they were very intense, yet quick both to come and to go. + Such people were intensely personal; they were like great children, vain + and sensitive, their moods and excitements not to be taken too seriously. + But it was long before Thyrsis came to realize this, and meanwhile he had + some uncomfortable times. To each of the players, apparently, the interest + of a play centered in those places in which he was engaged in speaking his + lines; and to each the author of the play was a more or less benevolent + despot, who had the happiness of the rest of the world in his keeping. + Once at a rehearsal, when Thyrsis was engaged in cutting out one of the + speeches attributed to “Mrs. Hartman”, he discovered that lady standing + behind him in a flood of tears! + </p> + <p> + In the beginning Thyrsis paid many visits to the apartment on Riverside + Drive; for Miss Lewis professed to be very anxious that he should consult + with her and tell her his ideas of her part. But Thyrsis soon discovered + that what she really wanted was to have him listen to <i>her</i> ideas. + Miss Lewis was at war with Thyrsis’ portrayal of Helena—it was + incomprehensible to her that Lloyd should not be pursuing her, and she + playing the coquette, according to all romantic models. Particularly she + could not see how Lloyd was to resist the particularly charming Helena + which she was going to make. She was always trying to make Thyrsis realize + this incongruity, and to persuade him to put some “charming” lines into + her part. “You boy!” she would exclaim. “I believe you are as obstinate as + your hero!” Miss Lewis was only two years older than the “boy”, but she + saw fit to adopt this grandmotherly attitude toward him. + </p> + <p> + And then came Robertson Jones, suggesting a man who could play the part of + Lloyd. But Miss Lewis declared indignantly that she would not have him, + because he was not handsome enough. “If,” she vowed, “I’ve got to make + love to a man and be rejected by him, at least I’m not going to have it an + ugly man!” When an actor was finally agreed upon and engaged, Thyrsis had + a talk with him, and it seemed as if Miss Lewis, in her preoccupation with + his looks, had overlooked the matter of his brains. But Thyrsis was so new + at this game that he did not feel capable of judging. He shrunk from the + thought of having any actor play his part—that was so precious and + so full of meaning to him. + </p> + <p> + But when the rehearsals began, Thyrsis speedily forgot this feeling. The + most sensitive poet to the contrary notwithstanding, the purpose of a play + is to be acted; and Thyrsis was like an inventor, who has dreamed a great + machine, and now sees the parts of it appearing as solid steel and brass; + sees them put together, and the great device getting actually under way. + </p> + <p> + The rehearsals were held in a little hall on the East Side, and thither + came the company—six men and three women. There was no furniture or + setting, they all wore their street clothing, and in the beginning they + went through their parts with the manuscript in their hands. And yet—they + had been selected because they resembled the characters in the play; and + every time they went over the lines they gave them with more feeling and + understanding. So—vaguely at first, and then more clearly—the + poet began to see them as incarnations of his vision. These characters had + been creatures of his fancy; they had lived in it, he had walked and + talked and laughed and wept with them. Now to discover them outside him—to + be able to hear them with his physical ears and see them with his physical + eyes—was one of the strangest experiences of his life. It was so + thrilling as to be almost uncanny. It was a new kind of inspiration, of + that strange “subliminal uprush” which made the mystery of his life. And + it was a kind that others could experience with him. Corydon would come + every day to the rehearsals, and for four or five hours at a stretch they + would sit and watch and listen in a state of perfect transport. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. Also, there were things not in the manuscript which were sources + of interest and delight. There was Mr. Tapping, the stage director, for + instance; Thyrsis could see himself writing another play, just to get Mr. + Tapping in. He was a man well on in years, and wrecked by dissipation—almost + bald and toothless, and with one foot crippled with gout. Yet he was a + perfect geyser of activity—bounding about the stage, talking + swiftly, gesticulating—like some strange gnome or cobold out of the + bowels of the earth. Thyrsis was the creator of the play, so far as + concerned the words; but this man was to be the creator of it on the + stage. And that, too, required a kind of genius, Thyrsis perceived. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Tapping had talked the problems out with him at the beginning—talking + until two o’clock in the morning, in a super-heated office filled with the + smoke of ten thousand dead cigars. He talked swiftly, eagerly, setting + forth his ideas; to Thyrsis it was a most curious experience—to hear + the vision of his inmost soul translated into the language of the + Tenderloin! “Your fiddler’s this kind of a guy,” Mr. Tapping would say—“he + knows he’s got the goods, and he don’t care whether those old fogies think + he’s dippy, or what the hell they think. Ain’t that the dope, Mr. Author?” + And Thyrsis would answer faintly that he thought that was “the dope.”—This + was a word that Mr. Tapping used every time he opened his mouth, + apparently; it designated all things connected with the play—character, + dialogue, action, scenery, music, costume. “That’s the way to dope it out + to them!” he would cry to the actors. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lewis, and Mr. Tilford, the leading man, moved through their parts + with dignity; the stage director showed them the “business” he had laid + out, but they did not trouble to act at rehearsals, and he did not + criticize what they did. But all the other people had to be taught their + roles and drilled in them; and that meant that Mr. Tapping had to have in + him five actors and two actresses, and play all their seven parts as they + came. Marvellous it was to see him do this; springing from place to place, + and changing his whole aspect in a flash—now scolding shrewishly in + the words of Violet Hartman, now discoursing, with the accent and manner + of Prof, von Arne, upon the <i>psychopathia</i> <i>sexualis</i> of Genius. + </p> + <p> + He did not know all the parts, of course; but that was never allowed to + trouble him. He would take a sentence out of the actor’s lips, and then go + on to elaborate it in his Tenderloin dialect; or, if the scene was highly + emotional, and required swift speech, he would fall back upon the phrase + “and so and so, and so and so.” He could run the whole gamut of human + emotions with those words, “and so and so.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that’s no good!” he would cry to “Mrs. Hartman.” “What are those + words?—‘Wretched, ungrateful son—do you care nothing at all + for your parents’ feelings? Do you owe us nothing for what we have done? + And so and so? And so and so? And so and so?’” Mr. Tapping’s voice would + rise to a wail; and then in a flash he would turn to Moses Rosen (he + called all the actors by their character-names). “That’s your cue, Rosen, + you rush in left centre, and throw up your hands—right here—see? + And what’s your dope?—oh yes—‘I have spent seven thousand + dollars on this thing! You have ruined me! You have betrayed me! And so + and so! And so and so! And so and so!’—And then you run over here to + the professor—‘You have trapped me! And so and so!’” + </p> + <p> + Day by day as the work progressed, and the actors came to know their + lines, Thyrsis’ excitement grew. The great machine was running, he was + getting some sense of the power of it! And new aspects of it were revealed + to him; there came the composer who was to do the incidental music, and + the orchestra-leader who was to conduct it; there came the + costume-designer and the scene-painter, and even the press-agent who was + to “boost” the play, and wanted picturesque details about the author’s + life. Corydon and Thyrsis were invited to go with Mr. Tilford to select a + wig, and with Mr. Tapping to see the carpenters who were building the + various “sets”, in a big loft over near the North River. As the two walked + home each day after these adventures, it was all they could do to keep + from hugging each other on the street. + </p> + <p> + It was a thing of especial moment to Thyrsis, because it was the first + time in his life that his art had received any assistance from the outside + world—the first time this world had done anything but scold at him + and mock him. Here at last was recognition—here was success! Here + were material things submitting themselves to his vision, coming to him + humbly to be taught, and to co-operate in the creation of beauty! So + Thyrsis caught sudden glimpses of what his life might have been. He was + like a man who had been chained in a black dungeon, and who now gets sight + of the green earth and the blue sky, and smells the perfume of the flowers + and hears the singing of the birds. With forces such as this at his + command, the power of his vision would be multiplied tenfold; and he was + transported with the delight of the discovery, he and Corydon found their + souls once more in this new hope. + </p> + <p> + So out of these moods there began the burgeoning of new plans in his mind. + Even amid the rush of rehearsals, he was dreaming of other things to + write; some time before “The Genius” had reached the public, he had + finished the writing of “The Utopians”—that fragment of a vision + which was perhaps the greatest thing he ever did, and certainly the most + characteristic. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. As usual, the immediate occasion of the writing was trivial + enough. It was his “leading lady” who was responsible for it. Miss Lewis + had taken a curious fancy to Thyrsis—he was a new type to her, and + it pleased her to explore him. “How in the world did you ever get him to + marry you?” she would exclaim to Corydon. “I could as soon imagine a + marble statue making love to me!” And she told others about this strange + poet, who was obviously almost starving, and yet had refused to let + Richard Haberton revise his play for him, and had all but refused to let + Robertson Jones Inc., produce it. Before long she came to Thyrsis to say + that one of her friends desired to meet him, and would he come to a + supper-party. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis heard this with perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “A supper-party!” he exclaimed. “But I can’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—I have no clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody expects a poet to have clothes,” laughed Miss Lewis. “Come in the + garments of your fancy. And besides, Barry’s a true Bohemian.” + </p> + <p> + Barry Creston, the giver of this party, was one of the sons of “Dan” + Creston, the mine-owner and “railroad-king”, who a short while before had + been elected senator from a Western state under circumstances of great + scandal. “The old man’s a hard character, I guess,” said Miss Lewis; “but + you must not believe all you read in the papers about Barry.” + </p> + <p> + “I never read anything about him,” said the other; and so Miss Lewis went + on to explain that Griswold, the Wall Street plunger, had got a divorce + from his wife after throwing her into Barry’s arms; and that Barry’s + sister had married an Austrian arch-duke who had maltreated her, and that + Barry had kicked him out of a hotel-window in Paris. + </p> + <p> + This invitation was a cause of much discomfort to Thyrsis. He had not come + to the point where he was even curious about the life of the Barry + Crestons of the world; and yet he did not like to hurt Miss Lewis’ + feelings. She made it evident to him that she was determined to exhibit + her “lion”; and so he said “all right.” + </p> + <p> + The supper party was at the <i>Café</i> <i>de</i> <i>Bohême</i>, which was + an Aladdin’s palace buried underground beneath a building in the + “Tenderloin”. Fountains splashed in marble basins, and birds sang amid the + branches of tropical flowering trees, while on a little stage a man in the + costume and character of a Paris <i>apache</i> sang a song of ferocious + cynicism. And after him came a Japanese juggler of prodigious swiftness, + and then a fat German woman in peasant guise who sang folk-songs, and + wound up with “O, du lieber Augustin!” After which the company joined in + the chorus of “Funiculi, funicula” and “Gaudeamus igitur”—for the + patrons of the “Boheme” were nothing if they were not cosmopolitan. + </p> + <p> + Cosmopolitan also was the company at Barry Creston’s table. On one side of + Thyrsis was Miss Lewis, and on the other was Mlle. Armand, the dancer who + had set New York in a furore. Opposite to her was Scarpi, the famous + baritone; and then there was Massey, a sculptor from Paris, and Miss Rita + Seton, of the “Red Hussars” Company, and a Miss Raymond, a gorgeous + creature with a red flamingo feather in her hat, who had been Massey’s + model for his sensational figure of “Aurora”. + </p> + <p> + Finally there was Barry Creston himself: a new type, and a disconcerting + one. He was not at all the “gilded youth” whom Thyrsis had expected to + find; he was a man of about thirty, widely cultured, urbane and gracious + in his manner, and quite evidently a man of force. He was altogether free + from that crude egotism which Thyrsis had found to be the most prominent + characteristic of the American man of wealth. He spoke in French with + Armand and in Italian with Scarpi and in German with the head-waiter who + worshipped before him; and yet one did not feel that there was any + ostentation about it—all this was his <i>monde</i>. And although he + exhaled an atmosphere of vast wealth, this, too, seemed a matter of + course; he assumed that you also were provided with unlimited funds—that + all the world, in fact, was in the same fortunate case. Evidently he was + well-known at the “Bohême”, for the waiters gathered like flies around the + honey-pot, and the august head-waiter himself took the order, and beamed + his approval at Barry’s selections. So presently there flowed in a stream + of costly viands, served in <i>outré</i> and fantastic fashion—many + of them things not known even by name to Thyrsis. There were costly wines + as well, and at the end an ice in the shape of a great basket of fruit, + wonderfully carved and colored like life, resting upon a slab of ice, + which in turn was set in a silver tray with handles. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was dazed at all this waste, and at the uproar in the place, where + dozens of other parties were squandering money in the same blind fashion, + and all laughing, chatting, joining in the choruses with the performers on + the stage. Now and then he would catch a little of his host’s + conversation, which was of all the capitals of Europe, and of art-worlds, + the very existence of which was unknown to him. And then, on his left + hand, there was Mlle. Armand, deftly picking off the leaves of an + artichoke and dipping them into <i>mayonnaise</i>, and saying in her + little bird’s voice, “They tell me, Monsieur, that you have <i>du génie</i>. + Oh, you should go to Paree to live—it is not here that one + appreciates <i>du génie</i>!” And, then while Thyrsis was working out an + explanation of his failure to visit Paris, some one in the café caught + sight of Scarpi, and there was a general call for him; and according to + the genial custom of the “Bohême” he stood up, amid tumultuous applause, + and sang one of his own rollicking songs. + </p> + <p> + So the revelry went forward, while Thyrsis marvelled, and tried to hide + his pain. There could be no question of any enjoyment for him—when + he knew that the cost of this affair would have paid all his expenses for + a winter! Doubtless what Barry Creston spent for his cigars would have + saved Thyrsis and his family from misery all their lives; and he wondered + if the man would have cared had he known. Barry was one of the princes of + the new dispensation; and sometimes princes were compassionate, Thyrsis + reflected. Apparently this one was all urbanity and charm, having no + thought in life save to play the perfect host to brilliant artists and <i>demi-mondaimes</i>, + and to skim the cream off the top of civilization. + </p> + <p> + But then suddenly the conversation took a new turn, and Thyrsis got + another view of the young prince. There had been trouble out in the + Western mines; and some one mentioned it—when in a flash Thyrsis saw + the set jaw and the clenched fist and the steel grey eye of old “Dan” + Creston. (Thyrsis had read somewhere a sketch of this senator, whose + fortune was estimated at fifty millions, and who ran the governments of + three states.) Barry, it seemed, had had charge of the mines for three + years—that was how he had won his spurs. In those days, he said, + there had been no unions—he told with a quiet smile how he had + broken them. Now again “agitators” had crept in, so that in some of the + camps the men were being moved out bodily, and replaced by foreigners, who + knew a good job when they had it. To make this change had taken the + militia; but it would be done thoroughly, and afterwards there would be no + more trouble. + </p> + <p> + The supper-party broke up about two o’clock, and Miss Raymond, the lady of + the flamingo hat, was the only one who showed any effects from all the + wine that had been consumed. Thyrsis, to his great surprise discovered + that his host had taken a fancy to him, and had asked Miss Lewis to bring + him out to luncheon at the Creston place in the country. And so came the + wonderful experience which brought to him the vision of “The Utopians.” + </p> + <p> + Section 9. They went, one Saturday morning, in Miss Lewis’ automobile—out + to Riverside Drive, and up the valley of the Hudson. This was in itself a + Utopian experience for Thyrsis, who had never before taken a trip in one + of these magic chariots. It leaped over the frozen roads like a thing of + life, and he lay back in the cushioned seats and closed his eyes and + listened to the hum of the machinery, imagining what life might be for + him, if he could rest like this when he was worn from overwork. It was + like some great adventure in music, like a minstrel’s chanting of heroic + deeds; it was Nature with all her pageantry unrolled in a panorama before + his eyes. And meantime Miss Lewis was chattering on about the play and its + prospects; and about other plays and their prospects; and about the people + at the supper-party and their various loves and hates. + </p> + <p> + So they came to the great stone castle of the Crestons, set upon a + mountain-top overlooking the valley of this “American Rhine.” Thyrsis + gasped when he saw it, and he gasped many times again while Barry was + showing them about. For this place was a triumph of a hundred arts and + sciences; into its perfections had gone all the skill of the architects + and designers, the weavers and carpenters, the painters and sculptors of a + score of centuries and climes. The very dairies, the stables, the + dog-kennels were things to be wondered at and studied; and in the vast + halls were single pictures over which Thyrsis would fain have lingered for + hours. Then, best of all, the great portico, with its stone pillars, and + its view of the noble river, and of the snow-clad hills, dazzling in the + sunlight! + </p> + <p> + They had luncheon; after which Barry played upon the organ, and Miss Lewis + sat beside him and left Thyrsis to wander at will. He made his way out to + the portico, and paced back and forth there; and while the organ rolled + and thundered to him, the majesty of the scene swept over him, and in + towering splendors his soul arose. He thought of the wretched room in + which he was pent, he thought of his starved and struggling life; and all + the rage of his defeated genius awoke in him. In the name of that genius + he uttered his defiance, and by the title of it he took possession of this + castle, and of all things it contained. Yes—for he was the true lord + and master of it—he was the prince disinherited! And the meaning of + it, its excuse for being, was this brief hour! For this its glories had + been assembled; for this the architects and designers, the weavers and + carpenters, the painters and sculptors had labored in a score of centuries + and climes; for this the great organ had been built, and for this the + great musician had composed—that he might behold, in one hour of + transfiguration, what the life of man would be in that glad time when all + the arts of civilization were turned to the fostering of the soul! When he + who carried in the womb of his spirit the new life of the ages, would be + loved instead of being hated, would be cherished instead of being + neglected, would be reverenced instead of being mocked! When palaces would + be built for him and beauty and joy would be gathered for him, and the + paths would be made clear before his feet! So out of boundless love and + rapture would he speak to men, and bring to them those gifts that were + beyond price, the treasures of his unfolding inspiration. + </p> + <p> + So it was that the Utopians came to Thyrsis; those men of the future, + worshippers of joy! They came to him, alive and in the flesh, beautiful + and noble, gracious and free-hearted—as some day they will come, if + so the earth endure; as they will stand upon that portico, and listen to + that music, and gaze upon the valley of that American Rhine! And will they + remember the long-dead dreamer, and how they walked with him there and + spoke with him; how they put their arms about him, and gave him of their + love and understanding? Will they remember what shuddering rapture their + touch conveyed to him; how the tears ran down his cheeks, and he pledged + his soul to yet more years of torment, so only their glory might come to + be upon earth? Will they read the blazing words in which he pictured them, + the trumpet-blast he sounded to the dead souls of his time? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis knew that this was the greatest hour of his life, and he fought + like mad to hold it. But that might not be—the music ceased, and he + heard the voices of his host and Miss Lewis. They came to the door; and + then Thyrsis’ thoughts came back quickly to earth. For he saw that Barry + Creston’s arm was about the woman, and she was leaning upon him; nor did + they separate when they saw him, but stood there, smiling; so that at last + Thyrsis had solved for him the problem of their relationship. It was not + so that the Utopians loved, he thought, as he watched them; and found + himself wondering if young Creston was as imperious with his women as he + was with the slaves in his Western mines. + </p> + <p> + The car came to the door, and they parted from their host and sped back to + the city. “What do you think of him?” asked Miss Lewis—and went on + in a burst of confidence to tell him that it was to this prince of the new + dispensation that he owed the great chance of his life. For it was Barry + Creston who had given the Broadway “show-girl” the start that had made her + a popular <i>comédienne</i>; it was Barry Creston who had awakened in her + an interest in the “drama of ideas”, and had set her to fermenting with + new ambitions; and finally it was Barry Creston who in a moment of + indulgence had promised the money which had set the managers and actors + and musicians, the stage-carpenters and scene-painters and press-agents to + work at the task of embodying “The Genius”! + </p> + <p> + Section 10. It may have been a coincidence; but from that hour dated the + process of Thyrsis’ disillusionment concerning the production of his play. + Could it be, he asked himself, that such wealth as Barry Creston’s could + buy true art? Could it be that forces set in motion by it could really + express his vision? “Genius surrounded by Commercialism”, had been the + formula of his play; and did not the formula describe his own position as + well as Lloyd’s? + </p> + <p> + A strange thing was this theatrical business—the business of selling + emotions! One had really to feel the emotions, in order to portray them + with force; yet one had at the same time to appraise them with the eye of + the business-man—one must not feel emotions that would not pay. + Also, one boomed and boosted his own particular emotions, celebrating + their merits in the language of the circus-poster. If you had taken up a + certain play, you considered it the greatest play that had ever made its + bow to Broadway; and you actually persuaded yourself to believe it—at + least those who made the real successes were men who possessed that + hypnotic power. + </p> + <p> + There was, for instance, Mr. Rosenberg, the press-agent and + advertising-man. He was certain that “The Genius” was a play of genius, + and its author a man of genius; and yet Thyrsis knew that if it had been + Meyer and Levinson, across the street, who were producing it, Mr. + Rosenberg would have called it “rot”. Mr. Rosenberg was to Thyrsis a + living embodiment of Moses Rosen in the play—so much so that he felt + the resemblance in the names to be perilous, and winced every time he + heard Rosenberg speak of Rosen. But fortunately neither Rosenberg nor + Rosen possessed a sense of irony, and so there were no feelings hurt. + Thyrsis had written the play without having met either a press-agent or + the head of a music-bureau; he had drawn the character of Moses after the + fashion of the German, evolving the idea of an elephant out of his inner + consciousness. But now that it was done, he was amazed to see how well it + was done; he was like an astronomer who works out the orbit of a new + planet, and afterwards discovers it with his telescope. + </p> + <p> + As the preparations neared completeness, Thyrsis found himself more and + more disturbed about the production. He was able to judge of the actors + now, and they seemed to him to be cheap actors—to be relying for + their effects upon exaggeration, to be making the play into a farce. But + when he pointed this out to Mr. Tapping, Mr. Tapping was offended; and + when he spoke to Mr. Jones, he was referred to Miss Lewis. All he could + accomplish with Miss Lewis, however, was to bring up the eternal question + of the lack of “charm” in her part. Poor Ethelynda was also getting into + an unhappy frame of mind; she had begun to doubt whether the “drama of + ideas” was her <i>forte</i> after all—and whether the ideas in this + particular drama were real ideas or sham. She got the habit of inviting + friends in to judge it, and she was always of the opinion of the last + friend; so the production was like a ship whose pilot has lost his + bearings. + </p> + <p> + The time drew near for the opening-performance, which was to be given in a + manufacturing city in New England. The nerves of all the company were + stretched to the breaking point; and overwrought as he was himself, + Thyrsis could not but pity the unhappy “leading lady”, who could hardly + keep herself together, even with the drugs he saw her taking. + </p> + <p> + The “dress-rehearsal” began at six o’clock on Sunday evening; and from the + very start everything went wrong. But Thyrsis did not know the peculiar + fact about dress-rehearsals, that everything always goes wrong; and so he + suffered untellable agonies at the sight of the blundering and stupidity. + Mr. Tapping stormed and fumed and hopped about the stage, and swore, first + at his gouty foot, and then at some member of the company; and he sent + them back, over and over again through the scenes—it was midnight + before they finished the first act, and it was six o’clock in the morning + before they finished the second, and it was nearly noon of Monday before + the wretched men and women went home to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had left before that, partly because he could not endure to see + the mess that things were in, and partly because they told him he would + have to make a speech that night, and he had to spend two of his + hardearned dollars for the hire of a dress-suit. Here, as always, the + scarcity of dollars was like a thorn in his flesh. He had been obliged to + leave Corydon heart-broken at home, because he had not been able to lay by + enough to bring her; he had to stay at a cheap hotel—cheaper even + than any of the actors; and when Miss Lewis and Mr. Tapping went out to + lunch, he would have to say that he was not hungry, and then go off and + get something at a corner grocery. + </p> + <p> + The hour of the performance came; and Thyrsis, like a gambler who has + staked all his possessions upon the turn of one card, sat in a box and + watched the audience and the play. The house was crowded; and the + play-wright saw with amazed relief that all his agonies of the night + before had been needless—the performance went without a hitch from + beginning to end. And also, to his unutterable delight, the play seemed to + “score”. He had gazed at the rows of respectable burghers of this + prosperous manufacturing town, and wondered what understanding they could + have of his tragedy of “genius”. But they seemed to be understanding; at + any rate they laughed and applauded; and when Lloyd smashed the violin + over von Arne’s head and the curtain went down, there was quite a little + uproar. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis came out and made his timid speech, which was also applauded; and + then came the last act, and the women got out their handkerchiefs on + schedule time, and Mr. Rosenberg stood behind Thyrsis in the box, rubbing + his hands together gleefully. So the play-wright sent a telegram to his + wife, saying that the play was a certain success; and then he went to bed, + assuredly the happiest man who had ever slept in that fifty-cent hotel! + </p> + <p> + But alas—the next morning, there were the local papers; and with one + accord they all “roasted” the play! Their accounts of it sounded for all + the world like the play itself—those extracts which the two + professors had read from the criticisms of Lloyd’s concert! Thyrsis + wondered if the critics must not have taken offence at the satire! + </p> + <p> + Then, going to the theatre, the first person he met was Rosenberg, who + sent another chill to his heart. “First nights are always good,” said Mr. + Rosenberg. “It was all ‘paper’, you know. To-night is the real test.” + </p> + <p> + And so the second performance came; and in the theatre were some two + hundred people, and the occasion was the most awful “frost” that ever + froze the heart of an unhappy partisan of the “drama of ideas”. After + which, according to schedule, the play moved to another manufacturing + town; and in the theatre were some two hundred and fifty people—and + a frost some ten degrees lower yet! + </p> + <p> + Section 11. So at twelve o’clock that night there was a consultation in a + room at the hotel, attended by Thyrsis and Miss Lewis and Mr. Tapping and + Mr. Jones. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the last named; “the play is a failure.” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely!” said Mr. Tapping. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it would be!” cried Miss Lewis. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” asked Mr. Jones of Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “It has not succeeded in these towns,” said Thyrsis. “But then—how + could it succeed, except where there are intellectual people? You promised + to take it to New York.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use!” declared Jones. “New York would laugh it dead in one + night.” + </p> + <p> + “It would,” said Mr. Tapping, decisively. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it all along,” cried Miss Lewis. + </p> + <p> + So they went on for ten minutes; and then, “What are you going to do?” + asked Thyrsis, in terror. + </p> + <p> + “The play must be altered,” said Jones. + </p> + <p> + “How altered?” + </p> + <p> + “It must be altered as Miss Lewis asked you at first.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sprang up. “What!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “It must be done!” said Mr. Jones. + </p> + <p> + “It must,” said Mr. Tapping. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it all along!” cried Miss Lewis again. + </p> + <p> + “But I won’t stand for it!” exclaimed Thyrsis, wildly. + </p> + <p> + “It must be done!” said Mr. Jones, in his heaviest steam-roller tone. + </p> + <p> + “But I won’t have it!” + </p> + <p> + “What’ll you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go to law! I’ll get an injunction.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there in our contract to prevent our altering the play?” demanded + the man. + </p> + <p> + “What!” gasped Thyrsis. “You know what our understanding was!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” said the other. “Can you prove it?” + </p> + <p> + “And do you mean that you would go back on that understanding?” + </p> + <p> + “And do you mean that you expect me to see this money wasted and the play + sent to pot?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis, in his agony, turned to Miss Lewis. “Will you let him break our + bargain?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “But what else is there to be done?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see that the play is a failure? And don’t you see the plight + you’ve got me in?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was dumb with dismay. He stared from one of these people to + another, and his heart went down—down. He saw that his case was + hopeless. He had no one to help him or to advise him, and he had less than + eleven dollars in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “What do you propose to do?” he asked, weakly. + </p> + <p> + “I have already telegraphed to Richard Haberton,” said Jones. “He will + meet us and see the next two performances; and then we’ll lay the company + off until we get some kind of a practical play.” + </p> + <p> + And so the steam-roller rolled and the matter was settled; and Thyrsis, + broken-hearted, bid the trio farewell, and took an early train back to New + York. + </p> + <p> + He never saw any member of the company again—and he never saw the + “practical play” which Mr. Richard Haberton made out of “The Genius”. What + was done he gathered from the press-clippings that came to him—the + famous author of “The Rajah’s Diamond” caused Helena to fall into Lloyd’s + arms at the end of the second act, and had them safely if not happily + married at the beginning of the third. Also he wrote several “charming” + scenes for Ethelynda Lewis, and two weeks later the play had a second + opening in another manufacturing town of New England—where the + critics, awed by the name of the distinguished dramatist upon the + play-bills, were moved to faint praise. But perhaps it was that Mr. + Richard Haberton required more than two weeks’ time for the evolving of + real “charm”; at any rate the audience came in no larger numbers to see + this new version, and the misbegotten production lived for another six + performances, and died a peaceful death at the very gates of the + metropolis. + </p> + <p> + And such was the end of Thyrsis’ career as a play-wright. In return for + all his labors and his agonies he received some weeks later a note from + Robertson Jones, Inc., to the effect that the books of “The Genius” showed + a total deficit of six thousand seven hundred and forty-two dollars and + seventeen cents; and accordingly, under the contract, there was nothing + due to the author. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XI. THE TORTURE-HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + <i>They sat in the darkness, watching where the starlight gleamed upon the + water. </i> + </p> + <p> + “We had always hope,” she was saying. “How endlessly we hoped!” + </p> + <p> + “Could we do it now?” he asked; and after a pause, he quoted from the poem— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Unbreachable the fort + Of the long-batter’d world uplifts its wall; + And strange and vain the earthly turmoil grows, + And near and real the charm of thy repose, + And night as welcome as a friend would fall!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. Thyrsis came home beaten and crushed, worn out with overwork and + worry, his heart black with rage and bitterness and despair. He met + Corydon in the park, and she listened to his story, white and terrified. + She had swallowed all her disappointment, had stayed at home with the baby + while he went with the play; and now the outcome of it all was this! + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” she whispered; and he answered, “I don’t know. + I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + She saw the terrible state he was in, and she dared not utter a single + word of her own grief. She bit her lip, and choked back her tears. “This + is my life,” she thought to herself; “I must endure, endure—that is + all!” + </p> + <p> + He could not afford even to sit and talk with her very long; there was no + time to indulge in the luxury of despair. His money was gone, and he was + in debt for some that he had borrowed. Since irregular eating had been + telling upon him again, he had been getting his meals with an acquaintance + of the family, who kept a boarding-house uptown. On the strength of his + prospects, she had trusted him for four dollars a week; and now the play + had failed, and he had to go and tell her, and listen to new protests as + to his folly in refusing to “get a position”. But in the end she bade him + stay on; and so he was divided between his shame, and the need of + something to eat day by day. + </p> + <p> + Time dragged on, and still there was no gleam of light. There were + shameful hours in these weeks—he touched the lowest point yet in his + life. This was a typical cheap boarding-house, a place where the drudges + of trade were herded; it was a home of sordidness and ugliness—to + Thyrsis its people seemed like carefully selected types of all things that + he hated in the world. There was a young broker’s clerk, whose patter was + of prices, and of fortunes made without service. There was a grey-haired + bookkeeper for a giant “trust”, a man who could not have had more pride in + that great engine of exploitation, or more contempt for its victims, had + he been the president and chief owner thereof. There was a young + divinity-student, who made greedy reaches for the cake-plate, and who + summed up for Thyrsis all the cant and commonness of the church. There was + a dry-goods clerk, who wore flaring ties, and who played the role of a + “masher” upon the avenue every evening. And finally there was a red-faced + Irish-man who wore large shiny cuffs and a false diamond, and who held + some political job, and was voluble in behalf of “the organization”. + </p> + <p> + Among these people Thyrsis sat three times a day, silent and tortured, + paying a high price for each morsel of food he ate. But also he was + lonely, and craving any sort of respite; and in the course of time he + became acquainted with several of the younger men. One of the diversions + in their pitiful and narrow lives was to gather in some room and indulge + in petty gambling; sitting for hours upon hours with their faculties alert + upon the attempt to get from each other some small fraction of that weekly + stipend which kept them alive. Sometimes they played “penny-ante”, and + sometimes <i>vingt</i> <i>et</i> <i>un</i>; once, as it chanced, they + needed another player, and they urged Thyrsis to join them. + </p> + <p> + And so, for the first time in his life, Thyrsis learned what it meant to + lay his soul upon the lap of the goddess of chance. From eight o’clock + that evening until two the next morning, he sat in a suffocating room full + of cigarette-smoke, trying in vain to win back the dollar or two he had + lost at the outset; flushed and trembling with excitement, and hating + himself with a bitter and tormenting hatred. And so he discovered his + vice; he discovered that he had in him the soul of the gambler! And all + the rest of the winter he had to wrestle with that shame. He would go to + his dinner, tired and heartsick; and they would ask him to play again; and + he—the man who carried a message for humanity in his heart—he + would yield! Three times during that winter he fell into the mire; on + Washington’s birthday he began to play in the morning, and stopping only + for meals, he played until long after midnight. Forever afterwards he was + a humbler and a gentler man because of that experience; understanding how + squalor abases one, and how swiftly and stealthily an evil passion closes + its grasp about the soul. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Of this shameful thing he said not a word to Corydon. But he + avoided meeting her, because of the depths of his despair. And so at last + there came a letter from her—a long and unusual one. Corydon, too, + was having her troubles, it appeared. + </p> + <p> + “I am writing in haste,” she said; “I shall mail the letter at once, + before my resolution fails me. At least a dozen times I have made up my + mind to tell you or to write you what is here, and each time I have turned + back. But now I have got to a stage where I must have your help. + </p> + <p> + “I enclose a long letter which I wrote you years ago, before we were + married. I was looking over some old papers the other day and came upon + it. Generally when I wrote you letters that I did not send, I tore them + up; but something led me to keep this one—I had a feeling that some + day it would be interesting as a curiosity. You see, I am always + persuading myself that I can get over this trouble, and learn to laugh at + it; and I am always succeeding—but only to have it crop up in some + different form. I have told you a little of it now and then—but stop + and read the enclosed, and you will see.” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis read the old letter—a missive of anguish and terror, and + beginning with elaborate preludings and hesitations: + </p> + <p> + “I implore you to be patient with me this once; and when I have gotten + through, I want you still to love me, if possible. I have been trying to + get the courage to write you something that is so mean and low, childish + and almost imbecile, that there have been moments in which my horror of it + was absolutely unspeakable; when I have imagined myself as a soul damned, + when I thought that if you knew, you would think I had a diseased brain. I + only ask you to read patiently what I am going to write; but know that + every word is a horrible effort, that it is torture and humiliation to me + to write it. I have a feeling now as though I were psychologically + dissecting something. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been eight years ago, when I was sick in bed; in a fever or + delirium I conceived the idea that there was a coffin under my bed. The + thought took hold of me, somehow, like an octopus, and I used to writhe + under it, and get into fearful perspirations. I never went near a bed that + I didn’t think of this thing with the same horror. + </p> + <p> + “And so I seemed to have created a nervousness, a sense of dread, before + which I was absolutely helpless. I cannot tell you how hopelessly or + fearfully I suffered, or what depths of despondency and despair and + blackness I was cast into. I cannot understand how a creature could so + manufacture torments for itself. But this is not all, just for once have + mercy—and yet even now I am laughing at myself! + </p> + <p> + “The winter I was sixteen I was much disappointed that I could not go to + college, and almost the whole winter, when I was not diverted, I would + brood over this habit. As I grew older, it would come to me in spasms, and + it seemed to my dawning sense so monstrously child-like, so insane, that I + was aghast that it had power to affect me. I can find no words to tell you + of the unspeakable horror with which I saw, in my older days, that a + thought could so torment me; the mere fact of its being able to torment I + could never forget. I know it was silly, unreasonable; and yet every time + it came to me I would be plunged into a hopelessness and melancholy, than + which I can honestly conceive nothing more fearful upon earth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I continued to pursue myself with this morbidity (I would almost, + rather kill myself than write this). As I got older my terror was less, + but my melancholy greater, until I would be only half conscious of what I + was allowing myself to do. I seemed to have engendered within myself a + hob-goblin. Once—it was only last winter—I saw a nasty word + written on a fence, and it sent a shudder through me, for I knew it would + follow me and make me think of other things like it. I felt, since + thoughts have such power to terrorize me, how can I ever get away from + them? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how I have struggled—tried to say it was not true—that I + was just as sane as other people! And this made my thirst for beauty all + the more maddening, and my melancholy all the more complete! So I have + lived, at intervals, and words cannot describe the hell that I have + endured, the more horrible because it seemed to me so unreasonable, so + insane. It occurred to me more or less this summer, though in a milder + form; but it often frightened me more than ever, as I felt how beautiful + you were, and what you would think of me, if you knew I was capable of + being the prey of such thoughts. So they were always more dreadful to me. + </p> + <p> + “Can you possibly understand how the thought of a word could make me + shudder? The mere idea of my being capable of thinking of anything that + was not beautiful! When I longed to be only the embodiment of beauty—and + sometimes I <i>am</i> beautiful! I look into the glass, and I seem to have + something in my face that is a promise of a glory to come—a light, a + something,—I love to imagine it. And then, that a thought should + knock me prone, and make me cringe—from the mere fact of its lowness + and meanness! + </p> + <p> + “For the last two or three days I have again victimized myself; and when I + was not studying I was asking myself in anguish what was the matter with + me, and if there was no hope for me on earth. I dodged around and tried to + laugh it off, then I went to the piano and lost myself in the + dissatisfaction of my playing; but when I stopped, I was conscious of a + great depression, as though I were chained in a dungeon. I jumped up, and + said I could stand it no longer. I will tell Thyrsis, I said; but no, I + will die first! I added. He could not tolerate me afterwards, he would + think me only fit for the insane-asylum. Oh, why should I be so cursed? + And then, somehow, I imagined that I told you, and that you laughed at me, + that you pitied me—and that you held out your hand, and said, ‘Come, + you <i>shall</i> find beauty—poor, deluded, wretched, little + creature!’ I really imagined that this had happened, and I was relieved as + with a draught of fresh air. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God in Heaven, to think that I could ever have been so degraded! My + head hurts, and I absolutely am dazed, to think that I have been able to + write you of something for which (though it has not been my making) I am + so ashamed and humiliated I can hardly hold my head up. I think in my + short life I have atoned for the sins of many souls.” + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Such was the old-time letter. “And now,” wrote Corydon, “I don’t + want you to think that if I did not send you this, it was because I was + afraid to do it, or unwilling to trust to your love. It was simply because + I felt that I could conquer these things—that it would be weak and + contemptible of me not to do so. Nor is the reason I write you now that I + have not been able to conquer them, that I am still at the mercy of such + habits. I am a grown woman, and I am not afraid of words; I tell myself + this a hundred times; and it is true—and yet there is a way in which + it is not true. The thing is so intricate—I never get to the end of + it; I rid myself of the fear of a hateful idea, but there remains the fact + that I should have been afraid; there is the fear of fear. And then comes + a flood of shame—that I should have it in me to be afraid of fear! + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis, as I write to you now I see clearly how perfectly preposterous + and unreal all this is; and again there comes to me the impulse to tear up + this letter, and banish the troop of hob-goblins from my mind. But no, + this time I am determined to make a clean breast of the thing—for I + see that secrecy and solitude are what it feeds on. If I were happy and + busy with you such ideas would have no power over me. But think how it is, + with my loneliness and despair! I don’t want to say anything to make your + task harder—but oh, Thyrsis, it is frightful to have nothing to do + but wait, and wait, and wait! The baby wakes me up in the night and I lie + for hours—it is at such times that these phantoms take hold of me. + Do you realize that I literally never know what it is to have more than + three or four consecutive hours of sleep? + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not insane, I tell myself; I am not insane! It is the + circumstances of my life that cause this melancholia and misery. It has + been my life, from the very beginning—for what a hopeful and joyous + creature I would have been, had I only had a chance as a girl! I know + that; and you must tell it to me, and help me to believe it.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis read this with less surprise than Corydon had imagined; for she + had been wont to drop hints about her trouble from time to time. He was + shocked, however, to find what a hold it had taken upon her; the thing + sent a chill of fear to his heart. Could it be after all that she had some + taint? But he saw at once that he must not let her see any such feeling; + the least hint of it would have driven her to distraction. On the + contrary, he must minimize the trouble, must help her to laugh it away, as + she asked. + </p> + <p> + He went to meet her in the park, and found her in an agony of distress; + she had mailed the letter, and then she had wished to recall it, and had + been struggling ever since with the idea that he would be disgusted with + her. Now, when she found that such was not the case, that he still loved + her and trusted her, she was transported with gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “But dearest,” he said, “how absurd it is to be ashamed of an idea! If + ugly things exist, don’t we have to hear of them and know of them? And so + why frighten ourselves because they are in our minds?” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis,” cried she, “they are so hateful!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “But then the more you hate them, the more they haunt + you!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “But what harm can they do? Can they have any effect upon your character? + You must say to yourself that all this is a consequence of the structure + of your brain-cells. What could be more futile than trying to forget? As + if the very essence of the trying was not remembering!” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went on to argue with her. He made her promise him that in + future she would tell him of all her obsessions, permitting no fear or + shame to deter her; and so thereafter he would have to listen periodically + to long accounts of her psychological agonies, and help her to hunt out + the “hob-goblins” from the tangled thickets of her mind. They were forever + settling the matter, positively and finally—but alas, only to have + something unsettle it again. So Thyrsis had to add to his other + accomplishments the equipment of a psycho-pathologist; he brushed up his + French, and read learned treatises upon the researches in the <i>Salpêtrière</i>, + and the theories of the “Nancy School”. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. Another month passed by, and still there was no rift in the + clouds. Once more Corydon was forbidden to see him, and so her pain grew + day by day. At last there came another letter, voicing utter despertion. + Something must be done, she declared, she was slowly going out of her + mind. Thyrsis could have no idea of the shamefulness of her position, the + humiliations she had to face. “I tell you the thing is putting a brand + upon my soul,” she wrote. “It is something I shall never get over all my + life. It is withering me up—it is destroying my self-respect, my + very decency; it is depriving me of my power to act, or even to think. + People come in, relatives or friends—even strangers to me—and + peer at me and pry into my affairs; I hear them whispering in the parlor—‘Hasn’t + he got a position yet?’ or ‘How can she have anything to do with him?’ The + servants gossip about me—the woman I have for a nurse despises me + and insults me, and I have not the courage to rebuke her. To-day I went + almost wild with fury—I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door + and flung myself upon the floor. I found myself gnawing at the rug in my + rage—I mean that literally. That is what life has left for me! + </p> + <p> + “I tell you you must take me away, we must get out of this fiendish city. + Let us go into the wilderness as you said, and live as we can—I + would rather starve to death than face these things. Let us get into the + country, Thyrsis. You can work as a farm-hand, and earn a few dollars a + week—surely that could not be a greater strain upon us than the way + things are now.” + </p> + <p> + When Thyrsis received this, he racked his brains once more; and then he + sat down and wrote a letter to Barry Creston. He told how he had worked + over the play, and how it had gone to ruin; he told of his present plight. + He knew, he said, that Mr. Creston had been interested in the play, and + that he was a man understood the needs of the artist-life. Would he lend + two hundred dollars, which would suffice until Thyrsis could get another + work completed? + </p> + <p> + He waited a week for a reply to this; and when it arrived he opened it + with trembling fingers. He half expected a check to fall fluttering to the + floor; but alas, there was not a single flutter. “I have read your + letter,” wrote the young prince, “and I have considered the matter + carefully. I would do what you ask, were it not for my conviction that it + would not be a good thing for you. It seems to me the testimony of all + experience, that artists do their great work under the spur of necessity. + I do not believe that real art can ever be subsidized. It is for men that + you are writing; and you must find out how to make men hear you. You may + not thank me for this now, but some day you will, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + After duly pondering which communication, Thyrsis racked his wits, and + bethought him of yet another person to try. He sat himself down and + addressed Mr. Robertson Jones. He explained that he was in this cruel + plight, owing to his having devoted so many months to “The Genius.” Even + the actors had received something for the performances of the play they + had given; but the author had received nothing at all. He asked Mr. Jones + for a personal loan to help him in a great emergency; and he promised to + repay it at the earliest possible moment. To which Mr. Jones made this + reply—“Inasmuch as the failure of the play was due solely to your + own obstinacy, it seems to me that your present experiences are affording + exactly the discipline you need.” + </p> + <p> + Section 5. However, there are many ups and downs in the trade of free-lance + writer. The very day after he had received this letter, there came, in + quick succession two bursts of sunlight through the clouds of Thyrsis’ + despair. The first was a letter, written in a quaint script, from a man + who explained that he was interested in a “Free People’s Theatre” in one + of the cities of Germany. “You will please to accept my congratulations,” + he wrote; “I had never known such a play as yours in America to be + written. I should greatly be pleased to translate the play, so that it + might be known in Germany. Our compensation would have to be little, as + you will understand; but of appreciation I think you may receive much in + the Fatherland.” + </p> + <p> + To which Thyrsis sent a cordial response, saying that he would be glad of + any remuneration, and enclosing a copy of the manuscript of “The Genius”. + And then—only two days later—came the other event, a still + more notable one; a letter from the publisher who had been number + thirty-seven on the list of “The Hearer of Truth”. Thyrsis had got so + discouraged about this work that he now sent it about as a matter of + routine, and without thinking of it at all. Great, therefore, was his + amazement when he opened the letter and read that this publisher was + disposed to undertake it, and would be glad to see him and talk over + terms. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis went, speculating on the way as to what strange manner of being + this publisher might be. The solution of the mystery he found was that the + publisher was new at the business, and had entrusted his “literary + department” to a very young man who had enthusiasms. The young man held + his position for only a month or two; but in that month or two Thyrsis got + in his “innings”. + </p> + <p> + The publisher wished to bring the book out that spring. He offered a ten + per cent royalty, and the trembling author summoned the courage to ask for + one hundred dollars advance; when he got it, he was divided between his + delight, and a sneaking regret that he had not tried for a hundred and + fifty! + </p> + <p> + The very next day came the contracts and the money; Thyrsis marvelled at + the fact that there were people who could sign checks for a hundred + dollars, and apparently not mind it in the least. With the money he was + able to pay all his debts, and also a bill which Corydon had received from + a “specialist” who had been treating her. This was a new habit that + Corydon was developing, as a result of headaches and backaches and other + obscure miseries. These amiable “specialists” permitted one to run up a + bill with them; and so, whenever Thyrsis made a new “strike”, there were + always debts to eat up the greater part of it. + </p> + <p> + They had now another hope to lure them; new proofs to read, and in due + time, new reviews. But it would be fall before they could expect more + money from the book, and meantime there was still the problem of the + summer. So, as usual, Thyrsis was plotting and planning, groping about him + and trying one desperate scheme after another; his head was like a busy + workshop, from which came every hour new plans, new expedients, new + experiments. And meanwhile, of course, deep down in his soul there was + forming the new work, that some day would emerge and take possession of + him, driving everything else from his consciousness. + </p> + <p> + People would repeat to him, over and over, their dreary formula—“Get + a position! Get a position!” And patiently, unwearyingly, Thyrsis would + set himself to explain to them what it was like to be inspired. It was not + perversity upon his part, it was not conceit; it was no more these than it + was laziness. It was something that was in him—something that he had + not put there himself, something that he could not take out of himself; a + thing that took possession of him, without any intention upon his part, + without any permission; a thing that required him to do certain acts, and + that tore him to pieces if he did not do them. And how should he be blamed + because he could not do as other men—because he could not take care + of himself, nor even of his wife and child? Because he could not have any + rights, because he could not possess the luxuries of manhood and + self-respect? Because, in short, he was cast out into the gutter for every + dog to snarl at and for every loafer to spurn? Could it be that in this + whole civilization, with its wealth and power, its culture and learning, + its sciences and arts and religions—there was not to be found one + single man or woman who could recognize such a state of affairs, and + realize what it meant? + </p> + <p> + Section 6. About this time Thyrsis thought of another plan. Perhaps he might + get some one to publish the play in book form—that would bring him a + little money, and possibly also it might help him to interest some other + manager or actor. So he took the manuscript to his friend Mr. Ardsley, who + told him it would not sell, and then gave him another lecture upon his + folly in not having written the “practical” novel; and then he took it to + the publisher for whom Prof. Osborne acted as reader. So he had another + conference with that representative of authority. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get him some day,” Thyrsis had said to himself, after their last + interview; and he found that he had almost “got” him now. There was no + chance of the play’s selling, said the professor, and therefore no + recommending it for publication; but it was indeed a remarkable piece of + work—one might possibly say that it was a <i>great</i> piece of + work. + </p> + <p> + To which the author responded, “Why can’t one say that surely?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not quite sure,” said the other, “whether your violinist is a genius, + or only thinks he is.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis pondered this. “That’s rather an important question,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted the other. + </p> + <p> + “There ought to be some way of deciding such a question definitely.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + “But there isn’t?” + </p> + <p> + “No—I’m afraid there isn’t. We know too little about genius as yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But, professor,” said Thyrsis, “you are a critic—you write books of + criticism. And that’s the one question a critic has to answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Prof. Osborne. + </p> + <p> + “And yet, when you face the issue, you give up.” + </p> + <p> + “It has generally taken a long time to decide such a matter,” was the + professor’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has,” said the other; “and meantime the man is starved out.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. “You have never had any such experience yourself?” + asked Thyrsis. “Of inspiration, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” was the answer. “I couldn’t pretend to.” + </p> + <p> + “So your judgments are never from first-hand knowledge?” + </p> + <p> + The professor hesitated. “I am dealing with you frankly—-” he began. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Thyrsis, “and I appreciate that. You understand that it’s + an important point for me to get clear. I’ve felt that all along about you—I’ve + felt it about so many others who set themselves against me. And yet I have + to bear the burden of their condemnation—” + </p> + <p> + “I never condemned you,” interposed the other. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you did!” cried Thyrsis. “You told me that I knew less about + writing than anyone in your class! And you spoke as one who had + authority.” + </p> + <p> + “But you had given no indications in the class-room—” + </p> + <p> + “I know! I know! I tried to get you to see the reason. I wanted to create + literature; and you set me down with a lot of formulas—you told me + to write about ‘The Duty of the College Man to Support Athletics!’” + </p> + <p> + “It’s difficult to see,” began Prof. Osborne, “how we could teach college + boys to create literature—” + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said the other, “you need not follow a method which would make + it impossible for one of them to create literature if he had it in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it seem to you as bad as that?” asked the professor, a little + disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “It truly does,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “But what would you say we could do?” + </p> + <p> + To which the boy replied, “You might try to get your pupils to feel one + deep emotion about life, or to think one worth-while thought; then they + might stand a chance of knowing how it feels to write.” + </p> + <p> + Section 7. Thyrsis was still reading in the papers and magazines of + philanthropists and public-spirited citizens; and he was still sitting + down to write them and explain his plight. He would beg them to believe + that he wanted nothing but a bare living; and he would send copies of his + books or articles or manuscripts, and ask these people to read them. And + about this time an unusual thing happened—one of these + philanthropists answered his letter. He wrote that he did not agree with + Thyrsis’ ideas, by any means, but appreciated the power of his writing, + and was certain that he had a career before him. Whereupon Thyrsis made + haste to follow up his advantage, and wrote another letter—one of + the most intense and impassioned that he ever composed in his life. + </p> + <p> + He told about the new book he was dreaming. For years he had read his + country’s history, and lived in it and thrilled with it. Especially had he + read the Civil War; and now he was planning a book that should hold the + War, and all the meanings of the War, as a wine-cup holds the rich flavors + and aromas of the grape. A titan struggle it had been, the birth-agony of + a nation; and it was a thing to be contemplated with amazement, that it + should have produced so little in the way of art. Half a dozen poems there + were; but of novels not one above the grade of juvenile fiction. + </p> + <p> + What Thyrsis was planning was a new form; a series of swift visions, of + glimpses into the very heart of the nation’s agony. He described some of + the scenes that were haunting him and driving him. The winter’s night in + the ditches in front of Marye’s Heights, when the dead and dying lay piled + in windrows, and the soul of a people sobbed in despair! The night on the + field of Gettysburg, when the young soldier lay wounded, but rapt in his + vision, seeing the hosts of the victorious future defiling upon that + hallowed ground! The ghastly scenes in Andersonville, and the escape, and + the long journey filled with perils; and the siege of Petersburg, and the + surrender; and last of all the ecstasy of the dying man in the capital, + when the grim, war-worn legions were tramping for two days through the + city. Such, wrote Thyrsis, was the book that he wished to compose, and + that was being stifled in him for the lack of two or three hundred + dollars. + </p> + <p> + Upon the receipt of this letter the philanthropist wrote again, suggesting + that the poet come to see him and talk things over. He sent the price of a + railroad ticket to Boston; and so Thyrsis made the acquaintance of a new + world—one might almost say of a whole new system of worlds. + </p> + <p> + For here was the Athens of America, the hub of the universe. In Boston + they worshipped culture, they lived in literature and art and the + transcendental excellences; and by the way of showing that there was no + snobbery in them, they opened the gates of their most august mansions to + this soul-sick poet, and invited him to tea. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis got a strange impression among these people, who were living upon + their knees before the shrine of their own literary history. One was + treading here upon holy ground; in these very houses had dwelt immortal + writers—their earthly forms had rested in these chairs, and their + auras yet haunted the dim religious light of these drawing-rooms. There + were old people who had known them in the flesh, and could tell anecdotes + about them—to which one listened in reverent awe; at every gathering + one met people who were writing biographies and memoirs of them, or + editing their letters and journals, or writing essays and appreciations, + criticisms and commentaries and catalogs and bibliographies. And to be + worthy of the visitations of such hallowed influences, one must guard + one’s mind as a temple, a place of silences and serenities, to which no + vulgar things could penetrate; one excluded all the uproar of these days + of undisciplined egotism—above all things else one preserved an + attitude of aloofness from that which presumed to call itself “literature” + in such degenerate times. + </p> + <p> + To have become acquainted with these high standards was perhaps worth the + rent of a room and the cost of some food and clean collars. So Thyrsis + reflected when, after his week of waiting, he had his interview with the + benevolent philanthropist, who explained to him, at great length, how + charity had the effect of weakening the springs of character, and + destroying those qualities of self-reliance and independence which were + the most precious things in a man. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. It was a curious coincidence, one that seemed almost symbolic—that + Thyrsis should have gone from the Brahmins of Boston to the Socialists of + the East Side! + </p> + <p> + In one of the publishing-houses he visited, Thyrsis had met a young man + who gave him a Socialist magazine to read; as the magazine was published + in the next building, Thyrsis went in and met the editor. About this time + they were crowning a new king in England, and Thyrsis, who had no use for + kings, wrote a sarcastic poem which the Socialist editor published free of + charge. And so the boy discovered a new way in which he could relieve his + feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I see what you want,” he admitted, in his arguments with this editor; + “and it’s the same thing as I want—every man with any sense must see + that, in the ultimate outcome, all this capital will be owned by the + public and not by private individuals. But what I object to is the way you + go at it. The industrial process is a necessary thing; it is drilling and + disciplining the workers. They are not yet fitted for the responsibility + of managing the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” asked the editor, “what’s to be the sign when they <i>are</i> + fitted?” + </p> + <p> + “When they have been educated,” Thyrsis answered. + </p> + <p> + To which the editor responded, “Who is to educate them, if we don’t?” + </p> + <p> + That was an interesting point; and Thyrsis found little by little that a + new light was dawning upon him. He had somehow conceived of industrial + evolution as something vast and intangible and mechanical, something that + went on independent of men, and that could not be hurried or delayed. What + this editor pointed out was that the process was a definite one, that it + went on in the minds of men, and involved human effort—of which the + publishing of Socialist literature was a most essential part. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to hear Darrell,” said the man; and a few days later he wrote + Thyrsis a note, asking him to go to a hall over on the East Side that + evening. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis went, and found a working-men’s meeting-room, ill-lighted and + ill-ventilated, with perhaps two hundred people in it. The chairman + introduced the speaker of the evening; and so Thyrsis got his first + glimpse of Henry Darrell. + </p> + <p> + He was something over forty years of age, slight of build; his face was + pale to the point of ghostliness, and this impression was heightened by a + jet black mustache and beard. One’s first thought was that this man was no + stranger to suffering. + </p> + <p> + He was not a good speaker, in the conventional sense, he fumbled for + words, and repeated himself—and yet from his first sentence Thyrsis + found himself listening spellbound. The voice went through him like the + toll of a bell; never in all his life had he heard a speaker who put such + a burden of anguish into his words—who gave such a sense of gigantic + issues, of age-long destinies hanging in the balance, of world-embracing + hopes and powers struggling to be born. Here was a prophet who carried in + his soul the future of the race; who in the sudden flashes of his vision, + in the swift rushes of his passionate pleadings, evoked from the deeps of + the consciousness forces that one contemplated with terror—confronted + one with martyrdoms and agonies and despairs. + </p> + <p> + “Revolution” was his title; he pictured modern civilization as it + presented itself to the proletarian man—a gigantic Moloch, to which + human lives were fed, a monster from whose dominion there was no + deliverance, even in the uttermost parts of the earth. He pictured + accident, disease and death, unemployment and starvation, child-labor, + prostitution, war; he was the voice of the dispossessed of the earth, the + man beneath the machine, ground up body, mind and soul in this “world-wide + mill of economic might”. And he showed how this man dragged down with him + all society; how the chain that bound the slave was fastened also to the + master—so that from the poverty and oppression and degradation of + this “downmost man” came all the ulcers that festered in the social body. + He saw the great economic machine grinding on day and night, the mighty + forces rushing to their culmination. He saw the toiling millions pressed + deeper and deeper into the mire; he saw their blind, convulsive struggles + for deliverance; he saw over them the gigantic slave-driver with his + thousand-lashed whip—the capitalist state, class-owned + class-administered—backed by the capitalist church and the + capitalist press and capitalist “public sentiment”. So the hopes of the + people went down in blood and reaction sat enthroned. The nations, ridden + by despotisms, and whirled into senseless wars, ran the old course of + militarism, imperialism, barbarism; and so civilization slid back yet + again into the melting-pot! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had never heard such a speech as this in his life. When it was + over, he went up to the platform where Darrell sat, looking more exhausted + and pain-driven than ever; and in a few hesitating words he told of his + interest, and asked for the speaker’s address, that he might write to him. + And that night he posted a letter, introducing himself as a young writer, + who felt impelled to learn more about Darrell’s ideas. + </p> + <p> + In reply came a note from the other, asking him to dine with him; and + Thyrsis answered accepting. + </p> + <p> + Then, as chance would have it, he mentioned the circumstance to his + mother. “Darrell!” she cried. “You don’t mean Henry Darrell!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Thyrsis. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “And you would meet that man?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you read anything about him in the papers? That monster!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “A man who deserted his wife and children, and left them to starve, and + ran away with some rich woman!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis recollected vaguely some sensational headlines, about the + clergyman and college professor who had done the shocking things his + mother spoke of, and was now a social outcast, and a preacher of anarchy + and revolution. He recalled also that there had been a woman, beautiful + and richly-dressed, with Darrell at the meeting. + </p> + <p> + The boy was not disturbed by all this, for he had long ago made up his + mind that every man had to work out his own sex-problems; in fact, his + first impulse was to admire a man who had had the courage to face the + world upon such an issue. But he was sorry he had mentioned it to his + mother, for she wept bitterly when she found that he meant to accept the + invitation. That was the culmination of her life’s defeat—that her + son, who had been designed for a bishop, should be going to sit at table + with Henry Darrell and his paramour! + </p> + <p> + Section 9. Thyrsis went to the apartment-hotel where Darrell lived, and was + introduced to the beautiful lady as Mrs. Darrell, and they went down to + the dining-room—where he noticed that everyone turned to stare at + them as they entered. It made him feel that he must be doing something + quite desperate; and yet it was not easy to imagine any wickedness of the + man opposite to him—his voice was so kind, and his smile so gentle, + and his whole aspect so appealing. He was dressed in black, and wore a + soft black bow at his throat, which made still more conspicuous the pallor + of his face; Thyrsis had never met a man he took to more quickly—there + was something about him that was like a little child, calling for + affection and sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Yet, also, there was the mind of a thinker. He was a man of culture, in + the most vital sense of the word; he had swept the heavens of thought with + a powerful telescope—had travelled, and knew many languages, and + their literatures and arts. He had tested them all by a strong acid of his + own; so that to talk with him was to discover the feet of clay of one’s + idols. + </p> + <p> + He spoke of Dante and Angelo, who were two of his heroes; he told of great + experiences among the latter’s titan frescos. He spoke of Mazzini, whose + greatness as a writer the world had yet to appreciate; he spoke also of + Wagner, whose music he valued less than his critical and polemical work. + He told of modern artists both in Germany and Italy—revolutionary + forces of whom Thyrsis had never heard at all. The day must come, said + Darrell, when Americans would discover the great movements of contemporary + thought, and realize their own provincialness. America thought of itself + as “the land of the free”, and that made it hard to teach. It was obvious + enough that there had never been any real freedom in America—only + government by propertied classes. The Revolution had been a rebellion of + country gentlemen and city merchants; as one might know from the + “constitution” they had adopted—one of the greatest barriers to + human progress ever devised. And so with the Civil War, which to Darrell + was one of the deeds of the newly-risen monster of Capitalism. + </p> + <p> + They went upstairs again, and Thyrsis found another man seated in the + drawing-room. He was introduced by the name of Paret, and Thyrsis + recognized him as the editor of “The Beacon”, a magazine of which he had + chanced upon a copy some time before. It was the first Socialist + publication he had ever seen, and it had repelled him because its editor + had printed his own picture in a conspicuous place, and also because in + his leading editorial he had dealt flippantly with an eminent reformer and + philanthropist for whom Thyrsis had a profound respect. + </p> + <p> + But here was the editor himself—not merely his photograph: a little + man, clad in evening dress, very neat and dapper. He had a black beard, + trimmed to a point, and also a sarcastic smile, and he impressed Thyrsis + as a drawing-room edition of Mephistopheles. He lounged at ease in a big + chair, not troubling to talk; save that every now and then he would + punctuate the discussion with some droll reflection that stuck in one’s + mind like a burr. + </p> + <p> + Some one spoke of certain evangelists who were conducting a temperance + campaign among the workers in the steel-mills. Said Paret: “If I had to + live in hell, I’m sure I’d rather be drunk than sober!” And a little later + Thyrsis spoke of a novel he had been reading, which set out to solve the + problem of “capital and labor”. Its solution seemed to be for the handsome + young leader of the union to marry the daughter of the capitalist; and + Paret remarked, with his dry smile, “No doubt if the capitalists and their + daughters are willing, the union-leaders will come to the scratch.” Again, + Darrell was telling about the ten years’ struggle he had waged to waken + the Church to the great issue of the time; and how at last he had given up + in despair. Paret remarked, “For my part, I never try to talk economics + with preachers. When you talk to a business-man, he understands a business + proposition, and you can get somewhere; but when you talk with a preacher, + and you think he’s been understanding you, you find that all the time he’s + been thinking what Moses would have said about it.” + </p> + <p> + There came other guests: a German, hard-fisted, bullet-headed—editor + of an East Side labor-paper. Some one spoke of working-men losing their + votes through being unemployed and cast adrift; and Thyrsis remembered + this man’s grim comment, “They lose their votes, but they don’t lose their + voices!” There came a young man, fair as an Antinous, who with his verbal + battering-ram shook the institutions of society so as to frighten even the + author of “The Higher Cannibalism”. There came also a poetess, whose work + he had seen in the magazines, and with her a Russian youth who had come to + study the thought of America, and was now going home, because America had + no thought. Thyrsis had a good deal of patriotism left in him, and might + have been angered by this stripling’s contempt; but the stripling spoke + with such quiet assurance, and his contempt was so boundless as to + frighten one. “These people,” he said—“they simply do not know what + the intellectual life means!” + </p> + <p> + When Thyrsis went home that evening, he carried with him new ideas to + ponder; also some of Darrell’s pamphlets and speeches—the product of + his ten years’ struggle to make the teachings of Christ of some authority + in the Christian Church. Thyrsis sat up late, and read one of these + pamphlets, an indictment of Capitalism from the point of view of the + artist and spiritual creator. It was a magnificent piece of writing; it + came to Thyrsis like an echo out of his own life. So, before he slept that + night he had written a letter to Darrell, telling of his struggles and his + defeats. “I do not ask you to help <i>me</i>” he wrote. “I ask you to read + my work, and decide if that be worth saving. For ashamed as I am to say + it, I am at the end of my resources, and if some help does not come, I do + not know what will become of me.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had now tried all varieties of the great and successful of the + earth—the publishers and editors and authors, the college professors + and clergymen, the statesmen and capitalists and philanthropists. And now, + for the first time, he tried the Socialists. He trembled when he opened + Darrell’s reply. Could it be that this man would be like all the rest? + </p> + <p> + But no, he was different! “Dear Brother:” he wrote. “I understand what you + have told me, and I appreciate your position. Send me your manuscripts at + once; I leave to-morrow for a lecture-trip, and on my way I will read + everything, and let you hear from me on my return. In the meantime, I + should add that I am helping two Socialist publications, and a good many + individuals too, and that my resources have been absurdly exaggerated in + the public prints. I say this, that you may not overestimate what I might + possibly be able to do.” + </p> + <p> + Section 10. So Thyrsis sent a manuscript of his play, and a copy of his + first novel, and a set of proofs of “The Hearer of Truth”; and then for a + couple of weeks he waited in suspense and dread. He could not see how a + man like Henry Darrell could fail to appreciate his work; but on the other + hand, after so many disappointments and rebuffs, how could he bring + himself to believe that any one would really give him aid? + </p> + <p> + At last came a second letter; a letter full of warm-hearted sympathy—pointing + out the faults of immaturity in his work, but also recognizing its real + merits. It closed with this all-important sentence: “I will do what I can + to help you, so come and let us talk it over.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis went; and as they sat in his study, Darrell put his arm about him, + and told him a little of his own career. He had begun life as a + street-waif, a newsboy and bootblack; and once when he was ill, he had + gone to a drug-store for help, and the druggist had given him a poison by + mistake, so that all his life thereafter he had more sick days than well. + He told how, at an early age, he had gone to a country college to seek an + education as a divinity-student; he had arrived, weary and footsore, and + with his last cent had bought a post-card to let his mother know that he + was safe He told how, as a clergyman and college professor the gospel of + the time had come to him; how he had preached and labored, amid + persecution and obloquy, until he had come to realize that the Church was + a dead sepulchre; and how at last he had thrown everything to the winds, + and given himself to the working-class political movement. + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrsis, scrupulous as ever, said, “I know nothing about Socialism. I + mean to study it; but I might not come to believe in it—how can I + tell? I would not want you to help me under any misapprehension.” + </p> + <p> + At which the other smiled gently. “I am working for the truth,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They talked about Thyrsis and his needs. Presumably, he said, he would + have money from his new book in the fall, but meantime he wanted to take + his family into the country. He could live on thirty dollars a month; it + would be a matter of some two hundred and fifty dollars. Darrell said he + would give him this; and Thyrsis sat there, powerless to thank him, his + voice trembling, and a mist of tears in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + He went on to tell his friend of the work that he meant to do. Darrell had + said that to him the Civil War was a crime; but Thyrsis did not know what + he meant by that. “I believe in my country!” he said. “It has tried for + high things—and it will come to them! I know that it can be thrilled + and roused, and made to see the shame into which it is fallen.” + </p> + <p> + Darrell pressed his arm, and answered, with a smile, “I won’t argue with + you about the War; you go ahead and write your book!” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went home to Corydon, as one who brings a reprieve to a + prisoner under sentence of death. Such a deliverance as it was to them! + And such transports of relief and gratitude as they experienced! He sang + the praises of Darrell, and of the new friends he had made at Darrell’s; + also he brought an invitation for Corydon to come with him to an evening + reception the next week. They were anxious to meet her, he said; and + Corydon was anxious to go. + </p> + <p> + But, alas, this did not work out according to expectations. Thyrsis + discovered now what his wife had meant when she wrote that suffering and + humiliation were breaking down her character. She could not bear to meet + intellectual people, to take part in the competition of their life. For + the most part these were men and women of intense personalities, absorbed + in their own ideas, keenly critical, and not very merciful to any sort of + weakness. And Corydon was morbidly aware of her own lack of + accomplishments, and acutely sensitive as to what others thought about + her. A strange figure she must have made in any one’s drawing-room—with + the old dress she had fixed up, and the lace-collar she had borrowed for + the occasion, and the sad face with the large dark eyes. The talk of the + company ran to politics; and Corydon had nothing to say about politics. + She could only sit in a corner while Thyrsis talked, and suffer agonies of + humiliation. + </p> + <p> + To make matters worse, there came a literary lion that evening; one of the + few modern writers whose books Corydon knew and loved. But when they were + introduced, he scarcely looked at her; he went on talking to an East Side + poetess whose opinions were fluent and ready. So Corydon found herself + shunted into a corner with an unknown old lady. It was one of Corydon’s + peculiarities that she abhorred old ladies; and this one questioned her + about the feeding of infants and told her that she was ill-equipped for + the responsibilities of motherhood! + </p> + <p> + On her way home she poured out her bitterness to Thyrsis. “I can see + exactly how it is,” she said. “They all think you’ve married a pretty + face!” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t given them much chance to think otherwise,” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “They don’t want any chance,” she exclaimed. “They’ve got it all settled! + You are the rising light, which is to astonish the world—and I’m + your youthful blunder. I stay at home and take care of the baby, and they + all feel sorry for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want them to feel sorry for <i>you?</i>” he asked. + </p> + <p> + To which Corydon answered, “I don’t want them to know about me at all. I + want to get away, and stay by myself, and get back my self-respect.” And + so it was decided that in a couple of weeks more—the first of April—they + would shake the dust of the city from their feet. They sent for their tent + and other goods, and began inquiring about a place to camp. + </p> + <p> + Section 11. A few days more passed; and then, one Sundav morning, Thyrsis’ + mother came to him in tears, with a copy of a newspaper + “magazine-supplement” in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Look at this!” she cried; and Thyrsis stared. + </p> + <p> + There was a full-page article, with many illustrations, and a headline two + inches deep—“Henry Darrell to found Free-Love Colony! Ex-college + professor and clergyman buys farm to teach his doctrines.” There was a + picture of Darrell, standing upon a ladder and nailing up an announcement + of his defiance to the institution of marriage; and there were pictures of + his wife and child, and of the farm he had bought, and a long account of + the colony which he was organizing, and in which he meant to preach and + practice his ideas of “free love”. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was half dazed. “I don’t believe it!” he cried; whereat his mother + wrung her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Not believe it!” she exclaimed. “Why, the paper even gives the price he + paid for the place!” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis took the article and went to see Henry Darrell again; and there + followed one of the most painful experiences of his life. + </p> + <p> + He found his friend like a man blasted by a stroke of lightning. His very + physical appearance was altered; his voice shook and his eyes were wild, + and he paced the room, his whole aspect one cry of agony. + </p> + <p> + He pointed Thyrsis to a lot of clippings that lay upon the table—the + first editorial comments upon this new pronouncement. There was one from + an evening paper, which had close upon a million circulation, and had + devoted its whole editorial page to a scathing denunciation, in which it + was declared that “Prof. Darrell’s morality is that of the higher apes.” + </p> + <p> + “Think of it!” the man cried. “And the thing will go from one end of the + country to the other!” + </p> + <p> + “But”—gasped Thyrsis, bewildered—“then it is not true?” + </p> + <p> + “True?” cried Darrell. “True? How can you ask me?” + </p> + <p> + “But—the colony! What is it to be?” + </p> + <p> + “There is not going to be any colony. I never dreamed of such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “And haven’t you bought any farm?” + </p> + <p> + “My wife bought a farm, over a year ago—because we wanted to live in + the country!” + </p> + <p> + “But then,” gasped Thyrsis—“how dare they?” + </p> + <p> + “They dare anything with me!” cried the other. “<i>Anything!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “And have you no redress?” + </p> + <p> + “Redress? What redress?” + </p> + <p> + He went on to tell Thyrsis what had happened. He and Mrs. Darrell had gone + down to the farm to see about getting it ready, and a woman had come, + representing that she wished to write a magazine article about “the + country-homes of literary Americans”. Upon this pretext she had secured a + photograph of the place, and of Darrell, and of his wife and child. She + had even attempted to secure a photograph of his wife’s aged mother, who + lived with her, and who was involved in the affair because the money + belonged to her. Then the woman had gone away—and a couple of weeks + later had come this! + </p> + <p> + “And I thought they were through with us!” Darrell whispered, with a + shudder. “I thought it was all over!” + </p> + <p> + He sat in a chair, with his face hid in his arms. Thyrsis put his hand + upon his shoulder, and the man caught it. “Listen,” he exclaimed. “You can + see this thing from the outside, you know the literary world. Do you think + that I can ever rise above this? Is there any use in trying?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” Thyrsis asked, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I mean—is it worth while for me to go on writing? Can I ever have + any influence?” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was shocked at the question—as he had been at the way + Darrell took the whole thing. He knew that his friend had money enough to + live comfortably; and why should any sort of criticism matter to a man who + was economically free? + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” he said, “you have forgotten your Dante.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Segui il tuo corso e lascia dir le gente!</i>” quoted Thyrsis; and + then he added, “You don’t seem to realize that these are newspapers, and + nobody really credits them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but they do!” cried Darrell. “You don’t know what I have been through + with! My oldest friends have cut me! Clergymen have refused to sit at + table with me! The organization that I gave ten years of my life to + founding has gone all to pieces. I have been utterly ruined—I have + been wiped out, destroyed!” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear man,” Thyrsis argued, “you are setting out to teach a new + doctrine, one that is abhorrent to people. And how can you expect to avoid + being attacked? It seems to me that either you ought not to have done it, + or else been prepared for some of this uproar.” + </p> + <p> + “But because a man becomes a Socialist, are they to libel him in these + foul ways?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean that. It’s not only that you are a Socialist, but that you + have defied their marriage-laws.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t!” exclaimed Darrel. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Thyrsis, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I have defied no law—nor even any convention. I have done + everything that the world requires.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis stared at him, amazed. “Why, surely,” he gasped, “you and—and + Mrs. Darrell—you are not <i>married?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Married!” exclaimed the other. “We were married here in New York, by a + regularly-ordained clergyman!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis could not find words to express his dismay. “I—I had no idea + of that!” he gasped. “I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “You see the lies!” cried the other. “Even <i>you</i> had swallowed them!” + </p> + <p> + It took Thyrsis some time to adjust himself to this new point of view. He + had thought of his friend as a man who had boldly defied the convention of + marriage; and instead of that he was apparently a man cowering under the + lash of the world’s undeserved rage. But if so—what an amazing and + incredible thing was the mesh of slander and falsehood in which he had + been entangled! + </p> + <p> + Section 12. Little by little Thyrsis drew from Darrell the story of his + marital experience. Before he had been of age, as a poor student, he had + boarded with a woman many years his senior, who had set out to lure him + into marrying her. “I don’t believe that she ever loved me one hour,” he + said. “She had made up her mind that I was a man of brilliant parts, and + that I would have worldly success. To me the thing was like an evil dream—I + couldn’t realize it. And I can’t tell you about it now—it was too + horrible. She was older than I, and so different—she was more like a + man. And for twenty years she held me; I had to stay—I was utterly + at her mercy!” + </p> + <p> + The man’s voice fell to a whisper, and he pressed Thyrsis’ hand + convulsively; there were tears upon his cheeks. “I could not tell it all + to anyone,” he said. “It makes me cry like a child to think of it. I’m + only getting over it little by little—realizing how I was tortured. + This woman had no interest in me, intellectual or spiritual; she brought + up my children to despise me. I would stay upstairs in my study, writing + sermons—that was all my life! For twenty years I waded through my + own blood!” + </p> + <p> + Darrell paused to get control of himself, and then went on. + </p> + <p> + “One of my parishioners was my present wife’s mother. She was one of the + old-time abolitionists, and she was wealthy; and now, in her old age, she + saw the new light, and became a Socialist. This, of course, was like gall + to her family; they were powers in the state—the railroad people, + who control the legislature and run the government. And so their + newspapers denounced me, and denounced the university where I taught. + </p> + <p> + “Then came her daughter—a young girl out of college. I was at their + home often, and we became friends. She saw how unhappy I was, and she + tried to open my wife’s eyes, and to win her over to me. But, of course, + she failed in that; and then, little by little we found that we loved each + other. You know me—you know that I am not a base man, nor a careless + man; and you will believe me when I tell you that there was nothing + between us that the world could have called wrong. We knew that we loved, + and we knew that there was no hope. And that went on for eight years; for + eight years I renounced—and strove with every power of my heart and + soul to make something out of that renunciation, to transmute it into + spiritual power. And I failed—I could not do it; and in the end I + knew the reason. It was not beauty and nobility—it was madness and + horror; it was not life—it was death! The time came when I knew that + our renunciation was simply a crime against the soul. Can you see what I + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Thyrsis, “I can see.” + </p> + <p> + “And see what that meant to me—the situation I faced! I was a + clergyman—and preaching a new crusade to the world. It was like + being in a cage, with bars of red-hot metal. A hundred times I would go + towards them—and a hundred times I would shrink back. But I had to + grasp them in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “I see!” whispered the other. + </p> + <p> + “The thing was becoming a scandal anyway; the world was bound to make a + scandal of it, whether we would or no. It was a scandal that I visited in + another woman’s home, it was a scandal that I spent her money in my + propaganda. The very children on the streets would taunt my children about + it. And then, my health broke down from overwork; and the mother was going + abroad, and she invited me to go with her and her daughter; and, of + course, that made it worse. So at last the old lady came to me. ‘You love + my daughter,’ she said, ‘and the world has thrown her into your arms. You + must let a divorce be arranged, and then marry my daughter.’” + </p> + <p> + “And you got the divorce yourself?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Darrell. “There were grounds enough; but it would have meant to + attack my wife in the public prints, and I would not do it. I had to let + her charge me with desertion, and say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And, of course, they distorted that,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “They distorted everything!” cried the other. “My present wife gave my + first wife all her patrimony; and I thought that was generous—I + thought it was a proof of love. But the newspapers made it that she had + bought me!” + </p> + <p> + “And they distorted your second marriage?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “They lied about it deliberately,” was Darrell’s reply—“Some of our + friends gave little addresses of greeting; and so the newspapers called it + a new kind of wedding—a ‘Socialist wedding’, which we had designed + for our new kind of unions! And now, when we buy a farm, so that we can + live quietly in the country, they turn that into a ‘free love colony’!” + </p> + <p> + Section 13. Thyrsis went away from this interview with some new problems to + ponder upon. He had seen a little of this power of the newspapers to + defile and torment a man; but he had never dreamed of anything as bad as + this. This was murderous, this was monstrous. He saw these papers now as + gigantic engines of exploitation and oppression—irresponsible, + unscrupulous, wanton—turned loose in society to crush and destroy + whom they would. + </p> + <p> + They had taken this man Darrell and they had poured out their poisons upon + him; they had tortured him hideously, they had burned him up as with + vitriol. As a public force he was no longer a human being at all—he + was a deformity, a spectre conjured up to bring fright to the beholder. + And through it all he was utterly helpless—as much at their mercy as + an infant in the hands of savages. And what had he done? Why had the + torture been visited upon him? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis pictured the men who had led in this soul-hunt. They were supposed + to be enlightened Americans at the dawn of the twentieth century; and did + they truly hold to the superstition of marriage as a religious sacrament, + not to be dissolved by mortal power? Did they really believe that a man + who had once been drawn into matrimony was obligated for life—no + matter how unhappy he might be, no matter to what indignities he might be + subjected? Or, if they did recognize the permissibility of divorce—then + why this hue and cry after Darrell, who had borne his punishment for + twenty years, and had waited for eight or ten years to test the depths of + his new love? + </p> + <p> + The question answered itself; and the answer fanned Thyrsis’ soul into a + blaze of indignation. All this patter about the deserted wife, sitting at + home with her children and weeping her eyes out—all that was so much + hocus-pocus for the ears of the mob. The chiefs of this Inquisition and + their torturers and slaves wrote it with their tongues in their cheeks. + What they saw was that they had got securely strapped upon their rack the + man who had threatened their power, who had laid bare its sources and + exposed its iniquity. And they meant that if ever he came out of their + torture-chamber, it should be so mangled and crippled that never again + would he lift a finger against them! + </p> + <p> + The gist of the “Darrell case”, when you got right down to it, was a + quarrel over property; it was the snarling of wolves who had been + disturbed at their feeding. Darrell had denounced wealth and the + exploiters of wealth, and now he had married a woman of wealth; and was he + to get away with his prize? That was the meaning of all the loud halloo—for + that the hounds were unleashed and the hunting-horns sounded. Thyrsis + pictured the men who “wrote up” the Darrell story. He had known them in + the newspaper-world—the servants of the giant publicity-machine; + living and working in the roar and rush of it, in a stifling atmosphere + where the finer qualities of the soul were poisoned and withered over + night. They lived their lives, almost without exception, by means of + alcohol and coffee and tobacco; they were scornful, disillusioned, cynical + beyond all telling and all belief. Their only god in heaven or earth or + the waters under the earth was “copy”. To such men there were two possible + bonds of interest in a woman—the first being lust, and the second + money. In the case of Henry Darrell they found both these motives; and so + how clear the story was to them! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis thought, also, of the men who owned and managed the papers; those + who had turned loose the hunt and directed it. Rich men were they, who had + built these publicity machines for their own purposes. And what were they + in their private lives? Some of them were notoriously dissolute; and still + others hid their ways under a veil of hypocrisy—just as in their + editorials they hid their class-interests under pretenses of principle. + And how easy it would have been for Darrell to get what he wanted without + losing his reputation—if only he had been willing to follow the + example of these eminent citizens! Thyrsis knew one man, the editor of an + appallingly respectable journal, who had invited a young girl to his + wife’s home and there attempted to seduce her. He knew the proprietor of + another, whose cheerful custom it was to go about among his newly-married + women-friends and suggest that, inasmuch as he was a “superman,” and their + husbands were weaklings, they should let him become in secret the father + of their children. This amateur eugenist was accustomed to maintain that + the great men in history had for the most part been bastards; and Thyrsis, + knowing this fact about him, would read editorials in his papers, in which + Henry Darrell was denounced as an enemy of the home! + </p> + <p> + Meantime Thyrsis was reading Darrell’s books and pamphlets, and coming to + realize what a mind was here being destroyed. For this man, it seemed to + him, was master of the noblest prose utterance that had been heard in + America since Emerson died. He went again to hear him speak, in another + ill-lighted and stuffy hall before less than a hundred people; and the + pain of this was more than he could bear. He went home that night with his + friend, and labored with him with all the force of his being. “You stay + here,” he declared, “and put yourself at the mercy of your enemies! You + waste your faculties contending with them—even knowing about them is + enough to destroy you. And all the while you might escape from them + altogether—might do your real work, that the world knows nothing of. + No one can hinder you. And when you have written the book of your soul, + then your tormentors will be—they will be like the tormentors of + Dante! Go away! Go away to Europe, where you can be free!” + </p> + <p> + And so before long, he stood upon a steamer-pier and waved Henry Darrell + and his wife farewell. And every now and then would come letters, telling + of long, long agonies; for Darrell had to fight for those few rare days + when ill health would permit him to think. So year by year he labored at + what Thyrsis knew, if it was ever finished, would be America’s first + world-poem; and in the meantime eminent statesmen and moralists who were + alarmed at the progress of “Socialist agitation”, would continue to + conjure up before the public mind the night-mare spectre of the + once-respected clergyman, who had deserted his weeping wife and children, + and run away with a rich woman to found a “free-love colony”! + </p> + <p> + Section 14. A couple of days after the Darrells sailed, Thyrsis set out + himself to find a home. On account of the new book, he would have to be + near a library, and so he had selected a college-town not far from New + York. He went there now, and put up for a week at a students’ + boarding-house, while prosecuting his search. + </p> + <p> + A strange experience it was to him, after the years of struggle and + contact with the world, to come back to that academic atmosphere; to find + men who were still peacefully counting up the “feminine endings” in + Shakespeare’s verse, and writing elaborate theses upon the sources of the + Spenserian legends. Upon his excursions into the country some of these + young men would tramp with him—threshing out, student-fashion, the + problems of the universe; and how staggering it was to meet a man who was + about to receive a master’s degree in literature—and who regarded + Arthur Hugh Clough as a “dangerous” poet, and Tennyson’s “Two Voices” as + containing vital thought, and T. H. Green as the world’s leading + philosopher! And this was the “education” that was dispensed at America’s + most aristocratic university—for this many millions of dollars had + been contributed, and scores of magnificent buildings erected! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis saw that a partial explanation lay in the fact that in connection + with the university there existed a great theological seminary. Some of + these future ministers came also to the boarding-house, and Thyrsis + listened to their shop-talk—about the difference between + “transubstantiation” and “consubstantiation”, and the status of the + controversy over the St. John Gospel. He heard one man cite arguments from + Paley’s “Moral Philosophy”; and another making bold to state that he was + uncertain about the verbal inspiration of the Pentateuch! + </p> + <p> + To Thyrsis, as he listened to these discussions, it was as if he felt a + black shadow stealing across his soul. He wondered why he should hate + these men with a personal hatred; he tried to argue with himself that they + must be well-meaning and earnest. The truth was that they seemed to him + just like the law-students, men moved by sordid and low ideals; the only + difference was that their minds were not so keen as the lawyers’. Thyrsis + was coming little by little to understand the economic causes of things, + and he perceived that this theological world represented a stagnant place + in the stream of national culture; it being a subsidized world, maintained + half by charity, vital men turned from it; it drew to itself the feebler + minds, or such as wished to live at ease, and not inquire too closely into + the difference between truth and falsehood. + </p> + <p> + Section 15. A few miles out from the town Thyrsis found a farm with an + abundance of wild woodland, where the farmer gave him permission to camp. + And so he went back and got some lumber, and loaded his tent and supplies + on a wagon, and wrote Corydon that he would meet her the next afternoon. + With the help of the farmer’s boy he labored the rest of the day at + building the platform, and putting up the tent, and getting their + belongings in order. The next day he was up at dawn, constructing tables + and stands; and later on he hired the farmer’s “jagger-wagon”, and drove + in for Corydon and Cedric and the trunks. + </p> + <p> + It was a glorious spring day, of turquoise sky and glinting sunshine; and + later, when the sun was low, the woods were flushed with a glow of scarlet + and purple. It lent a glory to the scene, shedding a halo about the + commonest tasks; the unpacking of blankets and dishes, the ranging of + groceries upon shelves. They were free from all the world at last—they + were setting out upon the journey of their lives together! + </p> + <p> + So it was with singing and laughter that they went at their work. The baby + crawled about on the tent-floor and got into everybody’s way, and crowed + with delight at the novel surroundings; and later on his mother gave him + his supper and put him to bed; and then she spread a feast of bread and + butter, and fresh milk and eggs and a can of fruit, and they sat down to + the first meal they had eaten together in many a long, long month. + </p> + <p> + They were tired and ravenously hungry; but their happiness of soul was + keener even than any physical sensation, and they sat leaning upon their + elbows and gazing across the table, reading the wonder in each other’s + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It has been a year since we parted!” whispered Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “Just a year!” he said. “It seems like ten of them.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you remember, Thyrsis, how we prayed! How we prayed for this very + hour!” + </p> + <p> + He took her hands in his. Once more they renewed their pledges of + devotion; once more the vision of their hopes unrolled before them. “From + now on,” he whispered, “our life is our own! We can make it whatever we + will. Let us make it something beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + And so there they made a compact. They would speak no more of the year + that was past; it was a bad dream, and now it was gone. Let it be swept + from their thoughts, and let them go on to make the future what they + desired it to be. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XII. THE TREADMILL + </h2> + <p> + <i>They sat in the little cabin, where she had been reading some lines + from the poem again— </i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O easy access to the hearer’s grace + When Dorian shepherds sang to Proserpine!” + </pre> + <p> + “Ah, yes!” he said. “But our lot was cast in a different time.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand upon his. “Even so,” she said; and then turned the page, + and read once more— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What though the music of thy rustic flute + Kept not for long its happy, country tone; + Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy note + Of men contention-tost, of men who groan, + Which task’d thy pipe too sore, and tired thy + throat— + It failed, and thou wast mute! + Yet hadst thou always visions of our light!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. The <i>mise-en-scéne</i> of their new adventure in domesticity + was a tent eighteen feet by twelve; but as the side-walls were low, they + could walk only in the centre, and must range their belongings at the + sides. To the left, as one entered the tent, there stood a soapbox with a + tiny oil-stove upon it; and then a stand, made out of a packing-box, to + hold their dishes, their cooking-utensils and their limited supply of + provisions. Next down the line came a trunk, and in the corner the baby’s + crib—which had been outgrown by the farmer’s children, and purchased + by Thyrsis for a dollar. At the rear was a folding-table, and above it a + board from which Corydon hung her clothing; along the other wall were her + canvas cot, and a little stand with some books, and a wash-stand and + another trunk. + </p> + <p> + Some distance off in the woods stood a second tent, seven feet square, in + which Thyrsis had a cot for himself, and also a canvas-chair in which he + sat to receive the visits of his muse. They got their drinking water from + a spring near by; there was a tiny stream beside the tent which provided + their washing-water. In this stream Thyrsis hollowed out a flat basin, in + which they might set their butter-crock, and a pail of milk, and a larger + pail that held their meat. Below that was a deeper pool from which they + dipped water, and lower yet a third pool, with a board on which Corydon + might sit and wash diapers, to her heart’s content and her back’s + exhaustion. + </p> + <p> + The tent had been old when Thyrsis got it, and as this was the third + season he had used it, it was dark and dun of hue. They had not noticed + this at the outset as they had put it up on a bright, sunshiny day, and + also before the trees had put out all their foliage. But now, when rain + came, they found that they had to light a lamp in order to read in the + tent; and, of course, it was on rainy days that they had to be inside. + Thyrsis did not realize the influence which this tent had upon his wife’s + spirits; it was only after he saw her made physically ill by having to + live in a room with yellow wall-paper, that he came to understand the + power which her surroundings had over Corydon. + </p> + <p> + If they’so much as touched a finger to the roof of the tent while it was + raining, a steady dripping would come through at that point. Then, as the + rains grew heavier, water took to running down the pole that stood in the + centre of the tent, and formed a pool in the middle of the floor, so that + Thyrsis had to get the axe and cut a hole there. And, of course, there was + no way to dry anything; the woods, which were low, were turned into a + swamp, and one’s shoes became caked with mud, and there was no keeping the + tent-floor clean. + </p> + <p> + In this place they had to keep an able-bodied, year-and-a-half-old baby! + There was no other place to keep him. He could not be allowed on the damp + floor, nor where he could touch the top of the tent; so Thyrsis set up + sticks at all four corners of his crib, and tied strong twine about them, + making a little pen; and therein they put the baby, and therein he had to + stay. He had his rattle and his rubber-doll and his blocks and the rest of + his gim-cracks; and after he had howled long enough to satisfy himself + that there was no deliverance from his prison, he settled back and + accepted his tragic fate. There came occasions when Corydon was sick, and + unable to move; then Thyrsis would put up his umbrella and take Cedric to + his own tent, where he would draw a chalk-line across the floor. One-half + of the forty-nine square feet of space was his, and in it he would sit and + read and study; in the other half the baby would play. After long + experience he came to realize that at such times Papa would not pay any + attention to him, and that crossing the chalk-line involved getting one’s + “mungies” spanked. + </p> + <p> + There were other troubles that fell upon them. At first, it being April, + it was cold at night; and they had no stove, and no room for a stove. + Later on the ceaseless rains brought a plague of mosquitoes; and so + Thyrsis had to rig up a triangular door and cover the entrance to the tent + with netting; and when the weather grew better, he had to get more netting + and construct a little house, in which the baby could play outdoors. And + then there had to be more spankings of “mungies”, to teach the infant that + this mysterious mosquito-bar must not be walked through, nor pulled at, + nor poked with sticks, nor even eaten. + </p> + <p> + They prayed for fair days, and a little sunshine; and it seemed as if the + weather-demons had discovered this, and were playing with them. There + would come a bright morning, and they would spread a rug in the baby’s + cage, and hang out all their damp belongings to dry; and then would come a + sudden shower, and baby and rug and belongings would all have to pile back + into the tent. And then it would clear again, and everything would go out + once more; and they would prepare dinner, and be comfortably settled to + eat, when it would begin to sprinkle again. They would move in the + clothing and the baby, and when it began to rain harder, they would move + in the table and the food; and forthwith the rain would cease. Because it + was poor fun eating in a dark tent by lamp-light, amid the odor of + gas-stove and cooking, they might move out once more—but only to + repeat the same experience over again. + </p> + <p> + For six weeks after their arrival there was not a day without rain, and it + would rain sometimes for half a week without ceasing. So everything they + owned became damp and mouldy—all their clothing, their food, the + very beds upon which they slept. One of their miseries was the lack of + place to keep things; all their odds and ends had to be stowed away under + the cots—where one might find clothing, and books, and manuscripts, + and a hammock, and an umbrella, and some shoes, and a box of prunes, and a + sack of potatoes, and half a ham. When water got in at the sides of the + tent and wet all these objects, and the bedclothing hung over the floor + and got into them, it was trying to the temper to have to rummage there. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Before she left the city Corydon had taken the baby to consult a + famous “child-specialist”—at five dollars per consultation; she had + received the dreadful tidings that Cedric was threatened with the + “rickets”. So she had come out to the country with one mighty purpose in + her soul. “Under-nourishment”, the doctor had said; and he had laid out a + regular schedule. Six times daily the unhappy infant was to be fed; and + each time some elaborate concoction had to be got ready—practically + nothing could be eaten in a state of nature. The first meal would consist + of, say a poached egg on a piece of toast, and the juice of an orange, + with the seeds carefully excluded; the next of some chicken broth with a + cracker or two, and the pulp of prunes with the skins removed; the next of + some beef chopped up and pounded to a pulp and broiled, together with a + bit of mashed potato or some other cooked vegetable; the next of some + gruel, with cream and sugar, and some more prunes. + </p> + <p> + And these operations, of course, took the greater part of Corydon’s day; + she would struggle at them until she was ready to drop, and when she had + to give up they would fall to Thyrsis. Some of them fell to him quite + frequently—for instance, the pounding of the meat. It had to have + all the fat and gristle carefully cut out; and there had to be a clean + board, and a clean hammer, both of which must be scraped and washed + afterwards; and whenever by any chance Corydon let the meat stay on the + fire a second too long, so that it got hard, the whole elaborate operation + had to be gone over again—was not the baby’s life at stake? + </p> + <p> + It was quite vain for him to protest as to the pains that Corydon took to + remove every tiniest fragment of the skin of a stewed prune. “Surely, + dearest,” he would argue, “the internal arrangements of a baby are not so + delicate as to be torn by a tiny bit of prune-skin!” + </p> + <p> + But to Corydon the internal arrangements of babies were mysterious things—to + be understood only by a child-specialist at five dollars per visit. “He + told me what to do,” she would say; “and I am going to do it.” + </p> + <p> + So she would prepare the concoctions, and would sit and feed them to the + baby, spoonful by spoonful; and long after the little one had been stuffed + to the bursting-point, she would hold the spoon poised in front of its + mouth, making tentative passes, and seeking by some device to cajole the + mouth into opening and admitting one last morsel of the precious + nutriment. The child had a word of its own inventing, wherewith it denoted + things that were good to eat. “Hee, gubum, gubum!” he would exclaim; and + Corydon would hold the spoon and repeat “Gubum, gubum,”—long after + the baby had begun to sputter and gasp and make plain that it was no + longer “gubum”. + </p> + <p> + Also, under the instructions of the specialist, they made an attempt to + break the child of the “hoodaloo mungie” habit. A baby should lie down and + go to sleep without handling, the authority had declared; and now that + there was all outdoors for him to cry in, they resolved that he should be + taught. So they built up the fence about the crib, and laid the baby in + for his afternoon nap, and started to go away. And the baby gave one look + of perplexity and dismay, and then began to cry. By the time they had got + out of the tent he was screaming like a creature possessed; and Corydon + and Thyrsis sat outside and stared at each other in wonder and alarm. When + she could stand it no more, they went away to a distance; but still the + uproar went on. Now and then they would creep back and peep in at the + purple and choking infant; and then steal away again, and discuss the + phenomenon, and wish that the “child-specialist” were there to advise + them. Finally, when the crying had gone on for two hours without a + moment’s pause, they gave up, because they were afraid the baby might cry + itself into convulsions. And so the “hoodaloo mungie” habit went on for + some time yet. + </p> + <p> + Under the “stuffing regime” the infant at first thrived amazingly; he + became fat and rosy, and Corydon’s heart beat high with joy and pride. But + then came midsummer, and the hot season; and first of all a rash broke out + upon the precious body, and in spite of powders and ointments, refused to + go away. Later on came the “hives”, with which the baby was spotted like + the top of a pepper-crust. And then, as fate willed it, the family of a + woman who did some laundry for Corydon developed the measles; and Corydon + found it out too late—and so they were in for the first of a long + program of “children’s diseases”. + </p> + <p> + It was a siege that lasted for a month and more—a nightmare + experience. The child had to be kept in a dark place, under pain of losing + its eyesight; and when it was very hot in the tent, some one had to sit + and fan it. It could not sleep, but writhed and moaned, now screaming in + torment, now whimpering like a frightened cur—a sound that wrung + Thyrsis’ very heart. And oh, the sight of the little body—purple, a + mass of eruptions, and with beads of perspiration upon it! Corydon’s + mother came to help her through this ordeal, and would sit for hours upon + hours, rocking the wailing infant in her arms. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. But there were ups as well as downs in this tenting adventure. + There came glorious days, when they took long tramps over the hills; or + when Thyrsis would carry the child upon his shoulder, and they would + wander about the meadows, picking daisies and clover, and making garlands + for Corydon. Once Cedric sat down upon a bumble-bee, and that was hard + upon him, and perhaps upon the bee. But for the most part the little one + was enraptured during these excursions. He was fascinated with the + flowers, and continually seeking for an opportunity to devour some of + them; while he was doing it he would wear such a roguish smile—it + was impossible not to believe that he understood the agitation which these + abnormal appetites occasioned in his parents. Corydon would be seized with + a sudden access of affection, and she would clutch him in her arms and + squeeze him, and fairly smother him with kisses. Of course the youngster + would protest wildly at this, and so not infrequently the demonstration + would end tragically. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t have any joy in my baby at all!” she would lament; and Thyrsis + would have to soothe the child, and plead with her to find more practical + ways of demonstrating her maternal devotion. + </p> + <p> + Cedric was beginning to make determined efforts to talk now, and he had + the most original names for things. His parents would adopt these into + their own speech, which thus departed rapidly from established usage. They + had to bring themselves to realize that if they went on in that fashion, + the child would never learn to speak so that any one else could understand + him. The grandmothers were most strenuous upon this point, and would + laboriously explain to the infant that chickens and pigeons and sparrows + were not all known as “ducky-ducks”; they would plead with it to say + “bottle of milk”, while its reckless parents were delighting themselves + with such perversions as “bobbu mookie-mook.” + </p> + <p> + Two or three times each week the farmer would bring their mail; and once a + week they would hire an old scare-crow of a horse, and a buggy which might + have passed for the one-horse shay in its ninety-ninth year, and drive to + a town for provisions. It was amazing what loads of provisions a family of + three could consume in the course of a week—especially when one of + them was following the “stuffing regime”. There had to be a lot of + figuring done to get it for the sum of thirty dollars a month; and this + put another grievous burden upon Thyrsis. Corydon, alas, had no talents + for figuring, and was cursed with a weakness for such superfluities as + clean laundry and coffee with cream. This was one more aspect of the + difference between the Hebrew and the Greek temperament; and sometimes the + Hebrew temperament would lose its temper, and the Greek temperament would + take to tears. The situation was all the more complicated because of their + pitiful ignorance. They really did not know what was necessity and what + was luxury. For instance, Thyrsis had read somewhere that people could + live without meat; but Corydon had never heard of such an idea, and + insisted with vehemence that it was an absurdity. + </p> + <p> + However, there was no evading the issue of poverty; for the thirty dollars + was all they had. “The Hearer of Truth” had been out several months now, + and had not sold a thousand copies; and so it was to be doubted if Thyrsis + would ever get another dollar from that. Also, he had heard from the + translator of “The Genius”, and had agreed to accept twenty-five dollars + as an “honorarium” for the production of his play in Germany—this + princely sum to be paid when the play came out during the following + winter. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, of course, he was driving away at his new work. Domestic duties + took up most of his morning; but he would get away into the woods in the + afternoons, and in the evenings, when the family was asleep, he would work + until far after midnight. He was bringing out basketfuls of books from the + library of the university; and he lived another life in these—sharing, + in a hundred different forms, the agony of the War. He was not writing + yet; he was filling up his soul with the thing, making it a reservoir of + impressions. Some times it would seem that the reservoir was nearly full, + and he would be seized with a hunger to be at work; he would go about + possessed by it—absent-minded, restless, nervous when he was spoken + to. It was hard for a man who listened all night to the death-groans of + the thousands piled up before “Bloody Angle”, to get up in the morning and + be satisfactory in the rôle of “mother’s assistant”. + </p> + <p> + Here, again was the torment of this matrimonial bond to a man who wished + to be an artist. He had to live two lives, when one was more than he could + attend to; he had to be always aware of another soul yearning for him, + reaching out to him and craving his attention. To be sure, Corydon was + interested in what he was doing; she even made heroic efforts to read the + books that he was reading. But she had so many duties, and so many + headaches; and when night came she was so tired! She would ask him to tell + her about his vision; and was not the thing untellable? Why else did he + have to labor day and night, like a man possessed? He would explain this + to her, and she would bid him go on and do his work and not mind her. But + when he would take her at her word, and there would follow a week or two + of indifference and preoccupation—then he would discover that she + was again unhappy. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. This never ceased to be the case between them; but perhaps it was + intensified at this time by the fact that their sex-life had to be + suppressed. This was a problem which they had talked out between them + before they came away. Thyrsis, who was groping for the truth about these + matters, had come to the conclusion that the factor which gave dignity and + meaning to intercourse between a man and woman was the desire, or at any + rate the willingness, to create a child. Corydon was not sure that she + agreed with him in this; but so far as their own case was concerned, it + was quite clear that they could take no remotest chance of any accident—another + child would mean certain destruction for all three of them. And so they + had gone back to the “brother and sister” arrangement with which they had + begun life. This was a simple matter for Thyrsis, who was utterly wrapped + up in his book; it was not so simple for Corydon, though neither of them + realized it, nor could have been brought to admit it. As usual, Corydon + desired to be what he was, and to feel what he felt; and so Thyrsis did + not realize how another side of her was being blighted. Hers was + predominantly a love-nature; it was intolerable to her that any one she + loved should not love her in return, and love her in the same way, and to + the same extent; and now, when her entire being went out to him, she found + herself obliged to suppress her emotions. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the thing would break out in spite of her. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis,” she would cry, “aren’t you going to kiss me good-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I kiss you, dearest?” he would answer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but such a cold and perfunctory kiss!” + </p> + <p> + And so he would come and put his arms about her; but even while she held + him thus, she would feel the life go out of his caresses, and see his eyes + with a far-off expression. She would know that his thoughts were away upon + some battle-field. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Thyrsis,” she would exclaim. “Do you really love me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” he would reply. “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “But how <i>much</i> do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + And then he would be dumb. What a question to ask him! As if he had the + time and the energy to climb to those heights, to speak again that + difficult language! Had he not told her a thousand times how much he loved + her! and could she not believe it and understand it? + </p> + <p> + “But why should it be so hard to tell me?” she would protest. + </p> + <p> + And he would answer that to him it was a denial of love to explain or to + make promises. He was as unchangeable as the laws of nature—he could + no more be faithless to her soul than he could to his own. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to take that for granted,” he would say; “to know it as you + know that the sun will rise to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Thyrsis,” she would answer, when he used this metaphor, “don’t + people sometimes like to go out and see the sun rise?” + </p> + <p> + Section 5. The summer passed; and Thyrsis found to his dismay that his + relentless muse had not yet permitted him to write a word. He had not a + sufficient grasp upon his mighty subject—nor for that matter had he + freedom to get by himself and wrestle it out. He shrunk from that + death-grapple, while they were in this unsettled state. They could not + stay in tents through the winter-time; and where were they to go? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was consumed with the desire to build a tiny house in these woods. + He had roamed the country over, without finding any place that was + habitable; and besides, he did not want to pay rent—he wanted a home + of his own, however humble. He had meant to build one with the money from + “The Hearer of Truth”; but now there came a statement from the publisher, + showing that there would be due him on the book a trifle over eleven + dollars! + </p> + <p> + He tried a new plan. He wrote out a “scenario” of his projected novel, and + sent this to his publisher, to see if he could get a contract in advance. + He asked for five hundred dollars—with that he could build the house + he wanted, and live for another six months, until the book was done. The + publisher wrote him to come to the city, where, after some parleying, he + submitted a proposition; he would advance the money and publish the book, + paying ten per cent. royalty; but he must also have the option to publish + the author’s future writings for ten years upon the same basis. + </p> + <p> + This rather staggered Thyrsis. He was business-man enough by this time to + realize that if he ever had a real success he could get fifteen or twenty + per cent. upon his future work—there were even some authors who got + twenty-five per cent. And moreover, he did not like to tie himself to this + publisher, who was of the hard and grasping type. He went home to think it + over, and in the end he wrote to Henry Darrell. He set forth the + situation, and showed how much money it might mean to him—money + which he would otherwise be able to devote to some useful purpose. It all + depended upon what Darrell could do in the emergency. + </p> + <p> + He waited three weeks, and then came Darrell’s reply, saying that he could + not possibly do what Thyrsis wished. There were so many calls upon him—the + Socialist paper was in trouble, and so on. Thereupon Thyrsis wrote to the + publisher to say that he accepted the offer and would sign the contract; + but in a couple of days he received a curt reply, to the effect that the + publisher had changed his mind, and no longer cared to consider the + arrangement. He had, as Thyrsis found afterwards, got rid of the + enthusiastic young man who had inveigled him into “The Hearer of Truth”; + and perhaps also he had been reading the ridicule which the critics were + pouring out upon that unhappy book. + </p> + <p> + So once more Thyrsis wrote to Darrell—a letter of agonized entreaty. + He was at the most critical moment of his life; and now, at the very + culmination of his effort, to have to give up would be a calamity he could + simply not contemplate. If only he could finish the task, he would be + saved; for this was a book that would grip men and shake them—that + it should fail was simply unthinkable. He could make out with two hundred + dollars; and he besought his friend at any sacrifice to stand by him. He + asked him to cable; and when, a couple of weeks later, the message came—“all + right”—to Thyrsis it was like waking up and escaping from the grip + of some terrible dream. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. And so began the house-building. It was high time, too—the + latter part of September, and the nights were growing chill. He sought out + a carpenter to help him, and had an interview with his friend the farmer, + who agreed to rent a bit of land, in a corner of his orchard, by the edge + of the wood. It was under the shade of a great elm-tree, and sufficiently + remote from all the world to satisfy the taste of any literary hermit. + </p> + <p> + For months before this he and Corydon had discussed the plans of their + future home; every square inch of it had been a subject of debate. In its + architectural style it was a compromise between Corydon’s aesthetic + yearnings, and the rigid standards of economy which circumstance imposed. + It was to be eighteen feet long and sixteen feet wide—six feet high + at the sides and nine in the centre. It was to be “weather-boarded”, and + roofed with paper, instead of shingles—this being so much cheaper. + Corydon heard with dismay that it would be necessary to paint this + roofing-paper black; and Thyrsis, by way of compensation, agreed that the + weather-boards should have some “natural finish”, instead of common paint. + There was to be a six-foot piazza in front, and a little platform in back, + with steps descending to the spring. + </p> + <p> + There had been long discussions about the method of heating the mansion. + Corydon had been observing the customs of her neighbors in this typical + “small-farming” district, and declared that they had two leading + characteristics: first, they were not happy until they had had all their + own teeth extracted, and a complete set of “store-teeth” substituted; and + second, as soon as they moved into a house, they boarded over the open + fire-place and covered the boards with wall-paper. But Thyrsis, making + investigations along practical lines, found that the open fire-place had a + bad reputation as a consumer of fuel; and also, it would take a mason to + build a chimney, and the wages of masons were high. So Corydon had to + reconcile herself to a house with a stove, and a stove-pipe that went + through a hole in the wall! + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless this house-building time was one of the happiest periods of + their lives. For here was something constructive, in which they could both + be occupied. Thyrsis would be up and at work early in the morning, before + the carpenter came; and in between the baby’s various meals, Corydon would + come also, and take part in the operations. A miraculous thing it was to + see the house of their dreams coming into being, with every feature just + as they had planned it. And what a palatial structure it was—with so + much space and air! One could actually move about in it without danger of + striking one’s head; coming into it from the tent, one felt as if he were + entering a cathedral! + </p> + <p> + They were so consumed with a desire to see it finished, that Thyrsis would + stay at the work until darkness came upon him, and sometimes even worked + by moon-light, or with a lantern. And how proud they would be when the + carpenter came next morning, and found the last roof-boards laid, or the + flooring all completed! Thyrsis learned the mysteries of window-sills and + door-frames, the excitements of “weather-boarding,” and the perils of + roof-painting. He realized with wonder how many achievements of + civilization the privileged classes take as a matter of course. What a + remarkable thing it was, when one came to think of it, that a door should + swing true upon its hinges, and fit exactly into its frame, and latch with + a precise and soul-satisfying snap! And that windows should slide up and + down in their frames, and stop at certain places with a spring-catch! + </p> + <p> + Corydon too was interested in these discoveries, and became skilled at + holding weather-boards while her husband nailed them, and at helping to + unroll and measure roofing-paper, and climbing up the ladder and holding + it in place. Even the baby became fired with the spirit of achievement, + and would get himself a hammer and a board, and plague his parents until + they started a dozen or so of nails for him—after which he would sit + and blissfully pound them into the board, and all but pound them through + the board in his enthusiasm. Before long he even learned to start them + himself; and a most diverting sight it was to see this twenty-two-months + old youngster driving nails like an infant Hercules. For the fastening of + the roofing-paper they used little circular plates of tin called + “cotterels”; and these also Cedric must learn to use. So a new phrase was + added to the vocabulary of “dam-fool talk”. “Bongie cowtoos” was the name + of the operation; for a couple Of years thereafter, whenever Corydon and + Thyrsis wished to be let alone to discuss the problems of the universe, + they would get the baby a hammer and some nails and a board, and repeat + that magic formula, and the problem was solved. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, however, it was not all smooth sailing in the + carpentry-business. There were mashed thumbs and sawed fingers; and then, + in an evil hour, Thyrsis came upon an advertisement which told of a + wonderful new kind of wall-paper which could be applied directly to laths—thus + enabling one to dispense with plaster. He sent for ten or twelve dollars’ + worth of this material, and he and Corydon spent a whole morning making a + mixture of glue and flour-paste and water, and boiling it in an iron + preserving-kettle. But alas, the paper would not paste; and then they had + a painful time. Corydon gave up in disgust, and went away; but Thyrsis, to + whom economy was a kind of disease, would not give up, and was angry with + the other for urging him to give up. He spent a whole day wrestling with + the concoction, and gave himself a headache with the ghastly odor. But in + the end he had to dump it out, and clean the kettle, and fasten the paper + to the lathes with “bongie cowtoos”. As the strips of paper did not + correspond with the studding, he found himself driving nails into springy + laths, an operation most trying to the temper of any man of letters. One + of the trials of this house forever after was that upon the least jar a + corner of the ceiling was liable to fall loose; and then one would have to + get a ladder, and climb up into a hot region, and pound nails into a + broken lath, with dust sifting down into one’s eyes, and the hammer + hitting one’s sore thumb, and occasioning exclamations not at all suitable + for the ears of a two-year-old intelligence. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. When the doors were fitted, and the windows set in, and the + piazza laid, and the steps built, they got down to the furniture, which + was also to be home-made. Thyrsis was gratified beyond telling by these + tables and dressing-stands and shelves and book-cases, which he could + build of hemlock boards in an hour or two, and which cost only thirty or + forty cents apiece. He would labor with Corydon to induce her to share + this joy; but alas, he would only succeed in losing his own joy, without + increasing hers. On many occasions he attempted such things as this; it + was only after long years that he came to realize that Corydon’s + temperament was the one fixed fact in the universe with which he had to + deal. + </p> + <p> + Two hundred and twenty-five dollars was the total cost of this + establishment when completed. And while the carpenter was putting the + finishing touches, Thyrsis was using up thirty dollars more of lumber in + constructing himself a “study” in the woods near by. Eight by ten this + cabin was to be; it was to have a door and a window, and a little piazza + in front, upon which the inhabitant might sit in fair weather. Also + Thyrsis built for it a table and a bookcase; and as he had now eighty + square feet instead of forty-nine, there was room for a cot and a chair, + and a coal-stove fourteen inches in diameter. As fate would have it, there + was some black paint left over; and to Corydon’s horror it was announced + that this would be used on the study. However, Thyrsis insisted that it + was <i>his</i> study; and besides, there was some red paint left, with + which he might decorate the window and the door-frame, and stripe the + edges of the roof and the corners. Surely that would be festivity enough + for the most exacting of Greek temperaments! + </p> + <p> + Then came the rapturous experience of moving into these new mansions. The + joy of having shelves to put things on, and hooks to hang things from. Of + being able to take books and manuscripts out of their trunks, and not pile + them under their beds. Of carrying over their belongings, and having + everything fit into the place that had been made for it! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis purchased an old stove, and also a kitchen-range from a neighbor; + he sank a barrel in the spring, and walled it round with cement; he built + a stand in the kitchen, and set up a sink and a little pump. + </p> + <p> + This was the time of year when there were held at various places in the + country what the neighbors called “vandews”. He and Corydon found it + diverting to get the scarecrow nag and the one-horse shay, and drive to + some farm-house, where one might see the history of a family for the last + fifty years spread out upon the lawn. They would stand round in the cold + and snow while the auctioneer disposed of the horses and cows and hay and + machinery, waiting until he came to the household objects upon which they + had set their eye. So they would invest in some stove-pipe, and a couple + of ghastly chromos (for the sake of the frames), and some odds and ends of + crockery, and a spade, and some old rope to make a swing for the baby. + They would get these things for five or ten cents each, and get in + addition all the excitements of the bargain-hunt. + </p> + <p> + Once they had a real adventure—they came upon a wonderful old + “grandfather’s clock”, about six feet high; and Corydon exclaimed in + rapture, “Oh Thyrsis I’d be happy for the rest of my life if we could have + that clock!” On such terms it appeared to Thyrsis that the clock might be + worth making a sacrifice for, and he got up the courage to declare that he + would offer as high as five dollars for it. And so they stood, trembling + with excitement, and waiting. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t lose it, even if it’s as high as six dollars!” whispered Corydon; + but alas, the first bid for the clock was twenty-five dollars. They stood + staring with dismay, until the treasure was sold to a dealer from the city + for the incredible sum of eighty-seven dollars; and then they drove home, + quite awe-stricken by this sudden intrusion from the world of luxury + outside their ken. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. However, this disappointment did not trouble them for long; there + were too many luxuries in their own home. Not very long after it was + finished, there fell a deluge of rain; and what a delight it was to listen + to it, and know that they were safe from it! That not only did they have a + dry roof over their head—but they were able to move about, and to + reach up their hands without peril, and to sit down and read without a + lamp! They would stand by the window with their arms about each other, + watching the rain beating upon the fields, and dripping from the elm tree, + and flowing in torrents past the house; they would listen to it pounding + overhead and streaming off the roof before their faces. They were dry, + quite dry! All their belongings were dry—their shoes were not + mildewing, their books were not getting soft and shapeless, their + bed-clothing would be all right when night came! + </p> + <p> + The down-pour lasted for three whole days, yet they enjoyed it all. It + proved to be a memorable rain to Corydon, for it brought to her a great + occasion—the beginning of her poetical career. It happened late one + night, when, as usual, the cry of “hoodaloo mungie” awakened her from a + sound slumber. The day had been a particularly hard one, and the heaviness + of exhaustion was upon her. For a moment she stared up into the darkness, + listening to the rain close above her, and trying to nerve herself to put + out her arm in the cold. She shuddered at the thought; there came to her a + perfectly definite impulse of hatred—hatred of the child, of its + noise and its demands. She had felt it before—sometimes as a dull, + cold dislike, sometimes as something passionate. Why should she have to + sacrifice herself to this insatiable creature, whom she did not love? What + did it matter to her if other women loved their children? She had wanted + life—and was this life? At that moment the cry of “hoodaloo-mungie” + symbolized for her all the sordid cares and nervous agony of her + existence. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly, unexpectedly, a daring impulse seized her. “No!” she + thought, and set her teeth—“I’ll let him cry! I’ll cure him of this—and + I’ll do it to-night!” So she turned and told Cedric to go to sleep; at + which, of course, the child began to scream. + </p> + <p> + Corydon lay very still in the dark, her eyes wide and every nerve tense. + She could not feel, she could not think; it seemed as though she were + deprived of every sense except that of hearing; and in her, through her, + and around her rang a senseless din, piercing, intense, increasing in + volume every minute, and completely drowning out the beating of the rain. + </p> + <p> + “Can I stand it?” she thought. “Or will his lungs burst? And yet, I must, + I must—this can’t go on forever!” And so she clenched her hands and + waited. But the sounds did not diminish in the slightest; ten minutes + twenty minutes must have passed, and the baby only seemed to gain + increased power with each crescendo. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Corydon at last as though she had always lain like this, and + as though she must for endless time. She found herself getting used to it + even; her muscles relaxed. There came to her a sense of the ludicrous side + of it. “He means to conquer me!” she thought. “Can I hold out? If I only + had something to think about, then I’d be a match for him.” And suddenly + the inspiration came to her. “I’ll write a poem!” + </p> + <p> + What should it be about? The rain had been increasing in violence, and she + became conscious of the steady downpour; it fascinated her, and she + concentrated her attention upon it, and began—- + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I am the rain, that comes in spring!” + </pre> + <p> + So, after a while, she found herself in the throes of composition; she was + eager, excited—and marvel of marvels, utterly forgetful of the baby! + She had never tried to write verses before; but it did not seem at all + difficult to her now. + </p> + <p> + The poem was simple and optimistic—it told of the beneficent + qualities of rain, as it would appear to one whose roof did not leak. + Somewhere in the course of it there was this stanza: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I am the rain that comes at night, + When all in slumber is folded light— + Save one by weary vigils worn + Who counteth the drops unto the morn.” + </pre> + <p> + This seemed to her an impressive bit, and she wondered what Thyrsis would + think of it. + </p> + <p> + There were eight stanzas altogether, and when she finished the last of + them the dawn was breaking, and it seemed hours since she had begun. As + for the baby, he was still crying. She turned and peered at him; his + eyelids drooped, and the crying came in spasms and gasps—it sounded + very feeble, and a trifle perfunctory. Obviously he could not hold out + much longer; Corydon would win, yes, she had won already. She lay still, + and thrills of happiness went through her. Was it the poem, or the thought + of her release, and the nights of quiet sleep in the future? + </p> + <p> + When Thyrsis came in, an hour or two later, he found her huddled up in + blankets on the floor of the living-room, her cheeks bright, her hair + dishevelled. How fascinating she looked in such a guise! She was eagerly + pondering her poem; and the baby was sleeping quietly, save for a few + convulsive gasps, the last stragglers of his routed forces. + </p> + <p> + “And oh, Thyrsis,” she exclaimed, “to-morrow night he will only cry half + as long, and still less the next night. And soon he will go to sleep + quietly like any well brought-up, civilized baby. And, my dear, I believe + I’m going to be a poetess—I think that to-night I was really + inspired!” + </p> + <p> + So he made haste to build a fire, and then came and sat and listened to + the poem. How eagerly she waited for his verdict! How she hung upon his + words! And what should a man do in such a case—should he be a + husband or a critic? Should he be an amateur or a professional? + </p> + <p> + But even as he hesitated, the damage was done. “Oh, you don’t like it!” + she cried. “You don’t think it’s good at all!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” he argued, “poetry is such a difficult thing to write. And + there are so many standards—a thing can be good, and yet not good! + The heights are so far away—” + </p> + <p> + “But oh, how can I ever get there,” wailed Corydon, “if nobody gives me + any encouragement?” + </p> + <p> + Section 9. The time had now come for Thyrsis to put his job through. There + was no longer any excuse for hesitation or delay. The book had come to + ripeness in him; the birth-hour was at hand, and he must go and have it + out with himself. He explained these things to Corydon, sitting beside her + and holding her hands; they ascended once more to the heights of + consecration; they renewed their vows of fortitude and faith, and then he + went away. + </p> + <p> + For weeks thereafter he would be like the ghost of a man in the house, + haggard and silent and preoccupied. All the work that he had ever done in + his life seemed but child’s play in comparison. Before this he had + portrayed the struggles of men and women; but now he was to portray the + agony of a whole nation—his heart must beat with the pulse of + millions of suffering people. And the task was like a fiend that came upon + him in the night-time and laid hold of him, dragging him away to sights of + terror and madness. He was never safe from the thing for a moment—he + could never tell when it might assail him. He might be washing the dishes, + or wrestling with the refractory pump; but the vision would come to him, + and he would wander off into the forest—perhaps to sit, crouching in + the snow, trembling, and staring at the pageant in his soul. + </p> + <p> + He lived in the midst of battles; the smoke of powder always in his + nostrils, the crash of musketry and the thunder of cannon in his ears. He + saw the cavalry sweeping over the plains, the infantry crouching behind + intrenchments; he heard the yells of the combatants, the shrieks of the + wounded and dying; he saw the mangled bodies, and the ground slippery with + blood. New aspects of the thing kept coming to him—new glimpses into + meanings yet untold. They would come to him in great bursts of emotion, + like tempests that swept him away; and these things he had to wrestle with + and master. It meant toil, the like of which he had never faced before, a + tension of all his faculties, that would last for hours and hours, and + leave him bathed in perspiration, and utterly exhausted. + </p> + <p> + A scene would come to him, in some moment of insight; and he would drop + everything else, and follow it. He would go over it, at the same time both + creating and beholding it, at the same time both overwhelmed by it and + controlling it—but above all things else, remembering it! He would + be like Aladdin in the palace, stuffing his pockets with priceless jewels; + coming away so loaded down that he could hardly stagger, and spilling them + on every side. Then, scarcely pausing to rest, he would go back after what + he had lost; he would grope about, gathering diamonds and rubies that he + had all but forgotten—or perhaps coming upon new vaults and new + treasure-chests. + </p> + <p> + So he would labor over a description, going over it and over it, not so + much working it out, as letting it work itself out and stamp itself upon + his memory. It made no difference how long the scene might be, he would + not write a word of it; it might be some battle-picture, that would fill + thirty or forty pages—he would know it all by heart, as Demosthenes + or Webster might have known an oration. And only at the end would he write + it down. + </p> + <p> + Over some of the scenes in this new book he labored thus for two or three + weeks at a stretch; there would be literally not a moment of the day, nor + perhaps of the night, when the thing was not working in some part of his + mind. He would think about it for hours before he fell asleep; and when he + opened his eyes it would be waiting at his bedside to pounce upon him. If + he tried for even a few minutes to rest, or to divert his mind to some + other work, he would find himself ill at ease and troubled, with a sense + as of something pulling at him, calling to him. And if anything came to + interrupt him, then he would be like a baker whose oven grows cold before + the bread is half done—it would be a sad labor making anything out + of that batch of bread. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. And this work he had to do as a married man, the father of a + family and the head of a household; living with a child who was one + incessant and irrepressible demand for attention, and a wife who was + wrestling with weakness and sickness—eating out her heart in cruel + loneliness, and cowering in the grip of fiends of melancholia and despair! + </p> + <p> + He had thought that when they moved into the new home, their domestic + trials would be at an end. But now the cruel winter fell upon them. They + had never known what a winter in the country was like; they came to see + why the farmer had protested against their building in such a remote + place. There were many days when they could not get to town, and some when + they could not even get to the farm-house. Also there was the pump, which + was continually freezing, and necessitating long and troublesome + operations before they could get any water. + </p> + <p> + It was, as fate would have it, the worst winter in the oldest inhabitant’s + memory. The farmer’s well froze over on three occasions, and it had never + frozen before, so he declared. For such weather as this they were + altogether unprepared; they had only a wood-stove, and could not keep a + fire all night; and the cheap blankets they had bought were made all of + cotton, and gave them almost no protection. They would not sleep with the + windows down; and so, for weeks at a time, they would go to bed with their + clothing, even their overcoats on; and would pile curtains and rugs upon + these—and even so, they would waken at two or three o’clock in the + morning, shivering and chilled to the bone. + </p> + <p> + And in this icy room they would have to get up and build a fire; and it + might be half an hour before they could get the house warm. Also, they had + no facilities for bathing; and so little by little they began to lose + their habits of decency—there were days when Corydon left her face + unwashed, and forgot to brush her hair. Everyday, it seemed, they slipped + yet further down the grade. Thyrsis would work until he was faint and + exhausted, and then he would come over, and find there was nothing ready + to eat. By the time that he and Corydon had cooked a meal, they would both + of them be ravenous, and they would sit and devour their food like a + couple of savages. Then, because they had over-eaten, they would have to + rest before they cleared things away; and like as not Thyrsis would get to + thinking about his work, and go off and leave everything—and the + dishes and the food might stay up on the table until the next meal. There + was nearly always a piled-up mass of dishes and skillets and sauce-pans in + the house—to Thyrsis these soiled dishes were the original source of + the myth of Sisyphus and his labor. + </p> + <p> + And then there was the garbage-pail that he had forgotten to empty, and + the lamps he had neglected to fill, and the slop-pails and the other + utensils of domesticity. There were the diapers that somebody had to wash—and + outside was always the bitter, merciless cold, that drove them in and shut + them up with all this horror. The time came, as the winter dragged on, + when the house which they had built with so many sacrifices, and into + which they had moved with such eager anticipations, came to seem to them + like a cave in which a couple of wild beasts cowered for shelter. + </p> + <p> + Section 11. There was another great change which this cold weather effected + in their lives; it broke down the barriers they had been at such pains to + build up between them. It was all very well for them to agree that they + were “brother and sister,” and that it was impossible for them ever to + think of anything else. But now came a time when night after night the + thermometer went to ten or fifteen degrees below zero; and first Thyrsis + gave more bedding to Corydon—because she was able to suffer more + than he; and he would go over to his cold hut alone, and crawl into a cold + bed, and lie there the whole night through without a wink of sleep. But + then, as the cold held on for a week or more, the resistance of both of + them was broken down—they were like two animals which crawl into the + same hole to keep each other from freezing. They piled all their bedding + upon one narrow cot; and sleeping thus, they could be warm. Even then, + they tried to keep to the resolution they had made; but this, it seemed, + was not within the power of flesh and blood; and so, once more, the + sex-factor was introduced into the complications of their lives. + </p> + <p> + To Thyrsis this thing was like some bird of prey that circled in the sky + just above him—its shadow filling him with a continual fear, the + swish of its wings making him cringe. He was never happy about it; there + was no time in his life when he was not in a state of inward war. His + intellect rebelled; and on the other hand, there was a part of his nature + that craved this sex-experience and welcomed it—and this part, it + seemed, was favored by all the circumstances of life. There was no chance + to settle the matter in the light of reason, to test it by any moral or + aesthetic law; blind fate decreed that one part of him should have the + shaping of his character, the determining of his needs. + </p> + <p> + He tried to make clear to himself the basis of his distrust. Sexual + intercourse as a habit—this was the formula by which he summed it up + to himself. To be right, to win the sanction of the intellect and the + conscience, the sex-act must be the result of a supreme creative impulse. + Its purpose was the making of a new soul—and this could never be + right until those who took that responsibility had used their reasons, and + determined that circumstances were such that the new soul might be a sound + and free and happy and beautiful soul. And how different was this from the + customs which prevailed under the sanction of the “holy bonds of + matrimony”! When sexual intercourse became a self-indulgence, like the + eating of candy, or the drinking of liquor; a thing of the body, and the + body alone; a thing determined by physical propinquity, by the sight and + contact of the flesh, the dressing and undressing in the same room! + </p> + <p> + Then again, the means which they had to use to prevent conception—which + destroyed all spontaneity in their relationship, and dragged the thing out + into the cold light of day! And the continual fear that they might have + made another blunder! Something of this sort was always happening, or + seeming to have happened, or threatening to have happened, so that they + waited each month in suspense and dread. It was this which made the terror + of the whole matter to Thyrsis, and had so much to do with his repugnance. + They were like people drawing lots for a death-sentence; like people who + ate from dishes, one of which they knew to contain poison. What was the + tragic destiny that hung over them—the Nemesis that gripped them, + and forced them to take such a chance? + </p> + <p> + But the barriers were down, and there was no building them up again; + Thyrsis never even tried, because of the revelation which came to him from + Corydon’s side. Corydon was craving, reaching out hungrily for something + which she had not in herself, and which life did not give her in + sufficiency. She called this thing “love”; and she had no hesitations and + no limits to her demand for it. To Thyrsis this “love” was something quite + else—it was sustenance and support. To demand it was an act of + weakness, and to yield it was a kind of spiritual blood-transfusion. It + was the first law of his life-code that every soul must stand upon its own + feet and walk its own way; and to surrender that spiritual autonomy was + the one blunder for which there could be no pardon. + </p> + <p> + But then—he would argue with himself—what folly it was to talk + of such things in their position! They not souls at all—the life of + the soul was not for them, the laws of the soul had nothing to do with + them. They were two bodies—two miserable and cold and sick and + tormented bodies; and with yet a third body, utterly helpless and + dependent upon them—in defiance of all the most high-sounding + pronouncements about “the soul”! + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis would mock himself into subjection once more, and go on to play + his part as husband and father and head of a household of bodies. He would + play the game of “love” as Corydon wanted it played; he would yield to her + demands, he would gratify her cravings, he would force himself to take her + point of view. But then the other mood would come upon him—the mood + that he knew to be the real expression of himself. He would begin the + battle of his genius again; he would “hear the echoes afar off, the + thunder of the captains and the shouting”. If one gave one’s self up to + the body, and accepted the regimen and the laws of the body, how should + the soul ever come to be free? To make such a concession was to pass upon + it a sentence of life-imprisonment! + </p> + <p> + So would come to Thyrsis again that sense of the awful tragedy that was + impending in their lives. Some day, he knew, he would break out of this + prison. Some day, he knew, he would have to be himself, and live his own + life! + </p> + <p> + And meanwhile, how pitiful were Corydon’s attempts to shape him to her + needs, and to persuade herself that she was succeeding in doing it! She + would set forth to him elaborately how much he had improved; how much + gentler and more human he was—in contrast with that blind and stupid + and egotistical and impossible person she had first known. And with what + bitterness Thyrsis would hear this—and how he had to struggle to + suppress his feeling! For he knew that those qualities which were so + hateful to her, were but the foam cast up to the surface of his soul by + the seething of his genius within. When it had ceased altogether, how + placid and still would be the pool-and what a beautiful mirror it would + make for Corydon to behold her own features in! + </p> + <p> + Section 12. In later years they used to discuss this problem, and they could + never be sure what would have happened in their lives—what would + have been the reaction of their different temperaments—if they had + been given any fair chance to live and grow as they wanted to. But here + they were, mashed together in this stew-pot of domesticity, with all the + most unlovely aspects of things forced continually upon their attention. + Each was in some way a handicap and a torment to the other—a means + which fate used to limit and crush and destroy the other; and as ever, + they had in their hours of anguish no recourse save to sit down and reason + it out together, and absolve each other from blame. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis invented a phrase whereby he might make this point clear to + Corydon, and keep it in her thoughts. The phrase was “the economic screw”; + it pressed upon him, and through him it crushed her. All things that he + sought to be and could not be, all things that he would not be and was; + all that was hard and unloving in him—his irritability and + impatience, his narrowness and bitterness—in all this he showed her + that cruel force that was destroying them both. + </p> + <p> + It was a hard rôle for Thyrsis, to be the judge and the jury and the + executioner of the stern will of this “economic screw”. There was, for + instance, the episode of the “turkey-red table-cover”, which became a + classic in their later lives. Corydon was always chafing at the bareness + of their little home; and going into the shops in the town, and + discovering things which might have made it lovely. One evil day she went + alone; and when she came back, Thyrsis, as usual, pounced upon his mail, + and came upon a letter from a magazine-editor whom he had been trying to + please with an article, and who now scolded him mercilessly for his + obstinacy and his egotism and his didacticism, and all his other + unpublishable qualities. Then came the unwrapping of the bundles, and + Corydon’s guileless and joyful announcement that she had come upon a + wonderful bargain in the dry-goods store, a beautiful piece of + “turkey-red” cloth which would serve as the table-cover for which her soul + had been pining—and which she had obtained for the incredibly small + sum of thirty cents! + </p> + <p> + Whereupon, of course, Thyrsis began to exclaim in dismay. Thirty cents was + a third of all they had to live upon for a day! And to pay it for a fool + piece of rag for which they had no earthly need! So Corydon sank down in + the middle of the floor and dissolved in floods of tears; and at the next + trip into town the “turkey-red table-cover” was returned, and over the + bare board table there were new expositions of the theory of the “economic + screw”! + </p> + <p> + To these arguments Corydon would listen and assent. With her intellect she + was at one with him, and she strove to make this intellect supreme. But + always, deep underneath, was the other side of her being, that had nothing + to do with intellect, but was pure primitive impulse—and that pushed + and drove in her always, and carried her away the moment that intellect + loosened its brake. Corydon was ashamed of this primitive self—she + was always repudiating it, always shutting her eyes to it. There was no + way to wound her so deeply as to posit its reality and identify it with + her. + </p> + <p> + She was always fighting to make her temperament like Thyrsis’; she + despised her own temperament utterly, and set up his qualities as her + ideal. He was self-contained and masterful; he knew what he wanted and how + to get it; he was not dependent upon anyone else, he needed no one’s + approval or admiration; he could control his emotions, and destroy those + that inconvenienced him. So Corydon must be these things also; she <i>was</i> + these things, and no one must gainsay it! And if ever she had felt or + wished or said or done anything else—that was all misunderstanding + or delusion or accident; she would repudiate it with grief and + indignation, and proclaim herself the creature of pure reason that every + person ought to be! + </p> + <p> + But then would come something that appealed to her emotions—to her + love of beauty, her craving for joy; and there in a flash was the + primitive self again. The task of compelling Corydon to economy reminded + her husband of a toy which had been popular in his childhood days. The + name of it was “Pigs in Clover”; there were five little balls which you + had to coax into a narrow entrance, and while you were getting the last + one in, the other four were almost certain to roll out. It was a labor of + hours to get Corydon to recognize an unpleasant fact; and then—the + next day she had forgotten it. There were some things about himself and + his life that he could never get her to understand; for instance, his + preoccupation with the newspaper—that symbol of all that was hateful + in life. Just then was the beginning of the Russian revolution; and to + Thyrsis the Russian revolution was like the coming of relief to a + shipwrecked mariner. It was a personal thing to him—the overthrow of + a horror that pressed upon the life of every human being upon earth. And + so each day he hungered for the news, and when the paper came he would + pounce upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Now dearest,” he would say, “please don’t disturb me. I want to read.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” she would answer; and five minutes would pass. + </p> + <p> + Then—“Do you want potatoes for supper, Thyrsis?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear. But I’m reading now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” And then another five minutes. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis, who was Boadicea?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m reading now, dearest.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes.” And then another five minutes. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis, do you spell choke with an a?” + </p> + <p> + At which Thyrsis would put down the paper. “Tell me, Corydon—isn’t + there something I can do so that you won’t interrupt me?” + </p> + <p> + Instantly a look of pain would sweep across her face. “Do you have to + speak to me like that, Thyrsis? If you’d only just tell me, kindly and + pleasantly—” + </p> + <p> + “But I’ve told you three or four times!’ + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis! How can you say that?” + </p> + <p> + “But didn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not!” + </p> + <p> + And then they would have an argument. He would bring up each case and + confront her with it; and how very unloving a procedure was that—and + how exasperating was his manner as he did it! + </p> + <p> + Section 13. Then again, Corydon would be going into town to do some + shopping; and he would ask her to bring out the afternoon paper. It would + be the day of the October massacre, for instance; and he be on fire for + the next batch of news. He would explain this to her; he would tell her + again and again—whatever else she forgot, she must remember the + afternoon paper. He would walk out to meet her, burning with impatience; + and he would ask for the paper, and see a blank look come over her face. + </p> + <p> + Then, of course, he would scold. He had certain phrases—“How + perfectly unspeakable! Perfectly paralyzing!” How she hated these phrases! + </p> + <p> + “I had so many things to get!” she would exclaim. + </p> + <p> + “But only one thing for me, Corydon!” + </p> + <p> + “Everything is for you—just as much as for myself! All these + groceries—look at the bundles! I haven’t had a single moment—” + </p> + <p> + “But how many moments does it take to buy a newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis—” + </p> + <p> + “And how many times would I have to tell you? Have I got to go into town + myself, just for the sake of a newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I tried my very best to remember it—” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s the matter with you? Is your mind getting weak?” + </p> + <p> + And then like as not Corydon would burst into tears. “Oh, I think you are + a brute!” she would cry. “A perfect brute!” + </p> + <p> + Or else, perhaps, she would grow angry, and they would rail at each other, + exchanging recriminations. + </p> + <p> + “I think I have burdens enough in my life,” he would exclaim. “I’ve a + right to some help from you.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no sense of proportion!” she would answer. “You are impossible! + You would drive any saint to distraction.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so. But I can’t drive you anywhere, and I’m sick of trying.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you only weren’t such a talker! You talk—talk—talk!” + </p> + <p> + And all the while they did this, what grief was in the depths of them! And + afterwards, what ghastly wounds in Corydon’s soul, that had to be bound up + and tended and healed! The pity of it; the shame of it—that they + should be able to descend to such sordidness! That their love, which they + had planned as a noble temple, should turn out an ugly hovel! + </p> + <p> + “Oh Thyrsis!” the girl would cry. “The idea that you should think less of + my soul than of an old newspaper!” + </p> + <p> + “But that is not so, dearest,” he would answer. He would try to explain to + her how much the newspaper had meant to him, and just why his annoyance + had got the better of him. So they would rehearse the scene over again; + and like as not their irritation would sweep over them, and before they + realized it they would find themselves disputing once more. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis would be making a desperate attempt to bring her to a realization + of his difficulties; he would be in the midst of pouring out some + eloquence, when she would interrupt him. + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis, wait a moment—you do not understand!” + </p> + <p> + “I am speaking!” he would say. + </p> + <p> + “But, Thyrsis—” + </p> + <p> + “I am speaking!” He would not be interrupted. + </p> + <p> + But then would come a time when they sat down together and talked all this + out, perceiving it as one more aspect of the disharmony of their + temperaments. It no fault of either of them, they would agree; it was just + that they were different. Thyrsis had a simile that he used—“It’s a + marriage between a butterfly and a hippopotamus. You don’t blame the + butterfly because it can’t get down into the water and snort; and on the + other hand, when the hippopotamus tries to flap his wings and flit about + among the flowers, he doesn’t make a success of it.” + </p> + <p> + There would be times when he took Corydon’s point of view entirely. She + was beautiful and good; her naïveté and guilelessness were the essence of + her charm and how preposterous it was to expect her to think about + newspapers, or to be familiar with the price of beefsteaks! As for him—he + was a blundering creature, dull and pragmatical; he was a great spiny + monster that she had drawn up from the ocean-depths. She would cut off his + spines, but at once they grew out again; she could do nothing with him at + all! + </p> + <p> + But then she would protest—“It’s not so bad as that, Thyrsis. You + have your work.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s it,” he would answer. “My work! I’m just a thinking-machine. + I’m fit for nothing else. And here I am—married!” + </p> + <p> + He would say that, and he would mean it; he would try to act upon the + conviction. Of course Corydon’s nature was a thing more lovely than his; + and, of course, it ought to have its way, to grow in freedom and joy. But + alas—there was “the economic screw”! His qualities—hateful + though they might be—were the product of stern conditions; they were + the qualities which had to dominate in their lives, if they were to + survive in the grim struggle for life. + </p> + <p> + Section 14. It was, as always, their tragedy that they had no means of + communicating, except through suffering; they had no work, and they had no + art, and they had no religion. To Thyrsis it seemed that this last was the + supreme need of their lives; but it was quite in vain that he tried to + supply it. He had no theologies to offer, but he had a rough working faith + that served his needs. He had a way of prayer—informal prayers, to + the undiscovered gods—“Oh infinite Holiness of life, I seek to be + reminded of Thee!” He would contemplate their failures and agonies and + despairs, and floods of pity would well up in him; and then he would come + back to Corydon, seeking to make these things real to her. But this he + could never do—he could never carry her with him, he could never + find anything with her but failure and disappointment. + </p> + <p> + This was, in part, the outrage that the creed-mongers had done to her; + with their dead formulas and their grotesque legends and their stupid + bigotries they had sullied and defaced all the symbols of religion—they + had made a noble temple into a sepulchre of dead bones. They had taken her + by force, when she was a child, and dragged her into it, and filled her + with terror and loathing. To abandon the language of metaphor, they had + sent her to a Protestant-Episcopal Sunday-school, where a vinegary + spinster had taught her the catechism and the ten commandments. And so + forever after the whole content of Christianity was a thing alien and + hateful to her. + </p> + <p> + But also, in their disharmony was something even more fundamental. + Corydon’s emotions did not come in the same way as her husband’s. With her + a joy had to be a spontaneous thing; there could be no reasoning about it, + and it was not the product nor the occasion of any act of will. In fact, + if anyone were to say to Corydon, “Come, let us experience a certain + emotion”—then straightway it would become certain that she might + experience any emotion in the world, save only that one. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis told himself that he was to blame for this having destroyed her + spontaneity in the very beginning But how was he to have known that, + understanding as he did no temperament but his own, being powerless to + handle any tools but his own? The process of his soul’s life was to tell + himself all his vices over; and so he would become filled with hatred of + himself, and would forthwith evolve into something different. But with + Corydon, this method produced, not rage and resolution, but only black + despair. The process of Corydon’s soul-life was that some one else should + come to her, and tell her that she was radiant and exquisite; and + straightway she would become these things, and yet more of them; and until + such a person came to her, all her soul’s life stood still. + </p> + <p> + This was illustrated whenever there was any misunderstanding between them, + any crisis of unhappiness or fit of melancholia. It was quite in vain at + such times that Thyrsis would ask her to sweep these things aside and + forget them; it was disastrous to suggest that she put any blame upon + herself, or scold herself into a different attitude. He might take days to + make up his mind to do what he had to do—yet that fit of misery + would last until he had come and done it. He had to put his arms about + her, and make her realize that she was precious to him, that she was + necessary to him, that he loved her and appreciated her and believed in + her; so, and so only, would the current of her life begin once more to + flow. + </p> + <p> + And why could he not do this more quickly? Why did he have to wait until + she had suffered agonies? Why did he have to be dragged to it by the hair + of his head, as it were—as a means of keeping her from going insane + from misery? Was it that he did not really love her? Mocking voices in his + soul told him that was it—but he knew it was not so. He loved her; + but he loved her in his way, and that was not her way. And how shall one + explain that strange impulse in the heart of man, that makes it impossible + for him to be content with anything that is upon the earth—that + makes him restless in the presence of beauty and love and joy, and all + those things with which he so obviously ought to be content? + </p> + <p> + It is so clearly irrational and unjustifiable; and yet that impulse + continues to drive him forth, as it drove him to destroy the statues in + the Athenian temples, and to burn the silken robes and the jewelled + treasures in the public-squares of Venice. One contemplates the thing in + its most unlovely aspects—in the form of Simeon Stylites upon his + pillar, devoured by worms, or of Bernard Gui, with his racks and his + thumb-screws and his “secular arm”—and it seems the very culmination + of all human madness and horror. And yet, it does not cease to come; and + he upon whom it seizes may not free himself by any power of his will, by + any cunning of his wit; and no agony of yearning and grief may be + sufficient to enable him to love a woman as a woman desires to be loved. + </p> + <p> + Section 15. Thyrsis would work over the book until he was utterly exhausted; + and then, limp as a rag, he would come back to the world of reality and + face these complications. He needed to rest, he needed to be soothed and + comforted and sung to sleep; he needed to receive—and instead he had + to give. Sometimes he wondered vaguely if this might not have been + otherwise; he knew nothing about women—but surely there might have + been, somewhere in the world, some woman who would have understood, and + would have asked nothing from him. But he dwelt on that thought but + seldom, for it seemed a kind of treason; he was not married to any such + hypothetical woman—he was married to Corydon, and it was Corydon he + had to save from the wolves. + </p> + <p> + So, time after time, he would come back to her, and take the cup of her + pain in his trembling hands, and put it to his lips and drain it to the + dregs. He would sit with her, and hear the tale of her struggles, he would + fan the sparks of his exhausted emotions into flame, so that she might + warm herself by the glow. And when the burden became too great for him, + when the black floods of anguish and despair which she poured out upon him + threatened to engulf him altogether—then he would tramp away into + the forest, or out upon the snow-encrusted hills, and call up the demons + of his soul once more, and proclaim himself unconquered and unconquerable. + He would spread his wings to the glory of his vision; he would feel again + the surge and sweep of it, he would sing aloud with the power of it, and + pledge himself anew to live for it—if need be even to die for it. + </p> + <p> + The world was trying to crush it in him; the world hated it and feared it, + and was bound that it should not live; and Thyrsis had sworn to save it—and + so the issue was joined. He would hearten himself for the struggle—he + would fling himself into the thick of it, again and again; he would summon + up that thing which he called his Genius, that fountain of endless force + that boiled up within him. Whatever strength they brought against him, he + could match it; he might be knocked down, trampled upon, left for dead + upon the field, but he could rise and renew the conflict! He would talk to + himself, he would call aloud to himself, he would repeat to himself + formulas of exhortation, cries of defiance, proclamations of resolve. He + would summon his enemies before him, sometimes in hosts, sometimes as + individuals—all those who ever in his life had mocked and taunted + him, scolded him and threatened him. He would shake his clenched fists at + them; they might as well understand it—they could never conquer him, + not all the power they could bring would suffice! He would call upon + posterity also; he would summon his friends and lovers of the future, to + give him comfort in his sore distress. Was it not for them that he was + laboring—that they might some day feed their souls upon his faith? + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis would think of the “Song of Roland”, recalling that heroic figure + and his three days’ labor: when he had read that poem, his heart had + seemed to throb with pain every time that Roland lifted his sword-arm. He + would think of the old blind “Samson Agonistes”; he would think of the + Greeks at Thermopylae, of the siege of Haarlem. History was full of such + tales of the agonies that men had endured for the sake of their faith; and + why should he expect exemption, why should he shrink from the fiery test? + </p> + <p> + Section 16. So he lived and fought two battles, one within and one without; + and little by little these two became merged in his imagination. He had + conceived a figure which should embody the War; and that figure had come + to be himself. + </p> + <p> + The War of which he was writing had come upon a people unsuspecting and + unprepared; they had not sought it nor desired it, they did not love it, + they did not understand it. But the nation must be preserved; and so they + set out to forge themselves into a sword. They had wealth, and they poured + it out lavishly; and they had enthusiasm—whole armies of young men + came forward. They were uniformed and armed and drilled and one after + another they marched out, with banners waving, and drums rolling, and + hearts beating high with hope; and one after another they met the enemy, + and were swallowed up in carnage and destruction, and came reeling back in + defeat and despair. It happened so often that the whole land moaned with + the horror of it—there was Bull Run and then again Bull Run, and + there was the long Peninsula Campaign—an entire year of futility and + failure; and there was the ghastly slaughter of Fredericksburg, and the + blind confusion of Chancellorsville, and the bitter, disappointment of + Antietam. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis wished to portray all this from the point of view of the humble + private, who got none of the glory, and expected none, but only suffering + and toil; whose lot it was to march and countermarch, to delve and sweat + in the trenches, to be stifled by the heat and drenched by the rain and + frozen by the cold; to wade through seas of blood and anguish, to be + wounded and captured and imprisoned, to be lured by victory and blasted by + defeat. And into it all he was pouring the distillation of his own + experiences. For there was not much of it that he had not known in his own + person. Surely he had known what it was to be cold and hungry; surely he + had known what it was to be lured by victory and blasted by defeat. He had + watched by the death-bed of his dearest dreams, he had listened to the + moaning of multitudes of imprisoned hopes. He had known what it was to set + before him a purpose, and to cling to it in spite of obloquy and hatred; + he had known what it was to suffer until his forehead throbbed, and all + things reeled and swam before his eyes. He had known also what it was to + sacrifice for the sake of the future, and to see others, who thought of no + one but themselves, preying upon him, and upon the community, and living + in luxury and enjoying power. + </p> + <p> + Little by little, as he studied this War, Thyrsis had come upon a strange + and sinister fact about it. Roughly speaking, the population of the + country might have been divided into two classes. There were those to whom + the Union was precious, and who gave their labor and their lives for it; + they starved and fought and agonized for it, and came home, worn, often + crippled, and always poor. On the other hand there were some who had cared + nothing for the Union, but were finding their chance to grow rich and to + establish themselves in the places of power. They were selling shoddy + blankets and paper shoes to the government; they were speculating in + cotton and gold and food. There were a few exceptions to this, of course; + but for the most part, when one came to study the gigantic fortunes which + were corrupting the nation, he discovered that it was just here they had + begun. + </p> + <p> + So this was the curious and ironic fact; the nation had been saved—but + only to be handed over to the money-changers! And these now possessed it + and dominated it; and a new generation had come forward, which knew not + how these things had come to be—which knew only the money-changers + and their power. And who was there to tell them of the War, and all that + the War had meant? Who was there to make that titan agony real to them, to + point them to the high destinies of the Republic? + </p> + <p> + Along with his war-books, Thyrsis was reading his daily newspaper, which + came to him freighted with the cynicism of the hour. It was when the + revelations of corruption in business and political affairs were at their + flood; high and low, in towns and cities, in states and in the nation + itself, one saw that the government of the country had been bought. + Everywhere throughout the land Mammon sat upon the throne, and men cringed + before him—there was only persecution and mockery for those who + believed in the things for which America stood to all the world. + </p> + <p> + And this new Lord, who had purchased the people, and held them in bond, + was extracting a toll of suffering and privation, of accident and disease + and death, that was worse than the agony of many wars. The whole land was + groaning and sweating beneath the burden of it; and Thyrsis, who shared + the pain, and knew the meaning of it, was sick with the responsibility it + put upon him, yearning for a thousand voices with which he might cry the + truth aloud. + </p> + <p> + Some one must bring America face to face with its soul again; and who was + there to do it—who was there that was even trying? Thyrsis had seen + the statues of St. Gaudens, and he knew there was one man who had dreamed + the dream of his country. But who was there to put it into song, or into + story, that the young might read? Like the newspapers and the churches, + the authors had sold out; they were writing for matinée-girls, and for the + Pullman-car book-trade; and meantime the civilization of America was + sliding down into the pit! + </p> + <p> + So here again was War! Here again were pain and sickness, hunger and cold, + solitude and despair, to be endured and defied; death itself to be faced—madness + even, and soul-decay! Armies of men had gone out, had laid themselves down + and filled up the ditches with their bodies, to make a bridge for Freedom + to pass on. And the ditches were not yet full—another life was + needed! + </p> + <p> + Nor must he think himself too good for the sacrifice; there had been + greater men than he, no doubt, burned up in the Wilderness, and blown to + pieces by the cannon at “Bloody Angle”; there had been dreamers of mighty + dreams among them—and they were dead, and all their dreams were + dead. And neither must he love his own too dearly; there had been women + who had suffered and died in that War, and babes who had perished by tens + of thousands; and they, too, had been born with agony, had been loved and + yearned for, and wept and prayed for. + </p> + <p> + So, out of the dead past, were voices calling to Thyrsis; he heard them in + the night—time as one mighty symphony of grief. They had died for + nothing, unless the Republic should be saved, unless their dream of + freedom and justice could be made real. And for what was the poet but + that? So that the new generations might know what their fathers had done—that + the youth of America might be roused and thrilled once more! Surely it + could not be that the land was all sunk in selfishness and unfaith—that + there were no longer any generous souls who could be stirred by a + trumpet-call, and led forth to strike a new blow for the great hope of + Humanity! + </p> + <p> + Section 17. The long winter dragged by, and the fury of it seemed to + increase; they were as if besieged by demons of cold and storm. There came + another blizzard, and the snows drifted down to their hollow by the edge + of the woods, so that it was two days before they could get out, even to + the farm-house. And there was no place for them to walk—a path from + their house to Thyrsis’ study was a labor of half a day to dig. Also + Corydon caught a cold, which ran in due course through the little family, + and added to their misery and discomfort. + </p> + <p> + The snow seemed to be symbolical, walling them in from all the world. + “There is no help”, it seemed to say to them; whatever strength they got + they must wring out of their own hearts. Here in this place, it seemed to + Thyrsis, he learned the real meaning of Winter; he saw it as primitive man + had seen it, a cruel and merciless assailant, a fiend that came ravening, + dealing destruction and death. He thought of the ode by Thomas Campbell— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Archangel! Power of desolation! + Fast descending as thou art, + Say, hath mortal invocation + Spells to touch thy stony heart?” + </pre> + <p> + Surely no Runic Odin, who “howled his war-song to the gale”, no Lapland + savage who cowered in his hut, ever panted for the respite of the + spring-time more than these two lovers in their tiny cottage. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that Corydon was going down-hill under the strain. She + became more and more nervous and wretched, her headaches and her fits of + exhaustion were more frequent. Then, too, her old mental trouble, the + habit of “thinking things”, was plaguing her again—She would come to + Thyrsis with long accounts of her psychological entanglements, and he + would patiently unravel the skein. Or sometimes, if he was very tired, he + might give some signs of a desire to escape the ordeal; and then he would + see a look of terror stealing into Corydon’s eyes. So these things were + real after all—they were real even to Thyrsis! + </p> + <p> + One morning he opened his eyes, and looked from his study-window, to find + that another heavy snow had fallen; and when he had dressed and gone over + to the house, he found Corydon in bed. She complained of a headache, and + had had chills during the night, and was now quite evidently feverish. He + was alarmed, and after he had made her as comfortable as he could, he + dressed the baby and took him upon his shoulder, and made his way with + difficulty to the farm-house. He left the baby there, and with a horse and + sleigh set out for town. The horse had to walk all the way, and several + times the sleigh was upset in the drifts, so that it was two hours before + he reached his destination. As the doctor was out upon his rounds, he had + to wait a couple of hours more—and then only to learn that the man + could not possibly attempt the trip. He had several patients who were + dangerously ill, and he had to be on hand. + </p> + <p> + He sent Thyrsis to another doctor, but this one said exactly the same; and + so the boy spent the day wandering about the town. The thought of + Corydon’s lying there alone, helpless and suffering, made him wild; but + everywhere he met with the same response—the cold weather had + apparently brought an epidemic of disease, and there was no doctor in the + place who could spare three or four hours to make the long journey in the + snow. + </p> + <p> + So there was nothing for him to do but go back. The farmer’s wife offered + to take care of the baby over night, and he went down to the cottage alone + where he found Corydon much worse. He sat and held her hand, a terror + clutching at his heart; and all night long he sat and tended her—he + filled hot water bottles when she was chilled, and got ice when she was + hot, and made cool lemonade, and prepared tidbits and tempted her to eat. + He would whisper to her and soothe her; and later, when she fell into a + doze, he sat nodding in his chair and shivering with cold, but afraid to + touch the fire for fear of disturbing her. + </p> + <p> + Then, towards dawn, she wakened; and Thyrsis was almost beside himself + with anguish and fear—for she was delirious, and did not know where + she was, or what she was doing. She kept talking as if to the baby—in + their baby-talk. Thyrsis would listen, until he would choke up with tears. + </p> + <p> + He left her, and went up to the farm, and got the horse and sleigh again, + and drove to another town. It made no difference what doctor he got—to + Thyrsis all doctors were alike, the keepers of the keys of health. After + several hours’ pursuit he found that this man also was busy. All he could + say was that he would try to get out that night. + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went back again, to find his wife with flushed face, and beads + of perspiration upon her forehead; now sitting up and babbling aimlessly, + now sinking back exhausted. He sat once more through a night of torment, + holding her hot hands in his, and praying in vain for the coming of the + doctor. + </p> + <p> + It was afternoon of the next day before the man finally came, and brought + some relief to Thyrsis’ soul, and perhaps also to Corydon’s body. He took + her temperature and listened to her breathing, and pronounced it a severe + attack of grippe, with a touch of bronchitis; and he laid out an + assortment of capsules and liquids, and promised to come again if Thyrsis + sent for him. + </p> + <p> + And so the boy set out in the double role of trained nurse and mother’s + assistant. He gave Corydon her medicines, and brought fresh water for her, + and smoothed her pillows and talked to her, and prepared some delicacies + for her when she wished to eat; also he dressed and bathed the baby, and + cooked his complex meals and fed them to him; he put on his rubbers and + his leggings and his mittens, and the overcoat and peaked hood (which + Corydon had devised for him out of eighty cents’ worth of woolly red + cloth), and turned him out to “bongie cowtoos” in the snow. Likewise he + got his own meals and washed the dishes, and tended the fires and emptied + the ashes and filled the lamps and swept the floors; and in the interim + between these various duties he fought new battles within himself, and got + new side-lights upon Chickamauga and “Bloody Angle”. + </p> + <p> + Section 18. It was two weeks before this siege was lifted, and Corydon was + able to take up her burdens once more. It was then March, and the snow had + given place to cold sleety rains, and the fields and the ground about + their home were miniature swamps full of mud. Thyrsis would tramp through + this to the hill-tops where the storm-winds howled, and there vow defiance + to his foes, and come home to pour new hope and courage and resolution + into a bottomless pit. + </p> + <p> + He was finishing his vision of the field of Gettysburg—the + three-days’ grapple between two titan armies, that meant to him three + weeks of soul-terrifying toil. Men had said that Gettysburg meant the + turning Of the tide, that victory was certain; and yet there had followed + Sherman’s long campaign, and all the horror of the Wilderness fighting, + and Mine Run and Cold Harbor and the ghastly siege of Petersburg. And now + Thyrsis had to fight his way through this. He saw the figure that he had + dreamed, and that possessed him; a soldier who was the rage of the War + incarnate, the awakened frenzy of the nation. He was a man lifted above + pain and cold and hunger; he was gaunt and wild of aspect, restless and + impatient, driving, driving to the end. He went about the duties of the + camp like one in a dream; he marched like an automaton—for hours, or + for days, as need might be—his thoughts flying on to those moments + that alone were real to him, to the charge and the fury of the conflict, + the blows that were the only things that counted. He lived amid sights and + sounds of horror, with groans and weeping in his ears, with a mist of + blood and cannon-smoke before his eyes; he drove on, grim and implacable, + the very ground about him rocking and quivering in a delirium of torment. + He was the War! + </p> + <p> + Meantime Corydon was growing paler, and more wretched than ever. For her, + too, this winter was symbolized as a battle-ground. To him it was a field + in which armies clashed, and the issue was uncertain; but to her it was a + field of inevitable defeat, strewn with the corpses of her hopes. For + hours she would lie upon her couch in the night-watches, silent, alone, + staring out of the window at the wide waste of snow in the pitiless + moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis would have preferred to sleep in his own study, as he worked so + late at night; but Corydon begged him not to do this, she would rather be + wakened, she said. + </p> + <p> + So, on one occasion, he came over at about two o’clock in the morning, and + found her sleeping, as he thought, and crawled into his own cot. He was + just dozing off to sleep, when he heard what he thought was a stifled sob. + </p> + <p> + He listened; he thought that she was crying in her sleep. But then, as the + sound grew clearer, he sat up. The moonlight was shining in upon her, and + Thyrsis caught a bright glint of steel. Swift as a flash the meaning of + that swept over him. He had provided her with a revolver, that she might + feel safe when she was left alone; and now he bounded out of bed and + sprang across the room, and found her with the weapon pointed at her head. + </p> + <p> + He struck it away; and Corydon, with a terrified cry, clutched at him and + collapsed in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Thyrsis!” she wailed. “Save me! Save me!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t do it!” she cried, choking. “I couldn’t! I tried—I tried + so hard!” + </p> + <p> + “Sweetheart”, he whispered, in terror. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let me do it!” she sobbed. “Oh, Thyrsis, you must save me!” + </p> + <p> + He pressed her to his bosom, shuddering with dread, and trying to soothe + her hysterical outburst. So, little by little, he dragged the story from + her. For three days she had been making up her mind to shoot herself, and + she had chosen that night for the time. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been sitting here for an hour,” she whispered—“with the + revolver in my hand. And I couldn’t get up the courage to pull the + trigger.” + </p> + <p> + He clasped her, white with horror. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you coming,” she went on. “I lay and pretended to sleep. Then I + tried again—but I can’t, I can’t! I’m a coward!” + </p> + <p> + “Corydon!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “There was only one thing that stopped me. You would have got on without + me—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that, dearest!” + </p> + <p> + “You would—I know it! I’m only in your way. But oh, my baby! I loved + him so, and I couldn’t bear to leave him!” + </p> + <p> + She clung to him convulsively. “Oh, Thyrsis,” she panted, “think what it + meant to me to leave him. He’d have been without a mother all his life! + And something might have happened to you, and he’d have had no one to love + him at all!” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you want to do it?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Thyrsis, I’ve suffered so! I’m weary—I’m worn out—I’m sick + of the fight. I can’t stand it any more—and what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “My poor, poor girl,” he whispered, and pressed her to his heart in a + paroxysm of grief. “Oh, my Corydon! My Corydon!” + </p> + <p> + The horror of the thing overwhelmed him; he began to weep himself—his + frame was shaken with tearless, agonizing sobs. What could he do for her, + how could he help her? + </p> + <p> + But already he had helped her; it was not often that she saw him weeping, + it was not often she found that she could do something for <i>him</i>. + “Thyrsis, do you really <i>want</i> me?” she whispered. “Do you truly love + me that much?” + </p> + <p> + “I love you, I love you!” he sobbed. + </p> + <p> + And she replied, “Then I’ll stay. I’ll bear anything, if you need me—if + I can be of any use at all.” + </p> + <p> + Section 19. So their tears were mingled; so once more, being sufficiently + plowed up with agony, they might behold the deeps of each other’s souls. + Being at their last gasp, and driven to desperation, they would make the + convulsive effort, and break the crust of dullness and commonplace, and + reveal again the mighty forces hidden in their depths. At such hours he + beheld Corydon as she was, the flaming spirit, the archangel prisoned in + the flesh. If only he could have found the key to those deep chambers, so + that he could have had access to them always! + </p> + <p> + But alas, they knew only one path that led to them, and that through the + valley of despair. From despair it led to anguished struggle, and from + struggle to defiance, to rage and denunciation—and thence to visions + and invocations, raptures and enthralments. So this night, for instance, + behold Corydon, first holding her husband’s hands, and shuddering with + awe, and pledging her faith all over again; and then, later on, when the + dawn was breaking, sitting in the cold moonlight with a blanket flung + about her, her wild hair tossing, and in her hand the revolver with which + she had meant to destroy herself. Behold her, making sport of her own + life-drama—turning into wildest phantasy her domestic ignominies, + her inhibitions and her helpmate’s blunderings; evoking the hosts of the + future as to a festival, rehearsing the tragedy of her soul with all + posterity as her audience. When once these mad steeds of her fancy were + turned loose, one could never tell where their course would be; and + strange indeed were the adventures that came to him who rode with her! + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be no limit to the powers of this subliminal woman within + Corydon. Her cheeks would kindle, her eyes would blaze, and eloquence + would pour from her—the language of great poetry, fervid and + passionate, with swift flashes of insight and illumination, tumultuous + invocations and bursts of prophecy. Thyrsis would listen and marvel. What + a mind she had—sharp, like a rapier, swift as the lightning-flash! + The powers of penetration and understanding, and above all the sheer + splendors of language—the blazes of metaphor, the explosions of + coruscating wit! What a tragic actress she might have made—how she + would have shaken men’s souls, and set them to shuddering with terror! + What an opera-singer she could have been, with that rich vibrant voice, + and the mien of a disinherited goddess! + </p> + <p> + It was out of such hours that the faith of their lives was made; and it + was out of them also that Thyrsis formed his idea of woman. To him woman + was an equal; and this he not only said with his lips, he lived it in his + feelings. The time came when he went out into the world, and learned to + understand the world’s idea, that woman meant vanity and pettiness and + frivolity; but Thyrsis let all this pass, knowing the woman-soul. + Somewhere underneath, not yet understood and mastered, was pent this + mighty force that in the end would revolutionize all human ideas and + institutions. Here was faith, here was vision, here was the power of all + powers; and how was it to be delivered and made conscious, and brought + into the service of life? + </p> + <p> + Most women liked Thyrsis, because they divined in some vague way this + attitude; and some men hated him for the same reason. These men, Thyrsis + observed, were the slave-drivers; they held that woman was the weaker + vessel, and for this they had their own motives. There were women, too, + who liked to be ruled; but Thyrsis never argued with them—it was + enough, he judged, to treat any slave as a free man, or any servant as a + gentleman, and sooner or later they would divine what he meant, and the + spirit of revolt would begin to flicker. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XIII. THE MASTERS OF THE SNARE + </h2> + <p> + <i>They stood upon the porch of the little cabin, listening to the silence + of the night. </i> + </p> + <p> + “How far away it all seems!” she said— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “How many a dingle on the loved hill-side + Hath since our day put by + The coronals of that forgotten time!” + </pre> + <p> + “It makes one feel old,” he said—“like the coming of the night!” + </p> + <p> + “The night!” she repeated, and went on— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I feel her finger light + Laid pausefully upon life’s headlong train;— + The foot less prompt to meet the morning dew, + The heart less bounding at emotion new, + And hope once crush’d less quick to spring again!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. Throughout this long winter of discontent came to them one ray of + hope from the outside world. “The Genius” was given in the little town in + Germany, and Thyrsis’ correspondent sent the twenty-five dollars, and + wrote that it had made a great impression, and that more performances were + to be expected. Then, after an interval, Thyrsis was surprised to receive + from his clipping-bureau some items to the effect that his play was to be + produced in one of the leading theatres in Berlin. He wrote to his + correspondent for an explanation, and learned to his dismay that his play + had been “pirated”; it was, of course, not copyright in Germany, and so he + had no redress, and must content himself with what his friend referred to + as “the renowns which will be brought to you by these performances”. + </p> + <p> + The play came out, in the early spring, and apparently made a considerable + sensation. Thyrsis read long reviews from the German papers, and there + were accounts of it in several American papers. So people began to ask who + this unknown poet might be. The publishers of “The Hearer of Truth” were + moved to venture new advertisements of the book—whereby they sold + perhaps a hundred copies more; and Thyrsis was moved to pay some badly—needed + money to have more copies of the play made, so that he might try to + interest some other manager. He carried on a long correspondence with a + newly-organized “stage society”, which thought a great deal about trying + the play at a matinée, but did nothing. + </p> + <p> + Also, Thyrsis received a letter from one of the country’s popular + novelists, who had heard of the play abroad, and asked to read it. When he + had read it and told what an interesting piece of work it was, Thyrsis sat + down and wrote the great man about his plight, and asked for help; which + led to correspondence, and to the passing round of the manuscript among a + group of literary people. One of these was Haddon Channing, the critic and + essayist, who was interested enough to write Thyrsis several long letters, + and to read the rest of his productions, and later on to call to see him. + Which, visit proved a curious experience for the family. + </p> + <p> + He arrived one day towards spring, when it chanced that Corydon was in + town visiting the dentist. Thyrsis had just finished his dinner when he + saw two people coming through the orchard, and he leaped up in haste to + put the soiled dishes away, and make the place as presentable as possible. + Mr. and Mrs. Channing had come in their car (they lived in Philadelphia), + and were followed by an escort of the farmer’s children—since an + automobile was a rare phenomenon in that neighborhood. The entrance to the + peach-orchard proved not wide enough for the machine, so they had to get + out and walk; and this they found annoying, because the ground was wet and + soft. All of which seemed to emphasize the incongruity of their presence. + </p> + <p> + Haddon Channing might have been described as a dilettante radical. He + employed a highly-wrought and artificial style, which scintillated with + brilliant epigram; one had a feeling that it rather atoned for the evils + in human life, that they became the occasion of so much cleverness in + Channing’s books. Perhaps that was the reason why most people did not + object to the vagueness of his ideas, when it came to any constructive + suggestion. In fact he rather made a point of such vagueness—when + you tried to do anything about a social evil, that was politics, and + politics were vulgar. One could never pin Channing down, but his idea + seemed to be that in the end all men would become free and independent + spirits, able to make their own epigrams; after which there would be no + more evil in the world. + </p> + <p> + And here he was in the flesh. It seemed to Thyrsis as if he must have made + a study of his own books, and then proceeded to fit his person and his + clothing, his accent and his manner, to make a proper setting thereto. He + was tall and lean, immaculate and refined; he spoke with airy and + fastidious grace, pouring out one continuous stream of cleverness—any + hour of his conversation was equivalent to a volume of his works at a + dollar and a quarter net. + </p> + <p> + Also, there was Mrs. Channing, gracious and exquisite, looking as if she + had stepped out of one of Rossetti’s poems. She was a poetess herself; + writing about Acteon, and Antinoüs, and other remote subjects. Thyrsis + assumed that there must be something in these poems, for they were given + two or three pages in the thirty-five-cent magazines; but he himself had + never discovered any reason why he should read one through. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. They seated themselves upon his six-foot piazza; and Thyrsis, who + had very little sense of personality, and was altogether wrapped up in + ideas, was soon in the midst of a free and easy discussion with them. It + seemed ages since he had had an opportunity to exchange opinions with + anyone except Corydon. With these people he roamed over the fields of + literature; and as they found nothing to agree about anywhere, the + conversation did not flag. + </p> + <p> + A strange experience it must have been to them, to come to a lonely shanty + in the woods, and encounter a haggard boy, in a cotton-shirt and a pair of + frayed trousers, who was all oblivious of their elegance, and unawed by + their reputation, and who behaved like a bull in the china-shop of their + orderly opinions. Mrs. Channing, it seemed, was completing her life-work, + a volume which was to revolutionize current criticism, and lead the world + back to artistic health; to her, modern civilization was a vast abortion, + and in Greek culture was to be sought the fountain-head of health. She + sang the praises of Athenian literature and art and life; there was sanity + and clarity, there was balance and serenity! And to compare it with the + jangled confusion and the frantic strife of modern times! + </p> + <p> + To which Thyrsis answered, “We’d best let modern times alone. For here + you’ve all facts and no generalization; and in the case of the Greeks + you’ve all generalization and no facts.” + </p> + <p> + And so they went at it, hot and heavy. Mrs. Channing, her Greek serenity + somewhat ruffled, insisted that she had studied the facts for herself. The + other proceeded to probe into her equipment, and found that she knew Homer + and Sophocles, but did not know Aristophanes so well, and did not know the + Greek epigrams at all. Thyrsis maintained that the dominant note in the + Greek heritage was one of bewilderment and despair; in support of which + alarming opinion he carried the discussion from the dreams of Greek + literature to the realities of Greek life. Did Mrs. Channing know how the + Greeks had persecuted all their great thinkers? + </p> + <p> + Did she know anything about the cruelties of their slave-code? + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever studied Greek politics?” he asked. “Do you realize, for + instance, that it was the custom of statesmen and generals who were + defeated by their political rivals, to go over to the enemy and lead an + expedition against their homes?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that putting it rather strongly?” asked Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” he answered. “Didn’t the conquerors of both Salamis + and Platasa afterwards sell out to the Persian king? And then you talk + about the noble ideal of woman which the Greeks developed! Don’t you know + that it was nothing but a literary tradition?” + </p> + <p> + “I had never understood that,” said Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + To which the other answered: “It was handed down from imaginary Homeric + days. The Greek lady of the Periclean age was a domestic prisoner and + drudge.” + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Then, late in the afternoon, came Corydon; and this part of the + adventure must have seemed stranger yet to the Channings. Corydon wore a + shirt-waist and a ten-cent straw hat, trimmed with some white + mosquito-netting, and an old blue skirt which she had worn before her + marriage, and had enlarged little by little during the period of her + pregnancy, and had taken in again after the baby was born. Also she was + pale and sad-looking, much startled by the sight of the automobile, and + the sudden apparition of elegance. She got rid of her armfuls of groceries + and bundles, and seated herself in an inconspicuous place, and sat + listening while the argument went on. For a full hour she never uttered a + word; only once during the controversy over the “Greek lady”, Mrs. + Channing turned to her and asked, “Don’t you agree with me?” But Corydon + could only answer, “I don’t know, I have not read much history.” And who + was there to tell the visitor that this strange, wide-eyed girl knew more + about the tragedies and terrors of the Greek temperament than she with all + her culture and her college-degrees could have learned in many life-times? + </p> + <p> + The two stayed to supper, and Corydon and Thyrsis set out the meal upon + the rustic outdoor table; they apologized for their domestic inadequacies, + but Mrs. Channing declared that she “adored picknicking”. The evening was + spent in more discussion; and finally it was decided that the visitors + should stay over night at the hotel in town, and come out again in the + morning. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis concluded, as he thought the matter over, that the two must have + been fascinated by this domestic situation, and curious to look deeper + into it. Perhaps they saw “material” in it; or perhaps it was that Haddon + Channing was really impressed by Thyrsis’ powers, and sought to understand + his problems and help him. Whatever may have been the motive for it, when + they came the next morning, the critic took Thyrsis for a walk in the + woods and proceeded to discuss his affairs. And meanwhile his wife had set + herself to the task of probing the innermost corners of Corydon’s soul. + </p> + <p> + The burden of Channing’s discourse was Thyrsis’ impatience and lack of + balance, his fanaticism and his too great opinion of his own work. “My + dear fellow,” he said, “you are the most friendless human being I have + ever encountered upon earth. How can you expect to interest men if you + don’t get out into the world and learn what they are doing?” + </p> + <p> + “That means to get a position, I suppose?” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “No, not necessarily—” began the other. + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t money to live in the city otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + That was too definite for Channing, and he went off on another tack. He + had been reading “The Higher Cannibalism”, and he could not forgive it. A + boy of Thyrsis’ age had no right to be seething with such bitterness; + there must be some fundamental and terrible cause. He was destroying + himself, he was eating out his heart in this isolation; he was so wrapped + up in his own miseries, his own wrongs—in all the concerns of his + own exaggerated ego! + </p> + <p> + They were seated beside a little streamlet in the woods. “What you need is + something to get you out of yourself,” the critic was saying—“something + to restore your sanity and balance. It’ll come to you some day. Perhaps + it’ll be a love-affair—you’ll meet some woman who’ll carry you away. + I know the sort you need—they grow in the West—the great + brooding type of woman-soul, that would fold you in her arms and give you + a little peace.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was silent for a space. “You forget,” he said, in a low voice, + “that I am already married.” + </p> + <p> + The other shrugged his shoulders. “Such things have happened, even so,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had taken his part in the conversation before this, defending + himself and setting forth his point of view. But now he fell silent. The + words had cut him to the quick. It seemed to him an insult and a bitter + humiliation; here, at his home, almost in the presence of his wife! What + was the man’s idea, anyway? + </p> + <p> + And suddenly he turned upon Channing with the question, “You think that + I’ve married a doll?” + </p> + <p> + The other was staggered for a moment. “I don’t know what you’ve married,” + he replied. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Thyrsis. “Then how can you advise me in such a matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I see that you’re not happy—” the other began. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the boy. “But I don’t want any more women.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, while Thyrsis sat pondering, Should he try to explain + to this man? But he shook his head. No, it would be useless to try. “She + is not in your class,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “She has none of your culture, none of your social graces. She can’t + write, and she can’t sing—she can’t do anything that your wife + does.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid,” said Channing, in a low voice, “you don’t take my remarks in + the right spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “Even suppose that she were not what you call a ‘great woman-soul’,” + persisted Thyrsis—“at least she has starved and suffered for me; and + wouldn’t common loyalty bind me to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I have tried to do something very difficult,” said the other, after a + silence. “I have tried to talk to you frankly. It is the most thankless + task in the world to tell a man his own faults.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Thyrsis. “And that’s all right—I’m perfectly willing. + I don’t mind knowing my faults.” + </p> + <p> + “It is evident that you have resented it,” declared the other. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis answered with a laugh, “Don’t you admit of replies to your + criticisms? Suppose I’m pointing out some of your faults—your faults + as a critic?” + </p> + <p> + Channing said that he did not object to that. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said Thyrsis. “I simply tell you that you have missed + the point of my trouble. There’s nothing the matter with me but poverty + and lack of opportunity; and there’s nothing else the matter with my wife. + We’re doing our best, and it’s the simple fact that we’ve endured and + dared more than anybody we’ve ever met. And that’s all there is to it.” + </p> + <p> + It was evident that Channing was deeply hurt. He turned the conversation + to other matters, and pretty soon they got up and strolled on. When they + came near to the house, he went off to see his chauffeur, and Thyrsis + stood watching him, and pondering over the episode. + </p> + <p> + It was the same thing that had happened to him in the city; it was the + thing that would be happening to him all the time. He saw that however + wretched he might be with Corydon, he would always take her part against + the world. Whatever her faults might be, they were not such as the world + could judge. Rather would he make it the test of a person’s character, + that they should understand and appreciate her, in spite of her lack of + that superficial thing called culture—the ability to rattle off + opinions about any subject under the sun. + </p> + <p> + So it was that loyalty to Corydon held him fast. So her temperament was + his law, and her needs were his standards; and day by day he must become + more like her, and less like himself! + </p> + <p> + Section 4. He returned to the house, entering by the rear door. The baby was + lying in the room asleep, and out upon the piazza, he could hear Corydon + and Mrs. Channing. Corydon was speaking, in her intense voice. + </p> + <p> + “The trouble with me,” she was saying, “is that I have no confidence! + Other women are sure of themselves—they are self-contained, serene, + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “But why shouldn’t you be that way?” Thus Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I aim too high,” said Corydon. “I want too much. I defeat myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other, “but why—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s been the circumstances of all my life! I’ve been defeated—thwarted—repressed! + Everything drives me back into myself. There is nothing I can <i>do</i>—I + can only endure and suffer and wait. So all the influences in my life are + negative— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I was sick with the Nay of life— + With my lonely soul’s refrain!’” + </pre> + <p> + “What is that you are quoting?” asked Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “It’s from a poem I wrote,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you write poetry?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t say that,” was the reply. “I have no technique—I never + studied anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you try sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “I find it helps me,” said Corydon—“once in a great while I find + lines in my mind; and I put them together, so that I can say them over, + and remind myself of things.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Mrs. Channing. “Tell me the poem you quoted.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t believe you’d think much of it,” said Corydon, + hesitating. “I never expected anybody— + </p> + <p> + “I’d be interested to hear it,” declared her visitor. + </p> + <p> + So Corydon recited in a low voice a couple of stanzas which had come to + her in the lonely midnight hours. Thyrsis listened with interest—he + had never heard them before: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What matters the tired heart, + What matters the weary brain? + What matters the cruel smart + Of the burden borne again? + + I was sick with the Nay of life— + With my lonely soul’s refrain; + But the essence of love is strife, + And the meaning of life is pain.” + </pre> + <p> + There was a pause. “Do you—do you think that is worth while at all?” + asked Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “It is evidently sincere,” replied Mrs. Channing. “I think you ought to + study and practice.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t make much effort at it—” + </p> + <p> + But the other went on: “What concerns me is the attitude to life it shows. + It is terrible that a young girl should feel that way. You must not let + yourself get into such a state!” + </p> + <p> + “But how can I help it?” + </p> + <p> + “You must have something that occupies your mind! That is what you need, + truly it is! You’ve got to stop thinking about yourself—you’ve got + to get outside yourself, somehow!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis caught his breath. He could tell from the tone of the speaker’s + voice that she was laboring with Corydon, putting forth all her energies + to impress her. He was tempted to step forward and cry out, “No, no! + That’s not the way! That won’t work!” + </p> + <p> + But instead, he stood rooted to the spot, while Mrs. Channing went on—“This + unhappiness comes from the fact that you are so self-centred. You must get + some constructive work, my dear, if it’s only training your baby. You must + realize that you are not the only person who has troubles in the world. + Why, I know a poor washerwoman, who was left a widow with four children to + care for—” + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly Thyrsis heard a voice cry out in anguish, “Oh, oh! + stop!” He heard his wife spring up from her chair. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t listen to you any more!” cried Corydon. “You don’t know what + you’re saying!—You don’t understand me at all!” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. “I’m sorry you feel that,” said Mrs. Channing. + </p> + <p> + “I had no right to talk to you!” exclaimed the other. “There’s no one can + understand! I have to fight alone!” + </p> + <p> + At this point Thyrsis went into the kitchen, and made some noise that they + would hear. Then he called, “Are you there, dearest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Corydon; and he went out upon the piazza. He saw her standing, + white and tense. + </p> + <p> + “Are you still talking?” he said, with forced carelessness. + </p> + <p> + And as Mrs. Channing answered “Yes,” Corydon said, quickly, “Excuse me a + moment,” and went into the house. + </p> + <p> + So the poet sat and talked with his guest about the state of the weather + and the condition of the roads; until at last her husband arrived, saying + that it was time they were starting. Corydon did not appear again, and so + finally Thyrsis accompanied them out to their car, and saw them start off. + They promised to come again, but he knew they would not keep that promise. + </p> + <p> + Section 5. He went back to the house, and after some search he found Corydon + down in the woods, whither she had fled to have out her agony. + </p> + <p> + “Has that woman gone?” she panted, when he came near. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” he said. “She’s gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Corydon. “How dared she! How dared she!” + </p> + <p> + “Get up, sweetheart,” said Thyrsis. “The ground is wet.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s gone off in her automobile!” exclaimed the girl, passionately. “She + spent last night at a hotel that charged twelve dollars a day, and then + she told me about her washerwoman! Now she’s gone back to her beautiful + home, with servants and a governess and a piano and everything else she + wants! And she talked to me about ‘occupation’! What <i>right</i> had she + to come here and trample on my face?” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you let her, dearest?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I <i>help</i> myself? I had no idea—” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you get started?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve nobody to confide in—nobody!” cried Corydon. “And she wanted + to know about me—she led me on. I thought she sympathized with me—I + thought she understood!” + </p> + <p> + “She’s a woman of the world, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “She was just pulling me to pieces! She wanted to see how I worked! Don’t + you see what she was looking for, Thyrsis—she thought I was <i>material!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “She only writes about the Greeks,” said Thyrsis, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’m a horrible example! I’m neurasthenic and self-centred—I’m the + modern woman! She read me a long lecture like that! I ought to get busy!” + </p> + <p> + “Dearest!” he pleaded, trying to soothe her. + </p> + <p> + “Busy”! repeated Corydon, laughing hysterically. “Busy! I wash and dress + and amuse a baby! I get six meals a day for him, I get three meals for us, + and clean up everything. And the rest of the day I’m so exhausted I can + hardly stand up, and a good part of the time I’m sick besides. And then, + if I think about my troubles, it’s because I’ve nothing to do!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” Thyrsis replied, “you should not have put yourself at her + mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “How I hate her!” cried Corydon. “How I <i>hate</i> her!” + </p> + <p> + “You must learn to protect yourself from such people, Corydon.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t meet them at all! I’m not able to face them—I’ve none of + their weapons, none of their training. I don’t want to know about them, or + their kind of life! They have no souls!” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t easy for them to understand,” said Thyrsis. “They have never + been poor—” + </p> + <p> + “That woman talks about the Greek love of beauty! What sacrifice has she + ever made for beauty—what agony has she ever dared for it? And yet + she can prattle about it—the phrases roll from her! She’s been + educated—polished—finished! She’s been taught just what to + say! And I haven’t been taught, and so she despises me!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s deeper than that, my dear,” he said. “You have something in you that + she would hate instinctively.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told you before, dearest. It’s genius, I think. + </p> + <p> + “Genius! But what use is it to me, if it is? It only unfits me for life. + It eats me up, it destroys me!” + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” he said, “you will find a way to express it. It will come, + never fear.—But now, dear, be sensible. The ground is wet, and if + you sit there, you will surely be laid up with rheumatism.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted her up; but she was not to be diverted. Suddenly she turned, and + caught him by the arms. “Thyrsis!” she cried. “Tell me! Do you blame me as + she does? Do you think I’m weak and incompetent?” + </p> + <p> + Whatever answer he might have been inclined to make, he saw in her wild + eyes that only one answer was to be thought of. “Certainly not, my dear!” + he said, quickly. “How could you ask me such a question?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, tell me! tell me!” she exclaimed. And so he had to go on, and sing + the song of their love to her, and pour out balm upon her wounded spirit. + </p> + <p> + But afterwards he went alone; and then it was not so simple. Little demons + of doubt came and tormented him. Might it not be that there was something + in the point of view of the Channings? He took Corydon at her own estimate—at + the face value of her emotions; but might it not be that he was deluding + himself, that he was a victim of his own infatuation? + </p> + <p> + He would ponder this; he tried to have it out with himself for once. What + did he really think about it? What would he have told Corydon if he had + told her the bald truth? But such doubts could not stay with him for long. + They brought shame to him. He was like a man travelling across the plains, + who comes upon the woman he loves, being tortured by a band of Apaches; + and who is caught and bound fast, to watch the proceedings. Would such a + man spend his time asking whether the woman was weak and incompetent? No—his + energies would be given to getting his arms loose, and finding out where + the guns were. He would set her free, and give her a chance; and then it + would be time enough to measure her powers and pass judgment upon her. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. It was a long time before the family got over that visitation. + Corydon burned all Channing’s books and she wrote a long and indignant + letter to Mrs. Channing, and then burned the letter. Thyrsis never told + her about his conversation with the husband, for he knew she would never + get over that insult. For himself, he concluded that the Channings were + lucky in having got into a quarrel with them, as otherwise he would surely + have compelled them to lend him some money. + </p> + <p> + In truth, the advent of some fairy-godmother or Lady Bountiful was badly + needed just then. They had struggled desperately to keep within the + thirty-dollar limit, but it could no longer be done. Illnesses were + expensive luxuries; and there was the typwriting of the book—some + twenty dollars so far; also, there were many things that happened when one + was running a household—a tooth-ache, or a telegram, or a hot-water + bottle that got a hole in it, or a horse that ran away and broke a shaft. + Little by little the bills they had been obliged to run up at the grocer’s + and the butcher’s and the doctor’s had been getting beyond the limits of + their monthly check; and to cap the climax, there came a letter from Henry + Darrell, saying that the next two checks would be the last he could + possibly send. + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis set to work once more at the shell of that tough old oyster, + the world. He made out a “scenario” of the rest of his new book, and sent + it with the part he had already done to his friend Mr. Ardsley. Then for + three weeks he waited in dread suspense; until at last came a letter + asking him to call and talk over his proposition. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ardsley had been reading all Thyrsis’ manuscripts, nor had he failed + to note the triumph of “The Genius” abroad. It became at once apparent to + Thyrsis that the new book had scored with him; it was a book that could + hardly fail, he said—if only it were finished as it had been begun. + Thyrsis made it clear that he intended to finish it; no man could gaze + into his wild eyes, and hear him talk of it in breathless excitement, + without realizing that he would die, if need be, rather than fail. + </p> + <p> + So then the author went in to have a talk with the head of the firm. He + spread out the treasures of his soul before this merchant, and the + merchant sat and appraised them with a cold and critical eye. But Thyrsis, + too, had learned something about trade by this time, and was watching the + merchant; he made a desperate effort and summoned up the courage to state + his demands—he wanted five hundred dollars advance, in installments, + and he wanted fifteen per cent. royalty upon the book. To his wonder and + amazement the merchant never turned a hair at this; and before they parted + company, the incredible bargain had been made, and waited only the signing + of the contracts! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis went out from the building like a blind man who had suddenly + received his sight. It seemed to him at that moment as if the last problem + of his life had been solved. He sent off a telegram to Corydon to tell her + of the victory, and a letter to Darrell, saying that he need send no more + money—that the path was clear before his feet at last! + </p> + <p> + Section 7. This marked a new stage in the family’s financial progress; and + as usual it was signalized by a grand debauch in bill-paying. Also there + was a real table-cover for Corydon, and a vase in which she might put + spring-flowers; there were new dresses for the baby, and more important + yet, a new addition to the house. This was to be a sort of lean-to at the + rear, sixteen feet wide and eight feet deep, and divided into two + apartments, one of which was to be the kitchen, and the other an extra + bed-room. For they were going to keep a servant! + </p> + <p> + This was a new decision, to which they had come after much hesitation and + discussion. It would be a frightful expense—including the cost of + the extra food it would add over thirty dollars a month to their expenses; + but it was the only way they could see the least hope of freedom, of any + respite from household drudgery. It had been just a year now since they + had set out upon their adventure in domesticity; and in that time Corydon + figured that she had prepared two thousand meals for the baby. She had fed + each one of them, spoonful by spoonful, into his mouth; and also she had + washed two thousand spoons and dishes, and brushed off two thousand + tables, and swept two thousand floors. And with every day of such drudgery + the heights of music and literature seemed further away and more + unattainable. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had seen something of servants in earlier days—he had + memories of strange figures that during intervals of prosperity had + flitted through his mother’s home. There had been the frail, anaemic + Swedish woman, who lived on tea and sugar, and afterwards had gone away + and borne nine children, more frail and anaemic than herself; there had + been the stout personage with the Irish brogue who had dropped the + Christmas turkey out of the window and had not taken the trouble to go + down after it; there had been the little old negress who had gone insane, + and hurled the salt-box at his mother’s head. But Thyrsis was hoping that + they might avoid such troubles themselves; he had an idea that by watching + at Castle Garden they might lay hold upon some young peasant-girl from + Germany, who would be untouched by any of the corruptions of civilization. + “A sort of Dorothea”, he suggested to Corydon; and they agreed that they + would search diligently and find such a “<i>treffliches Mädchen</i>”, who + would be trusting and affectionate, and would talk in German with the + baby. + </p> + <p> + So now he spent several days hunting in strange places; and at last, in a + dingy East-side employment-office, he came upon his <i>Schatz</i>. She was + buxom and hearty, and fairly oozed good-nature at every pore; she had only + been a week in the country, and was evidently naïve enough for any purpose + whatever. She had no golden hair like Dorothea, but was swarthy—her + German was complicated with a Hungarian accent, and with strange words + that one had not come upon in Goethe and Freitag, and could not find in + any dictionary. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis helped to gather up her various bags and bundles, and transported + her out to the country. On the train he set to work to gain her + confidence, and was forthwith entertained with the tale of all her + heart-troubles. Back in the Hungarian village she had fallen in love with + the son of a rich farmer, quite in Hermann and Dorothea fashion; but alas, + in this case there had been no “<i>gute verstandige Mutter</i>” and no “<i>würdiger + Pfarrer</i>”—instead there had been a hateful step-mother, and so + the “<i>treffliches Mädchen</i>” had had to come away. + </p> + <p> + They reached the little cottage at last; and then what a house-cleaning + there was, what scrubbing of floors; and brushing out the cobwebs, and + scouring of lamp-chimneys and scraping of kettles and sauce-pans! And what + a relief it was for Corydon and Thyrsis to be able to go off for a walk + together, without first having to carry the baby up to the farm-house! And + how very poetical it was to come back and discover Dorothea with the baby + in her lap, feeding it a supper of <i>butter-brod</i> with a slice of raw + bacon! + </p> + <p> + As time went on, alas, it came more and more to seem that the Dorothea + idyl had not been meant to be taken as a work of realism. The “<i>treffliches</i> + <i>Maedchen</i>” was perhaps <i>too</i> kind-hearted; her emotions were + too voluminous for so small a house, her personality seemed to spread all + over it. She would sing Hungarian love-ditties at her work; and somehow + calling these “folksongs” did not help matters. Also, alas, she + distributed about the house strange odors—of raw onions, boiled + cabbage and perspiration. So, after three weeks, poor Dorothea had to be + sent away—weeping copiously, and bewildered over this cruel + misfortune. Corydon and Thyrsis went back again to washing their own + dishes; being glad to pay the price for quietness and privacy, and vowing + that they would never again try, to “keep a servant”. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. The spring-time had come; not so much the spring-time of poets + and song-birds, as the spring-time of cold rains and wind. But still, + little by little, the sun was getting the better of his enemies; and so + with infinite caution they reduced the quantity of the baby’s apparel, and + got him and his “bongie cowtoos” out upon the piazza. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Thyrsis was over at his own place, wrestling with the book again. + He had told himself that it would be easy, now that he was free from the + money-terror. But alas, it was not easy, and nothing could make it easy. + If he had more energy, it only meant that his vision reached farther, and + set him a harder task. Never in his life did he write a book, the last + quarter of which was not to him a nightmare labor. He would be staggering, + half blind with exhaustion—like a runner at the end of a long race, + with a rival close at his heels. + </p> + <p> + Also, as usual, his stomach was beginning to weaken under the strain. He + would come over sometimes, late in the afternoon, and lay his head in + Corydon’s lap, almost sobbing from weariness; and yet, after he had eaten + a little and helped her with the hardest of her tasks, he would go away + again, and work half through the night. There was nothing else he could do—there + was no escaping from the thing; if he lay down to rest, or went for a + walk, it would be only to think about it the whole time. He would feel + that he was not getting enough exercise, and he would drive himself to + some bodily tasks; but there was never anything that he could do, that he + did not have the book eating away at his mind in the meantime. It was one + of the calamities of his life that there was no way for him to play; all + he could do was to take a stroll with Corydon, or to tramp over the + country by himself. + </p> + <p> + He finished the book in May; and he knew that it was good. He sent it off + to Mr. Ardsley, and Mr. Ardsley, too, declared himself satisfied, and sent + the balance of the money. So Thyrsis sank back to get his breath, and to + put back some flesh upon his skeleton. He was wont to say when he was + writing, one could measure his progress upon a scales; every five thousand + words he finished cost him a Shylock’s price. + </p> + <p> + This summer was, upon the whole, the happiest time they had yet known. The + book was scheduled to appear early in September; and they had money enough + to last them meantime, with careful economy. Their little home was + beautiful; they planted some sweet peas and roses, and Thyrsis even began + to dig at a vegetable-garden. Also, it was strawberry-time, and + cherry-time was near; nor did they overlook the fact that they lived in + close proximity to a peach-orchard. These, perhaps, were prosaic + considerations, and not of the sort which Thyrsis had been accustomed to + associate with spring-time. But this he hardly realized—so rapidly + was the discipline of domesticity bringing his haughty spirit to terms! + </p> + <p> + He built a rustic seat in the woods, where they might sit and read; he + built a table beside the house, where the dishes might be washed under the + blue sky; and he perfected an elaborate set of ditches and dykes, so that + the rain-storms would not sweep away their milk and butter in the stream. + He talked of building a pen for chickens—and might have done so, + only he discovered that the perverse creatures would not lay except at the + time when eggs were cheap and one did not care so much about them. He even + figured on the cost of a cow, and the possibility of learning to milk it; + and was so much enthralled by these bucolic occupations that he wrote a + magazine-article to acquaint his struggling brother and sister poets with + the fact that they, too, might escape to the country and live in a + home-made house! + </p> + <p> + With the article there went a picture of the house, and also one of the + baby, who had been waxing enormous, and now constituted a fine + advertisement. The winter had seemed to agree with him, and the summer + agreed with him even better. Thyrsis would smile now and then, thinking of + his ideas of martyrdom; it was made evident that one member of the family + was not minded for anything of the sort. The parents might become so much + absorbed in their soul-problems that they forgot the dinner-hour; but one + could have set his watch by the appetite of the baby. Nature had provided + him, among other protections, with a truly phenomenal pair of lungs; and + whenever life took a course that was not satisfactory to him, he would + roar his face to a terrifying purple. + </p> + <p> + He was one overwhelming and incessant outcry for adventure. He would + toddle all day about the place, getting his “mungies” into all sorts of + messes. He was hard to fit into so small a place, and there were times + when his parents were tempted to wish that some phenomenon a trifle less + portentous had fallen to their lot. But for the most part he was a great + hope—a sort of visible atonement for their sufferings. He at least + was an achievement; he was something they had done. And he could not be + undone, nor doubted—he put all skepticism to flight. In his vicinity + there was no room for pessimistic philosophies, for <i>Weltschmerz</i> or + <i>Karma</i>. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis would sit now and then and watch him at play, and think thoughts + that went deep into the meaning of things. Here was, in its very living + presence, that blind will-to-be which had seized them and flung them + together. And it seemed to Thyrsis that somehow Nature, with her strange + secret chemistry, had reproduced all the elements they had brought to that + union. This child was immense, volcanic, as their impulse had been; he was + intense, highly-strung, and exacting—and these qualities too they + had furnished. Curious also it was to observe how Nature, having + accomplished her purpose, now flung aside her concealments and devices. + From now on they existed to minister to this new life-phenomenon, to keep + it happy and prosperous and she cared not how plain this might become to + them—she feared not to taunt and humiliate them. And they accepted + her sentence meekly, they no longer tried to oppose her. Her will was + become an axiom which they never disputed, which they never even + discussed. No matter what might happen to them in future, the Child must + go on! + </p> + <p> + Section 9. Thyrsis utilized this summer of leisure to begin a course of + reading in Socialism—a subject which had been stretching out its + arms to him ever since he had made the acquaintance of Henry Darrell. He + had held away from it on purpose, not wishing to complicate his mind with + too many problems. But now he had finished with history, and was free to + come back to the world of the present. + </p> + <p> + There were the pamphlets that Darrell had given him, and there was Paret’s + magazine. Strange to say, the latter’s reckless jesting with the + philanthropists and reformers no longer offended Thyrsis—he had been + travelling fast along the road of disillusionment. Also, there was a + Socialist paper in New York—“The Worker”; and more important still, + there was the “Appeal to Reason”. Thyrsis came upon a chance reference to + this paper, which was published in a little town in Kansas, and he was + astonished to learn that it claimed a circulation of two hundred thousand + copies a week. He became a subscriber, and after that the process of his + “conversion” was rapid. + </p> + <p> + The Appeal was an “agitation-paper”. Its business was to show that side of + the capitalist process which other publications tried to conceal, or at + any rate to gild and dress up and make presentable. Each week came four + closely-printed newspaper-pages, picturing horrors in mills and mines, + telling of oppression and injustice, of unemployment and misery, accident, + disease and death. There would be accounts of political corruption—of + the buying of legislatures and courts, of the rule of “machines” of graft + in city and state and nation. There would be tales of the manners and + morals of the idle rich, set against others of the sufferings of the poor. + And week by week, as he read and pondered, Thyrsis began to realize the + absurd inadequacy of the placid statement which he had made to his first + Socialist acquaintance—that the solution of such problems was to be + left to “evolution”. It became only too clear to him that here was another + war—the class-war; and that it was being fought by the masters with + every weapon that cunning and greed could lay hands upon or contrive. In + that struggle Thyrsis saw clearly that his place was in the ranks of the + disinherited and dispossessed. + </p> + <p> + This was not a difficult decision; for in the first place he was one of + the disinherited and dispossessed himself; and in the next place, even + before the “economic screw” had penetrated his consciousness, he had been + a rebel in his sympathies and tastes. Jesus, Isaiah, Milton, Shelley—such + men as these had been the friends of his soul; and he had sought in vain + for their spirit in modern society—he had thought that it was dead, + and that he, and a few other lonely dreamers in garrets, were the only + ones who knew or cared about it. But now he came upon the amazing + discovery that this spirit, driven from legislative-halls and courts of + justice, from churches and schools and editorial sanctums, had flamed into + life in the hearts of the working class, and was represented in a + political party which numbered some thirty millions of adherents and cast + some seven million votes! + </p> + <p> + Beginning nearly a century ago, these workmgmen had taken the spirit of + Jesus and Isaiah and Milton and Shelley, and had worked out a scientific + basis for it, and a method whereby it could be made to count in the world + of affairs. They had analyzed all the evils of modern society—poverty + and luxury, social and political corruption, prostitution, crime and war; + they had not only discovered the causes of them, but had laid down with + mathematical precision the remedies, and had gone on to carry the remedies + into effect. In every civilized land upon the globe they were at work as a + political party of protest; they were holding conventions and adopting + programs; they had an enormous literature, they were publishing newspapers + and magazines, many of them having circulations of hundreds of thousands + of copies. + </p> + <p> + The strangest thing of all was this. Thyrsis was an educated man—or + was supposed to be. He had spent five years in schools, and nine years in + colleges and universities; he had given the scholars of the world full + opportunity to guide him to whatever was of importance. Also, he had been + an omnivorous reader upon his own impulse; and here he was, at the end of + it all—practically ignorant that this enormous movement existed! + </p> + <p> + In economic classes in college there had, of course, been some mention of + Socialism; but this had been of the utopian variety, the dreams of Plato + and St. Simon and Fourier. There had been some account of the innumerable + communities which had sprung up in America—with careful explanation, + however, that they had all proven failures. Also one heard vaguely of Marx + and Lassalle, two violent men, whose ideas were still popular among the + ignorant masses of Europe, but could be of no concern to the fortunate + inhabitants of a free Republic. + </p> + <p> + And then, after this, to come upon some piece of writing—such as, + for instance, the “Communist Manifesto”! To read this mile-stone in the + progress of civilization, this marvellous exposition of the development of + human societies, and of the forces which drive and control them; and to + realize that two lonely students, who had cast in their lot with the + exploited toilers, had been able to predict the whole course of political + and industrial evolution for sixty years, and to foresee and expound with + precision the ultimate outcome of the whole process—matters of which + the orthodox economists were still as ignorant as babes unborn! + </p> + <p> + Or to discover the writings of such a man as Karl Kautsky, the + intellectual leader of the modern movement in Germany; such books as “The + Social Revolution”, and “The Road to Power”—in which one seemed to + see a giant of the mind, standing in a death-duel with those forces of + night and destruction that still made of the fair earth a hell! With what + accuracy he was able to measure the strength of these powers of evil, to + anticipate their every move, to plan the exact parry with which to meet + them! To Thyrsis he seemed like some general commanding an army in battle, + with the hopes of future ages hanging upon his skill. But this was a + general who fought, not with sword and fire, but with ideas; a conqueror + in the cause of “right reason and the will of God”. He wrote simply, as a + scientist; and yet one could feel the passion behind the quiet words—the + hourly shock of the incessant conflict, the grim persistence which pressed + on in the face of obloquy and persecution, the courage which had been + tested through generations of anguish and toil. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis’ mind rushed through these things like prairie-fire; and all the + time that he read, his wonder grew upon him. How <i>could</i> he have been + kept ignorant of them? He was quick to pounce upon the essential fact, + that this was no accident; it was something that must have been planned + and brought about deliberately. He had thought that he was being educated, + when in reality he was being held back and fenced off from truth. It was a + world-wide conspiracy—it was that very class-war which the + established order was waging upon these men and their ideas! + </p> + <p> + Section 10. It was not difficult for any one to understand the ideas, if he + really wished to. They began with the fact of “surplus value”. One man + employed another man for the sake of the wealth he could be made to + produce, over what he was paid as wages. That seemed obvious enough; and + yet, what consequences came from following it up! Throughout human history + men had been setting other men to work; whether they were called slaves, + or serfs, or laborers, or servants, the motive-power which had set them to + work had been the desire for “surplus value”. And as the process went on, + those who appropriated the profits combined for mutual protection; and so + out of the study of “surplus value” came the discovery of the + “class-struggle”. Human history was the tale of the arising of some + dominating class, and of the struggle of some subject class for a larger + share of what it produced. Human governments were devices by which the + master-class preserved its power; and whatever may have been the original + purposes of arts and religions, in the end they had always been seized by + the master-class, and used as aids in the same struggle. + </p> + <p> + One came to the culmination of the process in modern capitalist society. + Here was a class entrenched in power, owning the sources of wealth, the + huge machines whereby it was produced, and the railroads whereby it was + distributed, and above all, the financial resources upon which the other + processes depended. One saw this class holding itself in power by means of + the policeman’s club and the militiaman’s rifle, by machine-gun and + battle-ship; one saw that, whether by bribery or by outright force, it had + seized all the powers of government, of legislatures and executives and + courts. One saw that in the same way it had seized upon the sources of + ideas; it controlled the newspapers and the churches and the colleges, + that it might shape the thoughts of men and keep them content. It set up + in places of authority men whose views were agreeable to it—who + believed in the beneficence of its rule and the permanence of its system; + who would pour out ridicule and contempt upon those who suggested that any + other system might be conceivable. And so the class-war was waged, not + merely in the world of industry and politics, but also, in the + intellectual world. + </p> + <p> + And step by step, as the processes of capitalism culminated, this war + increased in bitterness and intensity. For, of course, as capital heaped + up and its control became concentrated, the ratio of exploitation + increased. The great mass of labor was unorganized and helpless; whereas + the masters had combined and fixed their prices; and so day by day the + cost of living increased, and misery and discontent increased with it. As + capital expanded, and new machines of production were added, there were + more and more goods to sell, and more and more difficulty in finding + markets; and so came overproduction and unemployment, panics and crises; + so came wars for foreign markets—with new opportunities of plunder + for the exploiters and new hardships and new taxes for the producers. And + so was fulfilled the prophecy of Marx and Engels; under the pressure of + bitter necessity the proletariat was organizing and disciplining itself, + training its own leaders and thinkers forming itself into a world-wide + political party, whose destiny it was to conquer the powers of government + in every land, and use them to turn out the exploiters, and to put an end + to the rule of privilege. + </p> + <p> + This change was what the Socialists meant by the “revolution”—the + transfer of the ownership of the means of production; and it was about + that issue that the class-war was waged. Nothing else but that counted; + without that all reform was futility, and all benevolence was mockery, and + all knowledge was ignorance. So long as the means of producing necessities + were owned by a few, and used for the advantage of a few, just so long + must there be want in the midst of plenty, and darkness over all the + earth. Whatever evil one went out into the world to combat, he came to + realize that he could do nothing against it, because it was bound up with + the capitalist system, was in fact itself that system. If little children + were shut up in sweat-shops, if women were sold into brothels, it was not + for any fault of theirs, it was not the work of any devil—it was + simply because of the “surplus value”. they represented. If weaker nations + were conquered and “civilized”, that, too, was for “surplus value”. And + these epidemics of “graft” that broke out upon the body politic—they + were not accidental or sporadic things, and they were not to be remedied + by putting any number of men in jail; they were to be understood as the + system whereby an industrial oligarchy had rendered impotent a political + democracy, and had fenced it out from the fields of privilege. + </p> + <p> + And so also was it with the dullness and sterility that prevailed in the + intellectual world. The master-class did not want ideas—it only + wanted to be let alone; and so it put in the seats of authority men who + were blind to the blazing beacon-fires of the future. It would be no + exaggeration to say that the intellectual and cultural system of the + civilized world was conducted, whether deliberately or instinctively, for + the purpose of keeping the truth about exploitation from becoming clear to + the people. + </p> + <p> + The master-class owned the newspapers and ran them. It had built and + endowed the churches, and taught the clergy to feed out of its hand. In + the same way it had founded the colleges, and named the trustees, who in + turn named the presidents and professors. The ordinary mortal took it for + granted that because venerable bishops and dignified editors and learned + college-professors were all in agreement as to a certain truth, there must + be some inherent probability in that truth; and never once perceived how + the cards were stacked and the dice loaded—how those clergymen and + editors and professors had all been selected because they believed that + truth to be true, and believed the contrary falsehood to be false! + </p> + <p> + And how smoothly and automatically the system worked! How these + dignitaries stood together, and held up each other’s hands, maintaining + the august tradition, the atmosphere of authority and power! The bishops + praising the editors, and the editors praising the professors, and the + professors praising the bishops! And when the circle was completed, what + <i>lése</i> <i>majesté</i> it seemed for an ordinary mortal to oppose + their conclusions! + </p> + <p> + The bishops, one perceived, were “orthodox”—that is to say they were + concerned with barren formulas; and they were “spiritual”—they were + concerned with imaginary future states of bliss. The editors were “safe” + and “conservative”—that is to say, their souls were dead and their + eyes were sealed and their god was property. And when it came to the + selecting of the college professors, of the men who were to guide and + instruct the forthcoming generations—what precautions would be taken + then! What consultations and investigations, what testimonials and + interviews and examinations! For after all, in these new days, it could be + no easy matter to find men whose minds were sterilized, who could face + without blenching all the horrors of the capitalist regime! Who could see + courts and congresses bought and sold; who could see children ground up in + mills and factories, and women driven by the lash of want to sell their + bodies; who could see the surplus of the world’s wealth squandered in riot + and debauchery, and the nations armed and drilled and sent out to + slaughter each other in the quest for more. Who could know that all these + things existed, and yet remain in their cloistered halls and pursue the + placid ways of scholarship; who could teach history which regarded them as + inevitable; who could care for literature that had been made for the + amusement of slave-drivers, and art which existed for the sake of art, and + not for the sake of humanity; who could know everything that was useless, + and teach everything that was uninteresting, and could be dead at once to + the warnings of the past, and to all that was vital and important in the + present. + </p> + <p> + Section 11. Not since he had discovered the master-key of Evolution had + Thyrsis come upon any set of ideas that meant so much to him. It was not + that these were new to him—they were the stuff out of which his + whole life had been made; but here they were ordered and systematized—he + had a handle by which to take hold of them. The name of this handle was + “the economic interpretation of history”. And its import was that ideas + did not come by hazard, or out of the air, but were products of social + conditions; and that when one knew by what method the wealth of any + community was produced, and by what class its “surplus value” was + appropriated—then and then only could one understand the arts and + customs, the sciences and religions, which that community would evolve. + </p> + <p> + In the light of this great principle Thyrsis had to revise all his + previous knowledge; he had to cast out tons of rubbish from the chambers + of his mind, and start his thinking life all over again. Just as, in early + days, he had exchanged miracles and folk-tales for facts of natural + science; so now he saw political institutions and social codes, literary + and artistic canons, and ethical and philosophical systems, no longer as + things valid and excellent, having relationship to truth—but simply + as intrenchments and fortifications in the class-war, as devices which + some men had used to deceive and plunder some other men. What a light it + threw upon philosophy, for instance, to perceive it, not as a search for + truth, but as a search for justification upon the part of ruling classes, + and for a basis of attack upon the part of subject-classes! + </p> + <p> + So, for instance, on the one side one found Rousseau, and on the other + Herbert Spencer. Thyrsis had read Spencer, and had cordially disliked him + for his dogmatism and his callousness; but now he read Kropotkin’s “Mutual + Aid as a Factor in Evolution”, and came to a realization of how the whole + science of biology had been distorted to suit the convenience of the + British ruling-classes. <i>Laissez-faire</i> and the Manchester school had + taught him that “each for himself and the devil take the hindmost” was the + universal law of life; and he had accepted it, because there seemed + nothing else that he could do. But now, in a sudden flash, he came to see + that the law of life was exactly the opposite; everywhere throughout + nature that which survived was not ruthless egotism, but co-operative + intelligence. The solitary and predatory animals were now almost entirely + extinct; and even before the advent of man with his social brain, it had + been the herbivorous and gregarious animals which had become most + numerous. When it came to man, was it not perfectly obvious that the races + which had made civilization were those which had developed the nobler + virtues, such as honor and loyalty and patriotism? And now it was proposed + to trample them into the mire of “business”; to abandon the race to a + glorified debauch of greed! And this travesty of science was taught in ten + thousand schools and colleges throughout America—and all because + certain British gentlemen had wished to work their cotton-operatives + fourteen hours a day, and certain others had wished to keep land which + their ancestors had seized in the days of William the Conqueror! Shortly + after this Thyrsis came upon Edmond Kelly’s great work, “Government, or + Human Evolution”; and so he realized that Herbert Spencer’s social + philosophy had at last been cleared out of the pathway of humanity. And + this was a great relief to him—it was one more back-breaking task + that he did not have to contemplate! + </p> + <p> + Section 12. Then one of his Socialist friends sent him Thorstein Veblen’s + “Theory of the Leisure Class”; a book which he read in a continuous + ebullition of glee. Truly it was a delicious thing to find a man who could + employ the lingo of the ultra-sophisticated sociologist, and use it in a + demonstration of the most revolutionary propositions. The drollery of this + was all the more enjoyable because Thyrsis could never be sure that the + author himself intended it—whether his sesquipedalian irony might + not be a pure product of nature, untouched by any human art. + </p> + <p> + Veblen’s book might have been called a study of the ultimate destiny of + “surplus value”; an economic interpretation of the social arts and graces, + of “fashions” and “fads”. Where men competed for the fruit of each other’s + labor, the possession of wealth was the sign of excellence. This + excellence men wished to demonstrate to others; and step by step, as the + methods of production and exploitation changed, one might trace the change + in the methods of this demonstration. The savage chief began with + nose-rings and anklets, and the trophies of his fights; then, as he grew + richer, he would employ courtiers and concubines, and shine by vicarious + splendor. He would give banquets and build palaces—the end being + always “the conspicuous consumption of goods”. + </p> + <p> + Later on came those stages when he no longer had to gain his wealth by + physical prowess; when cunning took the place of force, and he ruled by + laws and religions and moral codes, and handed down his power through long + lines of descendants. Then ostentation became a highly specialized and + conventionalized thing—its criterion changing gradually to + “conspicuous waste of time”. Those characteristics were cultivated which + served to advertise to the world that their possessor had never had to + earn wealth, nor to do anything for himself; the aristocrat became a + special type of being, with small feet and hands and a feeble body, with + special ways of walking and talking, of dressing and eating and playing. + He developed a separate religion, a separate language, separate + literatures and arts, separate vices and virtues. And fantastic and + preposterous as some of these might seem, they were real things, they were + the means whereby the leisure-class individual took part in the + competition of his own world, and secured his own prestige and the + survival of his line. Some philosopher had said that virtue is a product + like vinegar; and it was a pleasant thing to discover that French heels + and “picture-hats” and course-dinners were products also. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis would read passages of this book aloud to Corydon, and they would + chuckle over it together; but the reading of it did not bring Corydon the + same unalloyed delight. In the leisure-class <i>régime</i>, the woman is a + cherished possession—for it is through her that the ability to waste + both time and goods can best be shown. So came Veblen’s grim and ironic + exposition of the leisure-class woman, an exposition which Corydon found + almost too painful to be read. For Corydon’s ancestors, as far back as + documents could trace, had been members of that class. They had left her + the frail and beautiful body, conspicuously useless and dependent; they + had left her all the leisure-class impulses and cravings, all the + leisure-class impotences and futilities to contend with. They had taught + her nothing about cooking, nothing about sewing, nothing about babies, + nothing about money; they had taught her only the leisure-class dream of + “love in a cottage”—and she had run away with a poor poet to try it + out! + </p> + <p> + The depth of these instincts in Corydon was amusingly illustrated by the + fact that she always woke up dull and discouraged, and was seldom really + herself until afternoon; and that along about ten o’clock at night, when + for the sake of her health she should have been going to bed, she would be + laughing, talking, singing, ablaze with interest and excitement. Thyrsis + would point this out to her, and please himself by picturing the role + which she should have been filling—wearing an empire gown and a rope + or two of rubies, and presiding in an opera-box or a <i>salon</i>. Corydon + would repudiate all this with indignation; but all the same she never + escaped from the phrases of Veblen—she remained his “leisure-class + wife” from that day forth. Not so very long afterwards they came upon + Ibsen’s “Hedda Gabler”; and Thyrsis shuddered to observe that of all the + heroines in the world’s literature, that was the one which most appealed + to her. Nor did he fail to observe the working of the thing in himself; + the subtle and deeply-buried instinct which made him prefer to be wretched + with a “leisure-class wife” rather than to be contented with a plebeian + one! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XIV. THE PRICE OF RANSOM + </h2> + <p> + <i>The faint grey of dawn was stealing across the lake; and still the + spell was upon them. </i> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There thou art gone, and me thou leavest here + Sole in these fields! yet will I not despair.” + </pre> + <p> + So she whispered; and he answered her— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He loved his mates; but yet he could not keep, + Here with the shepherds and the silly sheep. + Some life of men unblest + He knew, which made him droop, and filled his head. + He went; his piping took a troubled sound + Of storms that rage outside our happy ground.” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. In the course of that summer there befell Corydon an adventure; + Thyrsis had gone off one day for a walk, and when he came back she told + him about it—how a young lady had stopped at the house to ask for a + drink of water, and had sat upon the piazza to rest, and had talked with + her. Now Corydon was in a state of excitement over a discovery. + </p> + <p> + Whenever Thyrsis met a stranger, it was necessary for him to go through + elaborate intellectual processes, to find the person out by an exchange of + ideas. And if by any chance the person was insincere, and used ideas as a + blind and a cover, then Thyrsis might never find him out at all. In other + words, he took people at the face-value of their cultural equipment; and + only after long and tragic blunderings could he by any chance get deeper. + But with his wife it happened quite otherwise; this case was the first + which he witnessed, but the same thing happened many times afterwards. + With her there would be a strange flash of recognition; it was a sort of + intuition, perhaps a psychic thing—who could tell? By some unknown + process in soul-chemistry, she would divine things about a person that he + might have been a life-time in finding out. + </p> + <p> + It might be a burst of passionate interest, or on the other hand, of + repugnance and fear. And long years of practice taught Thyrsis that this + instinct of hers was never to be disregarded. Not once in all her life did + he know her to give her affection to a base person; and if ever he + disregarded her antipathies, he did it to his cost. Once they were sitting + in a restaurant, and a man was brought up to be introduced by a friend; he + was a person of not unpleasant aspect, courteous and apparently a + gentleman, and yet Corydon flushed, and could scarcely keep her seat at + the table, and would not give the man her hand. Years after Thyrsis came + upon the discovery about this man, that he made a practice of unnatural + vices. + </p> + <p> + He came home now to find Corydon flushed with excitement. “She has such a + beautiful soul!” she exclaimed. “I never met anyone like her. And we just + took to each other; she told me all about herself, and we are going to be + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “She’s visiting Mr. Harding, the clergyman at Bellevue,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + Bellevue was a town in the valley, on the other side from the university; + it had a Presbyterian church, whose young pastor Thyrsis had met once or + twice in his tramps about the country. This Miss Gordon, it seemed, was + the niece of an elderly relative, his housekeeper; she was studying + trained nursing, and afterwards intended to go out as a missionary to + Africa. + </p> + <p> + “She’s so anxious to meet you,” Corydon went on. “She’s coming up to see + me to-morrow, and she’s going to bring Mr. Harding. You won’t mind, will + you, Thyrsis?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I can stand it if he can,” said Thyrsis, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t say anything to hurt their feelings,” said Corydon, quickly. + “She’s terribly orthodox, you know; and she takes it so seriously. I was + surprised—I had never thought that I could stand anybody like that.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis merely grunted. + </p> + <p> + “I guess ideas don’t matter so much after all,” said Corydon. “It’s a deep + nature that I care about. But just fancy—she was pained because the + baby hadn’t been baptized!” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have hid the dreadful truth,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t hide things from her,” laughed Corydon, “But she says I can + make a Socialist out of her, and she’ll make a Christian out of me!” + </p> + <p> + His reply was, “Wait until she discovers the sensuous temperament!” + </p> + <p> + But Corydon answered that Delia Gordon had a sensuous temperament also. + “She seemed to me like a Joan of Arc. Just think of her going away from + all her family, to a station on the Congo River! She told me all about it—how + wretched the people are, and what the women suffer. She woke up in the + middle of the night, and a voice told her to go—told her the name of + the place. And she’d never heard it before, and hadn’t had the least idea + of going away!” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was unmoved by this miracle. “I suppose,” he said, “you’ll be + hearing voices yourself, and going with her. Tell me, is she pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t call her pretty,” said Corydon, after a little thought. + “She’s just—just dear. Oh, Thyrsis, I simply fell in love with her!” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly chose an odd kind of an affinity,” he said. “A Presbyterian + missionary!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s worse than that,” confessed Corydon. “She’s a Seventh-day + Adventist.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! And what may that be?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, she keeps Saturday instead of Sunday. She calls it the Sabbath. And + she thinks that ‘evolution’ is wicked, and she believes in some kind of a + hell! She’s not just sure what kind, apparently.” + </p> + <p> + “You watch out,” said he, “or the first thing you know she’ll be baptizing + the baby behind your back.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that do any good?” asked Corydon, guilelessly. + </p> + <p> + He laughed as he answered, “It would, from her point of view.” + </p> + <p> + To which she replied, “Well, if we didn’t know it and the baby didn’t, I + guess it wouldn’t do any harm.” + </p> + <p> + “And it might save him from some kind of a hell!” added Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Miss Gordon came the next morning, Mr. Harding with her; and the + four sat out under the trees and talked. She was a girl some three years + older than Corydon, but much more mature; she was short, but athletic in + build, and with a bright personality. Thyrsis could see at once those fine + qualities of idealism and fervor which had attracted Corydon; and to his + surprise he found that, in addition to her religious virtues, the Lord had + generously added a sense of humor. So Delia Gordon was really a person + with whom one could have a good time. + </p> + <p> + The Lord had not been quite so generous with the Rev. Mr. Harding, + apparently. Mr. Harding was about thirty years of age, tall and + finely-built, with a slight, fair moustache, and a rather girlish + complexion. He was evidently of a sentimental inclination, very sensitive, + and a lovable person; but the sense of humor Thyrsis judged was + underdeveloped. He was inclined towards social-reform, and had a club for + working-boys in his town, of which he was very proud; he asked Thyrsis to + come and give a literary talk to these boys, and Thyrsis replied that his + views of things were hardly orthodox. When the clergyman asked for + elucidation, Thyrsis added, with a smile, “I don’t believe that Jonah ever + swallowed the whale”. Whereupon Mr. Harding proceeded with all gravity to + correct his misapprehension of this legend. + </p> + <p> + The fires of friendship, thus suddenly lighted between the two girls, + continued to burn. Delia Gordon came nearly every day to see Corydon, and + once or twice Corydon went down to the town and had lunch with her. They + told each other all the innermost secrets of their hearts, and in the + evening Corydon would retail these to Thyrsis, who was thus put in the way + to acquire that knowledge of human nature so essential to a novelist. + Delia had never been in love, it seemed—her only passion was for + savage tribes along the Congo; but Mr. Harding had been involved in a + heart-tragedy some time ago, and was supposed to be still inconsolable. + Incredible as it might seem, he was apparently not in love with Delia. + </p> + <p> + Also, needless to say, the pair did not fail to thresh out problems of + theology. Delia made in due course the dreadful discovery of the sensuous + temperament; and also she probed to the depths the frightful ocean of + unorthodoxy that was hid beneath the placid surface of Corydon. But + strange to say, this did not repel her, nor make any difference in their + friendship. Thyrsis took that for the sign of a liberal attitude, but + Corydon corrected him with a shrewd observation—“She’s so sure of + her own truth she can’t believe in the reality of any other. She <i>knows</i> + I’ll come to Jesus with her some day!” + </p> + <p> + It was a wonderful thing to Thyrsis to see his wife’s happiness just then; + she was like a flower which has been wilting, and suddenly receives a + generous shower of rain. It was just what he had prayed for; having seen + all along that her wretchedness was owing to her being shut up alone with + him. So now he did his best to repress his own opinions, and to let the + two friends work out their problem undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Thyrsis,” Corydon exclaimed to him, one night, “if I could only have + her with me, I’d be happy always!” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don’t you get her to stay with you?” asked Thyrsis, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but she wouldn’t think of it,” said Corydon. “She doesn’t really care + about anything in the world but her Congo savages!” + </p> + <p> + “We might try,” said he. “When does she complete her course?” + </p> + <p> + “Not until the end of the year.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can do a lot of arguing in that time. And when the book is out, + we’ll have money enough, so that we can offer to pay her. She might become + a sort of ‘mother’s helper.’” + </p> + <p> + Section 3. So Thyrsis began a struggle with Jesus and the Congo savages, for + the possession of Delia’s soul. He set to work to interest her in his + work; he gave her his first novel, which contained no theology at all; and + also “The Hearer of Truth”—the social radicalism of which he was + pleased to see did not alarm her. And then he gave her the war-novel, and + saw with joy how she was thrilled over that. He laid himself out to make + his purpose and his vision clear to her; and then, one afternoon, when + Corydon had a headache and was taking a nap, he led her off to a quiet + place in the woods, and set before her all the bitter tragedy of their + lives. + </p> + <p> + He pictured the work he had to do, and the loneliness to which this + consigned Corydon; he told her of the horrors they had so far endured, and + what effect these had had upon his wife. He showed her what her power was—how + she could make life possible for both of them. For she had that magic key + which Thyrsis himself did not possess, she could unlock the + treasure-chambers of Corydon’s soul. + </p> + <p> + But alas, Thyrsis soon perceived that his efforts had been in vain. Delia + was stirred by his eloquence, but the only effect was to move her to an + equally eloquent account of the sufferings of the natives of the Congo + basin. It was important that he should get his books written; but how much + more important it was that some help should be carried to these unhappy + wretches! They never saw any books, they were altogether beyond his reach; + and who was to take the light to them? She told him harrowing tales of + sick women, beaten and tortured and burned with fire to drive the devils + out of them. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis met this by attempting to broaden the girl’s social consciousness. + He showed her how the waves of intelligence, beginning at the top, spread + to the lowest strata of society—changing the character of all human + activities, and affecting the humblest life. He showed her the capitalist + system, and explained how it worked; how it reached to the savage in the + remotest corner of the earth, and seized him and made him over according + to its will. It was true, for instance—and not in any poetic sense, + but literally and demonstrably true—that the fate of the Congo + native was determined in Wall Street, and in the financial centres of + London and Paris and Brussels and Berlin. The essential thing about the + natives was that they represented rubber and ivory. And Delia might go + there, and try to teach them and help them, but she would find that there + were forces engaged in beating them down and destroying them—forces + in comparison with which she was as helpless as a child. It was true of + the Congo blacks, as it was true of the people of the slums, of the + proletariat of the whole earth, that there was no way to help them save to + overthrow the system which made of them, not human beings, but + commodities, to be purchased and passed through the profit-mill, and then + flung into the scrap-heap. + </p> + <p> + But Thyrsis found to his pain that it was impossible to make these + considerations of any real import to Delia. She understood them, she + assented to them; but that did not make them count. Her impulses came from + another part of her being. Her savages were naked and hungry and ignorant + and miserable; and they needed to be fed and clothed, and more important + yet, to be baptized and saved. She was all the more impelled to her task + by the fact that all the forces of civilization were arrayed against her. + The fires of martyrdom were blazing in her soul. She meant to throw + herself over a precipice—and the higher the precipice, and the more + jagged the rocks beneath, the greater was the thrill which the prospect + brought her. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. They went back to the house; as Delia had arranged to spend the + night with them, and as Corydon’s headache was better, the controversy was + continued far into the evening. Thyrsis took no part in it, he listened + while Corydon pleaded for herself, and pictured her loneliness and + despair. + </p> + <p> + Delia put her arms about her. “Don’t you see, dear,” she argued—“all + that is because you are without a faith! You cast out Jesus, and deny him; + and so how can <i>I</i> help you? If you believed what I do, you would not + be lonely, even if you were in the heart of Africa.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can I believe what isn’t <i>true?</i>” cried Corydon; and so the + skeletons of theology came forth and rattled their bones once more. + </p> + <p> + A couple of hours must have passed, while Thyrsis said nothing, but + listened to Delia and watched her, probing deeply into the agonies and + futilities of life. He had given up all hope of persuading her to stay + with them; he thought only of the tragedy, that this noble spirit should + be tangled up and blundering about in the mazes of a grotesque dogma. And + the time came when he could endure it no more; something rose up within + him, something tremendous and terrible, and he laid hold of Delia Gordon’s + soul to wrestle with it, as never before had he wrestled with any human + soul except Corydon’s. + </p> + <p> + The truth of the matter was that Thyrsis loved the religious people; it + was among them that he had been brought up, and their ways were his ways. + This was a fact that came to him rarely now, for he was hard-driven and + bitter; but it was true that when he sneered at the church and taunted it, + he was like a parent who whips a child he loves. Perhaps Paret had spoken + truly in one of his cruel jests—that when a man has been brought up + religious, he can never really get over it, he can never really be free. + </p> + <p> + So now Thyrsis spoke to Delia as one who was himself of the faith of + Jesus; he cried out to her that what she wanted was what he wanted, that + all her attitudes and ways of working were his. And here were monstrous + evils alive upon the earth—here were all the forces of hell + unleashed, and ranging like savage beasts destroying the lives of men and + women! And those who truly cared, those who had the conscience and the + faith of the world in their keeping—they were wasting their time in + disputations about barren formulas, questions which had no relationship to + human life! Questions of the meaning of old Hebrew texts that had often no + meaning at all, and of folk-tales and fairy-stories out of the nursery of + the race—the problem of whether Jonah had swallowed the whale, or + the whale had swallowed Jonah—the problem of whether it was on + Friday or Saturday that the Lord had finished the earth. Because of such + things as this, they drove all thinking men from their ranks, they + degraded and made ridiculous the very name of faith! As he went on, the + agony of this swept over Thyrsis—until it seemed to him as if he had + the whole Christian Church before him, and was pleading with it in the + voice of Jesus. Here was a new crucifixion—a crucifixion of + civilization! Thyrsis cried out in the words, “Oh ye of little faith!” + Truly, was it not the supreme act of infidelity, to make the spirit of + religion, which was one with the impulse of all life—the force that + made the flower bloom and oak-tree tower and the infant cry for its food—to + make it dependent upon Hebrew texts and Assyrian folk-tales! Delia + preached to him about “faith”; but what was her faith in comparison with + his, which was a faith in all life—which trusted the soul of man, + and reason as part of the soul of man, a thing which God had put in man to + be used, and not to be feared and outraged. + </p> + <p> + Then came Delia. She would not admit that her faith depended upon texts + and legends; it was a faith in the living God. She was not afraid of + reason—she did not outrage it— + </p> + <p> + “But you do, you do!” cried Thyrsis. “Your whole attitude is an outrage to + it! You never speak of ‘science’ except as an evil thing. You told Corydon + that ‘evolution’ was wicked!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how evolution can help my faith”—began the other. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it!” cried Thyrsis again. “That is exactly what I mean! You + do not pay homage to truth, you do not seek it for its own sake! You + require that it should fit into certain formulas that you have set up—in + other words that it should not interfere with your texts and your legends! + And what is the result of that—you have paralyzed all your + activities, you have condemned your intellectual life to sterility! For we + live in an age of science, we cannot solve our problems except by means of + it; the forces of evil are using it, and you are not using it, and so you + are like a child in their hands! Not one of the social wrongs but could be + put an end to—child-labor, poverty and disease, prostitution and + drunkenness, crime and war! But you don’t know how, and you can’t find out + how—simply because you have thrown away the sharp tools of the + intellect, and filled your mind with formulas that mean nothing! How can + you understand modern problems, when you know nothing about economics? You + have rejected ‘evolution’—so how can you comprehend the evolution of + society? How can you know that civilization at this hour is going down + into the abyss—dragging you and your churches and your Congo savages + with it? I who do understand these things—I have to go out and fight + alone, while you are shut up in your churches, mumbling your spells and + incantations, and poring over your Hebrew texts! And think of what I must + suffer, knowing as I do that the spirit that animates you—the fervor + and devotion, the ‘hunger and thirst after righteousness’—would + banish horror from the earth forever, if only it could be guided by + intelligence!” + </p> + <p> + Section 5. All this, of course, was effort utterly wasted. Thyrsis poured + out his pleadings and exhortations, his longing and his pain; and when he + had finished, the girl was exactly where she had been before—just as + distrustful of “science”, and just as blindly bent upon getting away to + her savages and binding up their wounds and baptizing them. And so at last + he gave up in despair, and left Delia to go to bed, and went out and sat + alone in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, though it was long after midnight, Corydon came out and joined + him. He saw that she was flushed and trembling with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis!” she whispered. “That was a marvellous thing!” + </p> + <p> + He pressed her hand. + </p> + <p> + “And all thrown away!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “You realized that, did you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I realized many things. Why you set so much store by ideas, for instance! + I see that you are right—one has to think straight!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s like a steam-engine,” said Thyrsis. “It doesn’t matter how much + power you get up, or how fast you make the wheels go—unless the + switches are set right, you don’t reach your destination.” + </p> + <p> + “You only land in the ditch!” added Corydon. “And that’s just the way I + felt to-night—she’d take your argument every time, and dump it into + a ditch. And she’d see it there, and not care.” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t care about facts at all, Corydon. And notice this also—she + doesn’t care about succeeding. That’s the thing you must get straight—her + religion is a religion of failure! It comes back to that criticism of + Nietzsche’s—it’s a slave-morality. The world belongs to the devil; + and the idea of taking it away from the devil seems to be presumptuous. + Even if it could be done, the attempt would be ‘unspiritual’; for the + ‘world’ is something corrupt—something that ought not to be saved. + So you see, she’s perfectly willing for the Belgians to have the rubber.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s’!” quoted Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and let Caesar spend them on Cleo de Merode. What she wants is to + save the <i>souls</i> of her savages—to baptize them, and to perish + gloriously at the work, and then be transported to some future life that + is worth while. So you see what the immortality-mongers do with our + morality!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Corydon, swiftly. “But that need not be so!” + </p> + <p> + “But it <i>is</i> so!” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she protested. “You must not say that! That is giving up—and + I felt such a different mood in you to-night! I wanted to tell you—we + must do something about it, Thyrsis! It made me ashamed of my own life. + Here I am, failing miserably—and all that work crying out to be + done! I don’t think I ever had such a sense of your power before—the + things you might do, if only you could get free, if only I didn’t stand in + your way! Oh, can’t we cast the old mistakes behind us, and go out into + the world and preach that message?” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear,” said Thyrsis, “that wouldn’t appeal to you always. Your + temperament—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind my temperament!” she cried. “I am sick of it, ashamed of it; I + want the world to hear that trumpet-call! I want you to break your way + into the churches—to make them listen to you, and realize their + blasphemy of life!” + </p> + <p> + She caught hold of him and clung to him; he could feel, like an electric + shock, the thrill of her excitement. He marvelled at the effect his words + had produced upon her—realizing all the more keenly, in contrast + with Delia, what a power of <i>mind</i> he had here to deal with. + “Dearest,” he said, “I must put these things into my books. You must stand + by me and help me to put them into my books!” + </p> + <p> + Section 6. Delia Gordon went away to take up her work in the city; but for + many months thereafter that missionary impulse stayed with them. They + would find themselves seized with the longing to throw aside everything + else, and to go out and preach Socialism with the living voice. They were + still immersed in its literature; they read Bellamy’s “Looking Backward”, + and Blatchford’s “Merrie England”, and Kropotkin’s “Appeal to the Young”. + They read another book about England that moved them even more—a + volume of sketches called “The People of the Abyss”, by a young writer who + was then just forging to the front—Jack London. He was the most + vital among the younger writers of the time, and Thyrsis watched his + career with eager interest. There was also not a little of wistful hunger + in his attitude—he had visions of being the next to be caught up and + transported to those far-off heights of popularity and power. + </p> + <p> + Also, they were kept in a state of excitement by the Socialist papers and + magazines that came to them. There was a great strike that summer, and + they followed the progress of it, reading accounts of the distress of the + people. Every now and then the pain of these things would prove more than + Thyrsis could bear, and he would blaze out in some fiery protest, which, + of course, the Socialist papers published gladly. So little by little + Thyrsis was coming to be known in “the movement”. Some of his friends + among the editors and publishers made strenuous protests against this + course, but little dreaming how deeply the new faith had impressed him. + </p> + <p> + In truth it was all that Thyrsis could do to hold himself in; it seemed to + him that he no longer cared about anything save this fight of the + working-class for justice. He was frightened by the prospect, when he + stopped to realize it; for he could not write anything but what he + believed, and one could not live by writing about Socialism. He thought of + his war-book, for instance. It was but two or three months since he had + finished it, and it was his one hope for success and freedom; and yet + already he had outgrown it utterly. He realized that if he had had to go + back and do it over, he could not; he could never believe in any war + again, never be interested in any war again. Wars were struggles among + ruling-classes, and whoever won them, the people always lost. Thyrsis was + now girding up his loins for a war upon war. + </p> + <p> + So there were times when it seemed that a literary career would no longer + be possible to him; that he would have to cast his lot altogether with the + people, and find his work as an agitator of the Revolution. One day a + marvellous plan flashed over him, and he came to Corydon with it, and for + nearly a week they threshed it over, tingling with excitement. They would + sell their home, and raise what money they could, and get themselves a + travelling van and a team of horses and go out upon the road on a + Socialist campaign! + </p> + <p> + It was a perfectly feasible thing, Thyrsis declared: they would carry a + supply of literature, and would get a commission upon subscriptions to + Socialist papers. He pictured them drawing up on the main street of some + country town, and ringing a dinner-bell to gather the people, and + beginning a Socialist meeting. He would make a speech, and Corydon would + sell pamphlets and books; they had animated discussions as to whether she + might not learn to make a speech also. At least, he argued, she might sing + Socialist songs! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis was forever evolving plans of this sort; plans for doing something + concrete, for coming into contact with the world of every day. The pursuit + of literature was something so cold and aloof, so comfortable and + conventional; one never pressed the hand of a person in distress, one + never saw the light of hope and inspiration kindling in another’s eyes. So + he would dream of running a publishing-house or a magazine, of founding a + library or staging a play, of starting a colony or a new religion. And + then, after he had made himself drunk upon the imagining, he would take + himself back to his real job. For that summer his only indiscretions were + to buy several thousand copies of the “Appeal to Reason”, and hire the old + horse and buggy, and distribute them over some thirty square miles of + country; also to help to organize a club for the study of Socialism at the + university; and finally, when he was in the city, to make a fiery speech + at a meeting of some “Christian Socialists.” Because of this the newspaper + reporters dug out the accounts of his earlier adventures, and “wrote him + up” with malicious bantering. And this, alas—as the publisher + pointed out—was a poor sort of preparation for the launching of the + war-novel. + </p> + <p> + Needless to add, the two did not fail to wrestle with those individuals + whom they met. Thyrsis got a collection of pamphlets, judiciously + selected, and gave them to the butcher and the grocer, the store-clerks + and the hack-drivers in the town. But a college-town was a poor place for + Socialist propaganda, as he realized with sinking heart; its population + was made up of masters and servants, and there was even more snobbery + among the servants than among the masters. The main architectural features + of the place were fraternity-houses and “eating-clubs”, where the sons of + the idle rich disported themselves; once or twice Thyrsis passed through + the town after midnight, and saw these young fellows reeling home, singing + and screaming in various stages of intoxication. Then he would think of + little children shut up in cotton-mills and coal-mines, of women dying in + pottery-works and lead-factories; and on his way home he would compose a + screed for the “Appeal to Reason”. + </p> + <p> + Section 7. Another victim of their fervor was the Rev. Mr. Harding, who + stopped in to see them several times upon his tramps. Thyrsis would never + have dreamed of troubling Mr. Harding, but Corydon found “something in + him”, and would go at him hammer and tongs whenever he appeared. It must + have been a novel experience for the clergyman; it seemed to fascinate + him, for he came again and again, and soon quite a friendship sprang up + between the two. She would tell Thyrsis about it at great length, and so, + of course, he had to change his ideas about Mr. Harding. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see how fine and sensitive he is?” she would plead. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, my dear,” said Thyrsis. “But don’t you think he’s maybe just a + bit timid?” + </p> + <p> + “Timid,” she replied. “But then think of his training! And think what you + are!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose I’m pretty bad,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + This discussion took place after he and Mr. Harding had had an argument, + in which Thyrsis had remarked casually that modern civilization was + “crucifying Jesus all over again.” And when Mr. Harding asked for + enlightenment, Thyrsis answered, “My dear man, we crucify him according to + the constitution. We teach the profession of crucifying him. We invest our + capital in the business of crucifying him. We build churches and crucify + him in his own name!” + </p> + <p> + After which explosion Corydon said, “You let me attend to Mr. Harding. I + understand him, and how he feels about things.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, my dear,” assented Thyrsis. “When I see him coming, I’ll + disappear.” + </p> + <p> + But that would not do either, it appeared, for Mr. Harding was a + conventional person, and it was necessary that he should feel he was + calling on the head of the family. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Thyrsis, “I’m supposed to sit by and serve as a chaperon?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re to answer questions when I ask you to,” replied Corydon. + </p> + <p> + Through Mr. Harding they made other acquaintances in Bellevue. There was a + Mrs. Jennings, the wife of the young principal of the High School; they + were simple and kindly people, who became fond of Corydon, and would beg + her to visit them. The girl was craving for companionship, and she would + plead with Thyrsis to accompany her, and subject himself to the agonies of + “ping-pong” and croquet; and once or twice he submitted—and so one + might have beheld them, at a lawn-party, hotly pressed by half a dozen + disputants, in a debate concerning the nature of American institutions, + and the future of religion and the home! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis seldom took human relationships seriously enough to get excited in + such arguments; but Corydon, with her intense and personal temperament, + made an eager and uncomfortable propagandist. How could anyone fail to see + what was so plain to her? And so she would bring books and pamphlets, and + lend them about. There was a young man named Harry Stuart, a fine, + handsome fellow, who taught drawing at the High School. In him, also, + Cordon discovered possibilities; and she repudiated indignantly the idea + that his soulful eyes and waving brown hair had anything to do with it. + Harry Stuart was a guileless and enthusiastic member of the State militia; + but in spite of this sinister fact, Corydon went at him. She soon had her + victim burning the midnight oil over Kautsky and Hyndman; and behold, + before the autumn had passed, the ill-fated drawing-teacher had resigned + from the State militia, and was doing cartoons for the “Appeal to Reason”! + </p> + <p> + Section 8. Corydon’s excitement over these questions was all the greater + because she was just then making the discovery of the relationship of + Socialism to the problems of her own sex. Some one sent her a copy of + Charlotte Gilman’s “Women and Economics”; she read it at a sitting, and + brought it to Thyrsis, who thus came to understand the scientific basis of + yet another article of his faith. He went on to other books—to + Lester Ward’s “Sociology”, and to Bebel’s “Woman”, and to the works of + Havelock Ellis. So he realized that women had not always been clinging + vines and frail flowers and other uncomfortable things; and the hope that + they might some day be interested in other matters than fashion and + sentiment and the pursuit of the male, was not a vain fantasy and a + Utopian dream, but was rooted in the vital facts of life. + </p> + <p> + Throughout nature, it appeared, the female was often the equal of the + male; and even in human history there had been periods when woman had held + her own with man—when the bearing of children had not been a cause + of degradation. Such had been the case with our racial ancestors, the + Germans; as one found them in Tacitus, their women were strong and free, + speaking with the men in the council-halls, and even going into battle if + the need was great. It was only when they came under the Roman influence, + and met slavery and its consequent luxury, that the Teutonic woman had + started upon the downward path. Christianity also had had a great deal to + do with it; or rather the dogmas which a Roman fanatic had imposed upon + the message of Jesus. + </p> + <p> + It was interesting to note how one might trace the enslavement of woman, + step by step with the enslavement of labor; the two things went hand in + hand, and stood or fell together. So long as life was primitive, woman + filled an economic function, and held her own with her mate. But with + slavery and exploitation, the heaping up of wealth and the advent of the + leisure-class <i>régime</i>, one saw the woman becoming definitely the + appendage of the man, a household ornament and a piece of property; + securing her survival, not by useful labor, but by sexual charm, and so + becoming specialized as a sex-creature. For generations and ages the male + had selected and bred in her those qualities which were most stimulating + to his own desires, which increased in him the sense of his own dominance; + and for generations and ages he taught the doctrine that the proper sphere + of woman was the home. If he happened to be a German emperor, he summed it + up in the sneer of “Kuche, Kinder, Kirche”. So the woman became frail and + impotent physically, and won her success by the only method that was open + to her—by finding some male whom she could ensnare. + </p> + <p> + Such had been the conditions. But now, in the present century, had come + machinery, and the development of woman’s labor; and also had come + intelligence, and woman’s discovery of her chains. So there was the + suffrage movement and the Socialist movement. After the overthrow of the + competitive wage-system and of the leisure-class tradition, woman would no + longer sell her sex-functions, whether in marriage or prostitution; and so + the sex might cease to survive by its vices, and to infect the whole race + with its intellectual and moral impotence. So would be set free the + enormous force that was locked up in the soul of woman; and human life + would be transformed by the impulse of emotions that were fundamental and + primal. So Thyrsis perceived the two great causes in which the progress of + humanity was bound up—the emancipation of labor and the emancipation + of woman; to educate and agitate and organize for which became the one + service that was worth while in life. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. The nights were beginning to grow chilly, and they realized that + autumn was at hand, and faced the prospect of another winter in that + lonely cabin. Paret, who had come down to visit them, had given it a name—“the + soap-box in a marsh.” Thyrsis saw clearly that he could not settle down to + hard work while they were shut up there. Corydon’s headaches and + prostrations seemed to be growing worse, and she could simply not get + through the winter without some help. As the book was ready, they had some + money in prospect, and their idea was that they would buy a farm with a + good house. So they might keep a horse and a cow and some chickens; and + there might be some outdoor work for Thyrsis to do, instead of trudging + aimlessly over the country. + </p> + <p> + They utilized their spare time by getting the old horse and buggy, and + inspecting and discussing all the farms within five miles of them; an + occupation which put a great strain upon their diverse temperaments. + Thyrsis would be thinking of such matters as roads and fruit-trees and + barns—and above all of prices; while Corydon would be concerned with—alas, + Corydon never dared to formulate her vision, even to herself. She had + vague memories of dilettante country-places with great open fire-places, + and exposed beams, and a broad staircase, and a deep piazza, and above + all, a view of the sunset. Whenever she came upon any vague suggestion of + these luxuries, her heart would leap up—and would then be crushed by + some reference to ten or fifteen thousand dollars. + </p> + <p> + Corydon was a poor sort of person to take an inspection-trip. She would + gaze about and say, “There might be a piazza here”; and then she would + look across the fields and add, “There’d be a good view if it weren’t for + those woods”—and wave the woods away with the gesture of a duchess. + So, of course, the observant farmer would add a thousand dollars to the + asking-price of his property. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, when Thyrsis with his remorseless thoroughness would + insist on getting out and inspecting some dilapidated and forlorn-looking + place—then what agonies would come! Corydon would pass through the + rooms, suffering all the horrors which she might have suffered in years of + occupancy of them. And there was no use pleading with her to be reserved + in her attitude—she took houses in the same way that she took + people, either loving them or hating them. So, from an afternoon’s + driving-trip, she would come home in a state of exhaustion and despair; + and Thyrsis would have to pledge himself upon oath not to think of this or + that horrible place for a single instant again. + </p> + <p> + There were times when Thyrsis, too, in spite of his lack of intuition, + felt the atmosphere of evil which hung about some of these old farms. + Having lived for a year and a half in the neighborhood, and been favored + with the gossip of the washerwoman, and of the farmer’s wife, and of the + girl who came to clean house now and then, they had come to know the + affairs of their neighbors—they had got a cross-section of an + American small-farming community. It was in amusing accord with Thyrsis’ + social theories that the only two decent families in the neighborhood + inhabited farms of over a hundred acres. There were several farms of fifty + or sixty acres occupied by tenants, who were engaged, in plundering them + as fast as they could; and then a host of little places, of from one to + twenty acres, on which families were struggling pitifully to keep alive. + And with scarcely a single exception, these homes of poverty were also + homes of degradation. Across the way from Thyrsis was an idiot man; upon + the next place lived an old man who was a hopeless drunkard, and had one + son insane, and another tubercular; and then down in the meadows below the + woods lived the Hodges—a name of direful portent. The father would + work as a laborer in town for a day or two, and buy vinegar and make + himself half insane, and then come home and beat his wife and children. + There were eleven of these latter, and a new one came each year; the + eldest were thieves, and the youngest might be seen in midwinter, playing + half-naked before the house. The Hodges were known to all the neighbors + for miles about, and the amount of energy which each farmer expended in + fighting them would have maintained the whole family in comfort for their + lives. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had travelled enough about the New England and Middle Atlantic + states to know that these conditions were typical of the small-farming + industry in all the remoter parts. The people with enterprise had moved + West, and those who stayed behind divided and mortgaged their farms, and + sunk lower and lower into misery and degradation. This was one more aspect + of that noble system of <i>laissez faire</i>; this was the independent + small-farmer, whose happiness was the theme of all orthodox economists! He + was, according to the newspaper editorials, the backbone of American + civilization; and once every two years, in November, he might be counted + upon to hitch up his buggy and drive to town, and pocket his two-dollar + bill, and roll up a glorious majority for the Grand Old Party of + Protection and Prosperity. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. The date of publication of the book had come at last. It was + being generously advertised, under the imprint of a leading house; and + Thyrsis’ heart warmed to see the advertisements. This at last, he felt, + was success; and then the reviews began to come in, and his heart warmed + still more. Here was a new note in current fiction, said the critics; here + were power and passion, a broad sweep and a genuine poetic impulse. + American history had never been treated like this before, American ideals + had never been voiced like this before. And these, Thyrsis noted, were the + opinions of the representative reviews—not those of obscure + provincial newspapers. Victory, it seemed, had come to him at last! + </p> + <p> + He came up to the metropolis on the strength of these triumphs; for he had + observed that when one had a new book coming out was the psychological + moment to attack the magazine-editors. One was a personality then, and + could command attention. It was the height of a presidential campaign, and + the Socialists were making an impression which was astonishing every one. + The idea had occurred to Thyrsis that some magazine might judge it worth + while to tell its readers about this new and picturesque movement. + </p> + <p> + To his great delight the editor of “Macintyre’s Monthly” looked with favor + upon the suggestion, and asked to see an article at once. So Thyrsis shut + himself up in a hotel-room and wrote it over night. It proved to be so + full of “ginger” that the editorial staff of Macintyre’s was delighted, + and made suggestions as to another article; at which point Thyrsis made a + desperate effort and summoned up his courage, and insinuated politely that + his stuff was worth five cents a word. The editor-in-chief replied + promptly that that seemed to him proper. + </p> + <p> + Two hundred dollars for an article! Here indeed was fame! The author went + home, and thought out another one, and after a week came up to the city + with it. + </p> + <p> + In this new article Thyrsis cited a presidential candidate before the bar + of public opinion, and propounded troublesome questions to him. Here was + the capital of the country, heaping itself up at compound interest, and + demanding dividends; here were the people, scraping and struggling to + furnish the necessary profits. Would they always be able to furnish + enough; and what would happen when they could no longer furnish them? Here + were franchises obtained by bribery, and capitalized for hundreds of + millions of dollars; and these millions, too, were heaping up + automatically. Were they to draw their interest and dividends forever? + Here were the machines of production, increasing by leaps and bounds, and + the product increasing still faster, and all counting upon foreign + markets. What would happen when Japan had its own machines, and India had + its own machines, and China had its own machines? Again, the processes of + production were being perfected, and displacing men; here were panics and + crises, displacing—yet more men. Already, in England, a good fourth + of the population had been displaced; and what were these displaced + populations to do? They had finished making over the earth for the + capitalists; and now that the work was done, there seemed to be no longer + any place on the earth for them! + </p> + <p> + Such were the problems of our time, according to Thyrsis; and why did the + statesmen of the time have nothing to say about them? When this article + had been read and discussed, young “Billy” Macintyre himself sent for + Thyrsis. This was the “real thing”, said he, with his genial <i>bonhomie</i>; + the five hundred thousand subscribers of Macintyre’s must surely have + these mirth-provoking meditations. Also, the editors themselves needed + badly to be stirred up by such live ideas; therefore would Thyrsis come to + dinner next Friday evening, and, as “Billy” phrased it, “throw a little + Socialism at them”? + </p> + <p> + Section 11. So Thyrsis moved one step higher yet up the ladder of success. + The younger Macintyre occupied half a block of mansion up on Riverside + Drive—just across the street from the town-house of Barry Creston’s + father. Thyrsis found himself in an entrance-hall where wonderful pictures + loomed vaguely in a dim, religious light; and a silent footman took his + cap, and then escorted him by a soft, plush-covered stairway to the + apartments of “Billy”, who was being helped into a dress-suit by his + valet. Thyrsis, alas, had no dress-suit, and no valet to help him into it, + but he sat on the edge of a big leather chair and proceeded to “throw a + little Socialism” at his host. Then they went down stairs, and there were + Morris and Hemingway, of the editorial staff, and “Buddie” Comings, most + popular of novelists, and “Bob” Desmond, most famous of illustrators. And + a little later on came Macintyre the elder, who had also been judged to + stand in need of some Socialism. + </p> + <p> + Macintyre the elder was white-haired and rosy-cheeked. He had begun life + as an emigrant-boy, running errands for a book-shop. In course of time he + had become a partner, and then had started a cheap magazine for the + printing of advertisements. From this had come the reprinting of cheap + books for premiums; until now, after forty years, Macintyre’s was one of + the leading publishing-concerns of the country. Recently the important + discovery had been made that the printing of half-inch advertisements + headed “FITS” and “OBESITY” prevented the securing of full-page + advertisements about automobiles. The former kind was therefore being + diverted to the religious papers of the country, whose subscribers were + now getting the “blood of the lamb” diluted with twenty-five per cent. + alcohol and one and three-fourths per cent. opium. But such facts were not + allowed to interfere with the optimistic philosophy of “Macintyre’s + Monthly”. + </p> + <p> + The elder Macintyre seemed to Thyrsis the most naïve and lovable old soul + he had encountered in many a year. When he espied Thyrsis, he waited for + no preliminaries, but went up to him as he stood by the fire-place, and + put an arm about him, and led him off to a seat by the window. “I want to + talk to you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” he went on, “I read that article of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Which one?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “The last one. And you know, Billy’s got to stop putting things like that + in the magazine!” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Thyrsis, alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have it! He must not print that article!” + </p> + <p> + “But he’s accepted it!” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But he should have consulted me.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but I wrote it at his order. And he promised to pay me—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right,” said the old gentleman, with a genial smile. + “We’ll pay for it, of course.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s pause, while Thyrsis caught his breath. + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” continued the other, “that’s a terrible article!” + </p> + <p> + “Um,” said the author—“possibly.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you write such things?” + </p> + <p> + “But isn’t it true, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Macintyre pondered. “You know,” he said, “I think you are a very + clever fellow, and you know a lot; much more than I do, I’ve no doubt. But + what I don’t understand is, why don’t you put it into a book?” + </p> + <p> + “Into a book?” echoed Thyrsis, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” explained the other—“then it won’t hurt anybody but yourself. + Why should you try to get it into my magazine, and scare away my + half-million subscribers?” + </p> + <p> + Section 12. They went in to dinner, which was served upon silver-plate, by + the light of softly-shaded candles; and while the velvet-footed waiters + caused their food to appear and disappear by magic, Thyrsis fulfilled his + mission and “threw Socialism” at the company. + </p> + <p> + The company had its guns loaded, and they went at it hot and heavy. The + editors wanted to know about “the home” under Socialism; to which Thyrsis + made retort by picturing “the home” under capitalism. They wanted to know + about liberty and individuality under Socialism; and so Thyrsis discussed + the liberty and individuality of the hundred thousand wage-slaves of the + Steel Trust. They sought to tangle him in discussions as to the + desirability of competition, and the impossibility of escaping it; but + Thyrsis would bring them back again and again to the central fact of + exploitation, which was the one fact that counted. They insisted upon + knowing how this, that, and the other thing would be done in the + Cooperative Commonwealth; to which Thyrsis answered, “Do you ask for a map + of heaven before you join the Church?” + </p> + <p> + It was “Billy” Macintyre who brought up a somewhat delicate question; how + would such an institution as “Macintyre’s Monthly” be run under Socialism? + Thyrsis replied by quoting Kautsky’s formula: “Communism in material + production, Anarchism in intellectual”. He showed how the state might + print and bind and distribute, while men in “free associations” might edit + and publish. But one could not get very far in this exposition, because of + the excitement of the elder Macintyre. For the old gentleman was like a + small boy who is being robbed of his marbles; if there had been a mob + outside his publishing-house, he could not have been more agitated. He + took occasion to state, with the utmost solemnity, that he disapproved of + such discussions; and “Billy”, who sat between him and Thyrsis, had to + interfere now and then and soothe the “pater” down. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Macintyre’s views on the subject of capitalism were simple and easy to + understand. There could be nothing really wrong with a system which had + brought so many great and good men into control of the country’s affairs. + Mr. Macintyre knew this, because he had played golf with them all and gone + yachting with them all. And this was a perfectly genuine conviction; if + there had been the slightest touch of sham in it, the old gentleman would + have been more cautious in the examples he chose. He would name man after + man who was among the most notorious of the country’s “malefactors of + great wealth”—men whose financial crimes had been proven beyond any + possibility of doubting. He would name them in a voice overflowing with + affection and admiration, as benefactors of humanity upon a cosmic scale; + and of course that would end the argument in a gale of laughter. When the + elder Macintyre entered the discussion, all the rest of the company moved + forthwith to Thyrsis’ side, and there were six Socialists confronting one + business-man. And this was a very puzzling and alarming thing to the old + gentleman—his son and his magazine were getting away from him, and + he did not know what to make of the phenomenon! + </p> + <p> + Section 13. Thyrsis judged that the tidings must have got about that there + was a new “lion” in town; for a couple of days after this he was called up + by Comings, most popular of novelists, who asked him to have luncheon at + the “Thistle” club. And when Thyrsis went, Comings explained that Mrs. + Parmley Fatten had read his book, and was anxious to meet him, and + requested that he be brought round to tea. The other was tactless enough + to let it transpire that he knew nothing about Mrs. Patton; but Comings + was too tactful to show his surprise. Mrs. Patton, he explained, was + socially prominent—was looked upon as the leader of a set that went + in for intellectual things. She was interested in social reform and + woman’s suffrage, and was worth helping along; and besides that, she was a + charming woman—Thyrsis would surely find the adventure worth while. + Then suddenly, while he was listening, it flashed over Thyrsis that he <i>had</i> + heard of Mrs. Patton before; the lady was in mourning for her brother, and + Corydon had recently handed him a “society” item, which told of some + unique and striking “mourning-hosiery” which she was introducing from + Paris. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis in former days might have been shy of this phenomenon; but at + present he was a collecting economist on the look-out for specimens, and + so he said he would go. He met Comings again at five o’clock, and they + strolled out Fifth Avenue together to Mrs. Patton’s brown-stone palace. + Thyrsis observed that his friend had been considerate enough to omit his + afternoon change of costume, and for this he was grateful. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Patton was still in mourning, a filmy and diaphanous kind of + mourning, beautiful enough to placate the angel Azrael himself. A filmy + and diaphanous creature was Mrs. Patton also—one could never have + dreamed of so exquisite a black butterfly. She was very sweet and + sympathetic, and told Thyrsis how much she had liked his book—so + that Thyrsis concluded she was not half so bad as he had expected. After + all, she might not have been to blame for the hosiery story—it might + even have been a lie. He reflected that the yellow journals no doubt lied + as freely about young leaders of intellectual sets in “society” as they + did about starving authors. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Patton wanted to know about Socialism, and sighed because it seemed + so far away. She made several remarks that showed real intelligence—and + this was startling to Thyrsis, who would as soon have expected + intelligence from a real butterfly. He got a strange impression of a + personality struggling to get into contact with life from behind a wall + some ten million dollars high. Mrs. Patton had three young children, and + her husband was one of the “Standard Oil crowd”; she complained to Thyrsis + that “Parmy”—so she referred to the gentleman—was always in + terror over her vagaries. + </p> + <p> + It was a new discovery to the author that the very rich might live under + the shadow of fear, quite as much as the very poor. Their wealth made them + a target for newspaper satire, so that they dared not depart from + convention in the slightest detail. Mrs. Patton told how once she had + ventured to romp for a few minutes with some children on the grounds of + the “Casino”, and the next day all the world had read that she was + introducing “tag” as a diversion for the Newport colony. + </p> + <p> + There came other callers, both women and men; Percy Ambler, man of fashion + and dilettante poet; and with him little Murray Symington, who wrote the + literary chat for “Knickerbocker’s Weekly”, and was therefore a power to + be propitiated. There came Blanchard, the young and progressive publisher + of the “Beau Monde”, a weekly whose circulation rivalled that of + “Macintyre’s”. There came also young Macklin, Mrs. Patton’s nephew, with + his monocle and his killing drawl. Macklin came by these honestly, having + been brought up in England; but Thyrsis did not know that—he only + heard the young gentleman’s passing reference to his yacht, and to his + passion for the poetry of Stéphane Mallarmé; and so he had it in for + Macklin. Thyrsis had got involved in a serious discussion with Mrs. Patton + and Symington, and was in the act of saying that the social problem could + not be much longer left unsolved; and then he chanced to turn, and + discovered young Macklin, surveying him with elaborate superciliousness, + and asking with his British drawl, “Aw—I beg pawdon—but what + do you mean by the social problem?” And Thyrsis, with a quick glance at + him, answered, “I mean you.” So Macklin subsided; and Thyrsis learned + afterwards that his remark was going the rounds, being considered to be a + <i>mot</i>. It appeared the next week in the columns of a paper devoted to + “society” gossip; and many a literary reputation had been made by a lesser + triumph than that. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis got new light upon the making of reputations, when he looked into + the next issue of “Knickerbocker’s Weekly”. There he found that Murray + Symington had devoted no less than three paragraphs to his personality and + his book. It was all “sprightly”—that was Murray’s tone—but + also it was cordial; and it referred to Thyrsis’ earlier novel, “The + Hearer of Truth”, as “that brilliant piece of work”. Thyrsis read this + with consternation—recalling that when the book had come out, not + two years ago, “Knickerbocker’s Weekly” had referred to it as a + “preposterous concoction”. Could it be true that an author’s work was + “preposterous” while he was starving in a garret, and became “brilliant” + when he was found in the drawing-room of Mrs. “Parmy” Patton? + </p> + <p> + Section 14. Thyrsis went on to penetrate yet deeper into these mysteries; + there came a call from Murray Symington, to say that Mrs. Jesse Dyckman + wanted him to dinner. Jesse Dyckman he recognized as the name of one of + the most popular contributors to the magazines—his short stories of + Fifth Avenue life were the delight of the readers of the “Beau Monde”. + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t go to dinner-parties with women!” protested Thyrsis. “I don’t + dress!” + </p> + <p> + Murray took that message; but in a few minutes he called up again. “She + says she doesn’t care whether you dress or not.” + </p> + <p> + “But then, I don’t <i>eat!</i>” protested Thyrsis, who had recently + discovered Horace Fletcher. + </p> + <p> + “I know <i>that</i> won’t count,” said the other, laughing. “She doesn’t + want you to eat—she wants you to talk.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jesse Dyckman inhabited an apartment in a “studio-building” not far + from Central Park; and here was more luxury and charm—a dining-room + done in dark red, with furniture of some black wood, and candles and + silver and cut glass, quite after the fashion of the Macintyres. Thyrsis + was admitted by a French maid-servant; and there was Mrs. Dyckman, + resplendent in white shoulders and a necklace of pearls; and there was + Dyckman himself, even more prosperous and contented-looking than his + pictures, and even more brilliant and cynical than his tales. Also there + was his sister, Mrs. Partridge, the writer of musical comedies; and a Miss + Taylor, who filled the odd corners of the magazines with verses, which + Corydon had once described as “cheap cheer-up stuff”. + </p> + <p> + So here was the cream of the “literary world”; and Thyrsis, as he watched + and listened to it, was working out the formula of magazine success. Mrs. + Dyckman sat next to him, displaying her shoulders and her culture; it + seemed to him that she must have spent all her spare time picking up + phrases about the books and pictures and plays and music of the hour, so + as to be ready for possible mention of them at her dinner-parties. She had + opinions on tap about everything; opinions just enough “advanced” to be + striking and original, and yet not too far “advanced” for good form. Jesse + Dyckman’s short stories were the sort in which you read how the hero + handled his cigarette, and were told that the heroine was clad in “dimity + <i>en princesse”</i>. You learned the names of the latest fashionable + drinks, and the technicalities of automobiles, and met with references to + far-off and intricate standards of social excellence. + </p> + <p> + To Thyrsis it appeared that he could see before him the whole career of + such a man. He had trained himself by years of apprenticeship in snobbery; + he had studied the fashions not only in costume and manners, but also in + books and opinions. He had been educated in a “fraternity”, and had chosen + a wife who had been educated in a “sorority”; they had set up in this + apartment, with silver service and three French servants, and proceeded to + give dinners, and cultivate people who “counted.” And so had come the + pleasant berth with the “Beau Monde”; one or two stories every month, and + one thousand dollars for each story—as one might read in all + newspaper accounts of the “earnings of authors”. + </p> + <p> + The “Beau Monde” might have been described as a magazine for the + standardizing of the newly-rich. A group of these existed in every town in + the country, and had their “society” in every little city. They would come + to New York and put up at expensive hotels, and get their education in + theatres and opera-houses and “lobster-palaces”; in addition they had this + weekly messenger of good form. In its advertising-columns one read of the + latest things in cigarettes and highballs and haberdashery and candies and + autos; and in its reading-matter one found the leisure-class world, and + the leisure-class idea of all other worlds. Young Blanchard himself was in + the most “exclusive” society; and if one stayed close to him, one might + worm his way past the warders. Among the regular contributors to the “Beau + Monde” and to “Macintyre’s”, there were a dozen men who had risen by this + method; and some of them had been real writers at the outset—had + started with a fund of vigor, at least. But now they spent their evenings + at dinner-parties, and their days lounging about in two or three expensive + cafés, reading the afternoon papers, exchanging gossip, and acquiring the + necessary stock of cynicism for their next picture of leisure-class life. + </p> + <p> + It was what might have been described as the “court method” of literary + achievement. The centre of it was the young prince who held the + purse-strings; and the court was a coterie of bookish men of fashion and + rich women whose husbands were occupied in the stock-market. They set the + tone and dispensed the favors; one who stood in their good graces would be + practically immune to criticism, no matter how seedy his work might come + to be. Nobody liked to “roast” a man with whom he had played golf at a + week-end party; and who could be so impolite as to slight the work of a + lady-poetess whom he had taken in to dinner? + </p> + <p> + Section 15. Thyrsis studied these people, and measured himself against them. + He was not blinded by any vanity; he knew that it would not have taken him + a week to turn out a short story which would have had the requisite + qualities for Macintyre’s—which would have been clever and + entertaining, would have had genuine sentiment, and as large a proportion + of sincerity as the magazine admitted. He could have suggested that he + thought it was worth five hundred dollars, and “Billy” Macintyre would + have nodded and sent him a check. And then he could have moved up to town, + and got a frock-coat, and paid another call upon Mrs. “Parmy” Patton. Then + his friend Comings would have put him up for the “Thistle”, he would have + got to know the men who made literary opinion, and so his career would + have been secure. + </p> + <p> + Nor need he have made any apparent break with his convictions. In + “society” one met all sorts of eccentrics—“babus” and “yogis”, + Christian Scientists, spiritualists and theosophists, Fletcherites, + vegetarians and “raw-fooders”. And there would be ample room for his fad—it + was quite “English” to be touched with Socialism. All that one had to do + was to be entertaining in one’s presentation of it, and to confine one’s + self to its literary aspects—not setting forth plans for the + expropriation of the house of Macintyre! + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had one grievous handicap, of course. He would have had to keep + his wife and child in the background; for Corydon, alas, would not have + scored as a giver of dinner-parties. From a woman like Mrs. Jesse Dyckman, + skilled in intellectual fence, and merciless to her inferiors, Corydon + would have turned tail and fled. Thyrsis was able to sit by and let Mrs. + Dyckman wave the plumes of her wit and spread the tail-feathers of her + culture before his astonished eyes, and at the same time occupy his mind + with studying her, and working out her “economic interpretation”. But + Corydon took life too intensely, and people too personally for that. + </p> + <p> + But she would have let him go, if he had told her that it was best. So why + should he not do it—why should he turn his back upon this + opportunity, and return to the “soap-box in a marsh” to wrestle with + loneliness and want? The fact of the matter was that the thing which + seemed so easy to his intellect, was impossible to his character. Thyrsis + could not have anything to do with these people without hypocrisy; merely + to sit and talk pleasantly with them was to lie. They were to him the + enemy, the thing he was in life to fight. And he hated all that they stood + for in the world—he hated their ideas and their institutions, their + virtues as well as their vices. + </p> + <p> + He had been down into the bottom-most pit of hell, and the sights that he + had seen there had withered him up. How could he derive enjoyment from + silks and jewels, from rich foods and fine wines, when he heard in his + ears the cries of agony of the millions he had left behind him in that + seething abyss? And should he trample upon their faces, as so many others + had trampled? Should he make a ladder of their murdered hopes, to climb + out to fame and fortune? Not he! + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him sometimes, as he thought about it, that he alone, of all + men living, had power to voice the despair of these tortured souls. Others + had been down into that pit, and had come out alive; but who was there + among them that was an <i>artist;</i> that could forge his hatred into a + weapon, sharp enough and stout enough to be driven through the tough hide + of the world of culture? To be an artist meant to have spent years and + decades in toil and study, in disciplining and drilling one’s powers; and + who was there that had descended into the social inferno, and had come + back with strength enough to accomplish that labor? + </p> + <p> + So it seemed to him that he was the bearer of a gospel, that he had to + teach the world something it could otherwise not know. He had tried out + upon his own person, and upon the persons of his loved ones, the effects + of poverty and destitution, of cold and hunger, of solitude and sickness + and despair. And so he knew, of his own knowledge, the meaning of the + degradation that he saw in modern society—of suicide and insanity, + of drunkenness and vice and crime, of physical and mental and moral decay. + He knew, and none could dispute him! Therefore he must nerve himself for + the struggle; he must deliver that message, and pound home that truth. He + must keep on and on—in defiance of authority, in the face of all the + obloquy and ridicule that the prostitute powers of civilization could heap + upon him. He must live for that work, and die for it—to make real to + the thinking world the infamies and the horrors of the capitalist <i>régime</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XV. THE CAPTIVE FAINTS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>“Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go? + Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on.” + </i></pre> + <p> + “Do you remember how you used to tell me that?” she whispered. “Hoping—always + hoping!” + </p> + <p> + “And always young!” he added. + </p> + <p> + “How did I keep so?” she said, with wonder in her voice; and he read— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Thou nearest the immortal chants—of old!— + Putting his sickle to the perilous grain + In the hot corn-field of the Phrygian king, + For thee the Lityerses-song again + Young Daphnis with his silver voice doth sing!” + </pre> + <p> + Then a smile of mischief crossed her face, and she asked, “Which Daphnis?” + </p> + <p> + Section 1. Thyrsis came back to his home in the country, divided between + satisfaction over the four hundred dollars worth of booty he had captured, + and a great uneasiness concerning his novel. It had had with the critics + all the success that he could have asked, but unfortunately it did not + seem to be selling. Already it had been out three weeks, and the sales had + been only a thousand copies. The publisher confessed himself disappointed, + but said that it was too early to be certain; they must allow time for the + book to make its way, for the opinions of the reviews to take effect. + </p> + <p> + And so, for week after week, Thyrsis watched and hoped against hope—the + old, heart-sickening experience. In the end he came to realize that he had + achieved that most cruel of all literary ironies, the <i>succés</i> <i>d’estime</i>. + The critics agreed that he had written a most unusual book; but then, the + critics did not really count—they had no way of making their verdict + effective. What determined success or failure was the department-store + public. It would take a whim for a certain novel; and when a novel had + once begun to sell, it would be advertised and pushed to the front, and + everything else would give way before it, quite regardless of what the + critic’s had said. A book-review appeared only once, but an advertisement + might appear a score of times, and be read all over the country. So the + public would have pounded into its consciousness the statement that + “Hearts Aflame”, by Dorothy Dimple, was a masterpiece of + character-drawing, full of thrilling incident and alive with pulsing + passion. The department-store public, which was not intelligent enough to + distinguish between a criticism and an advertisement, would accept all + these opinions at their face-value. And that was success; even the critics + bowed to it in the end—as you might note by the change in their tone + when they came to review the next work by this “popular” novelist. + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis faced the ghastly truth that another year and a half of toiling + and waiting had gone for nothing—the heights of opportunity were + almost as far away as ever. He had to summon up his courage and nerve + himself for yet another climb; and Corydon would have to face the prospect + of another winter in the “soap-box in a marsh”. + </p> + <p> + It was now November, and Thyrsis had written nothing but Socialist + manifestoes for six months. He was restless and chafing again; but living + in distress as they were, he could not get his thoughts together at all. + He must have been a trying person to live in the house with at such a + time. “You ask me to take love for granted,” said Corydon to him once; + “but how can I, when your every expression is contradictory to love?” + </p> + <p> + How could he explain to her his trouble? Here again was the pressure of + that dreadful “economic screw”, that was crushing their love, and all + beauty and joy and hope in their hearts. They might fight against it with + all the power of their beings; they might fall down upon their knees + together, and pledge themselves with anguish in their voices and tears in + their eyes; but still the remorseless pressure would go on, day and night, + week after week, without a moment’s respite. + </p> + <p> + There was this little house, for instance. It was all that Thyrsis wanted, + and all that he would ever have wanted; and yet he could not be happy in + it, because Corydon was not happy in it. He must be plotting and planning + and worrying, straining every nerve to get to another house; he might not + even think of any other possibility—that would be treason to her. So + always it seemed—he had to turn his face a way that he did not wish + to travel, he had to go on against every instinct of his own nature. His + love for Corydon was such that he would be ashamed whenever his own + instincts showed themselves. But then he would go alone, and try to do his + work, and then discover the havoc this had wrought in his own being. + </p> + <p> + Just now the tension had reached the breaking point; the craving for + solitude and peace was eating him up. + </p> + <p> + “What is it that you want?” asked Corydon, one day. + </p> + <p> + “I want to be where I don’t have to see anybody,” he cried. “I want to + rough it in a tent, as I did once before.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s too late to go to the Adirondacks, Thyrsis!” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” he said. “But there are other places.” + </p> + <p> + He had heard of one in Virginia—in that very Wilderness of which he + had written so eloquently, but had never seen. “Isn’t there some one who + could come and stay with you?” he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” replied Corydon. But the next day, as fate would have it, + there came a letter from Delia Gordon, saying that she had finished a + certain stage of her study-course, and was tired out and in fear of + break-down. So an invitation was sent and accepted, and Thyrsis secured + the respite which he craved. + </p> + <p> + And so behold him as a hermit once more, settled in a deserted cabin not + far from the battle-field of Spotsylvania. He had got rid of the vermin in + the cabin by burning sulphur, and had stocked his establishment with a + canvas-cot and a camp-stool and a lamp and an oil-can, and the usual + supply of beans and bacon and rice and corn-meal and prunes. Also he had + built himself a rustic table, and unpacked a trunkful of blankets and + dishes and writing-pads and books. So once more his life was his own, and + a thing of delight to him. + </p> + <p> + He had promised himself to live off the country, as he had before; but the + principal game here was the wild turkey, and the wild turkey proved itself + a shy and elusive bird. It was not occupied with meditations concerning + literary masterpieces; and so it had a great advantage over Thyrsis, who + would forget that he had a gun with him after the first half-hour of a + “hunt”. + </p> + <p> + Section 2. It had now become clear to Thyrsis that he had nothing more to + expect from his novel; it had sold less than two thousand copies, which + meant that it had not earned the money which had already been advanced to + him. But all that was now ancient history—the entrenchments and + graveyards of the Wilderness battlefield were not more forgotten and + overgrown with new life than was the war-book in Thyrsis’ mind. He had had + enough of being a national chronicler which the nation did not want; he + had come down to the realities of the hour, to the blazing protest of the + new Revolution. + </p> + <p> + For ten years now Thyrsis had been playing at the game of professional + authorship; he had studied the literary world both high and low, and had + seen enough to convince him that it was an impossible thing to produce art + in such a society. The modern world did not know what art was, it was + incapable of forming such a concept. That which it called “art” was fraud + and parasitism—its very heart was diseased. + </p> + <p> + For the essence of art was unselfishness; it was an emotion which + overflowed, and which sought to communicate itself to others from an + impulse of pure joy. It was of necessity a social thing; the supreme + art-products of the race had been, like the Greek tragedy and the Gothic + cathedral, a result of the labor of a whole community. And what could the + modern man, a solitary and predatory wolf in the wilderness of <i>laissez</i> + <i>faire</i>—what could he conceive of such a state of soul? What + would happen to a man who gave himself up to such a state of soul, in a + community where the wolf-law and the wolf-customs prevailed? + </p> + <p> + A grim purpose had been forming itself in Thyrsis’ mind. He would suppress + the artist in himself for the present—he would do it, cost whatever + agony it might. He would turn propagandist for a while; instead of + scattering his precious seed in barren soil, he would set to work to make + the soil ready. There was seething in his mind a work of revolutionary + criticism, which would sweep into the rubbish-heap the idols of the + leisure-class world. + </p> + <p> + It was his idea to go back to first principles; to study the bases of + modern society, and show how its customs and institutions came to be, and + interpret its art as a product of these. He would show what the modern + artist was, and how he got his living, and how this moulded his work. He + would take the previous art-periods of history and study them, showing by + what stages the artist had evolved, and so gaining a stand-point from + which to prophesy what he would come to be in the future. Only once had an + attempt ever been made to apply to questions of art the methods of science—in + Nordau’s “Degeneration”. But then Nordau’s had been pseudo-science—three-quarters + impertinence and conceit. The world still waited to understand its + art-products in the light of scientific Socialism. + </p> + <p> + Such was the task which Thyrsis was planning. It would mean years of + study, and how he was to get the means to do it, he could not guess. But + he had his mind made up to do it, though it might be the last of his + labors, though everything else in his life might end in shipwreck. He went + about all day, possessed with the idea; it would be a colossal work, an + epoch-making work—it would be the culmination of his efforts and the + vindication of his claims. It would save the men who came after him; and + to save the men who came after him had now become the formula of his life. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. Thyrsis would come back from a sojourn such as this with all his + impulses of affection and sympathy renewed; he would have had time to miss + Corydon, and to realize how closely he was bound to her. He would be eager + to tell her all his adventures, and the wonderful plans which he had + formed. + </p> + <p> + But this time it was Corydon who had adventures to narrate. He realized as + soon as he saw her that she had something upon her mind; and at the first + occasion she led him off to his own study, and shut the door. He got a + fire going, and she sat opposite him and gazed at him. + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis,” she said, “I hardly know how to begin.” + </p> + <p> + It was all very formal and mysterious. “What is it, dear?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s something terrible,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you’re going to be + angry.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he repeated, more anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I was angry myself, at first,” she said; “but I’ve got over it now. And I + want you please to be reasonable.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis,” she whispered, after a pause, “it’s Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “Harry?” + </p> + <p> + “Harry Stuart, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said he. He had all but forgotten the young drawing-teacher, whom he + had left doing Socialist cartoons. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Thyrsis, I always liked him very much. And he’s been coming up + here—quite a good deal. I didn’t see why he shouldn’t come—Delia + liked him too, and she was with us most of the time. Was it wrong of me to + let him come?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said he. “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it’s silly of me,” Corydon continued, hesitatingly—“but I’m + always imagining things about people. And he seemed to me to have such + possibilities. He has—how shall I say it—” + </p> + <p> + “I recall your saying he had soulful eyes,” put in Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll make fun of it all, of course,” said Corydon. “But it’s really + very tragic. You see, he’s never met a woman like me before.” + </p> + <p> + “I can believe that, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—a woman that has any real ideas. He would ask me questions + by the hour; and we talked about everything. So, of course, we talked + about love; and he—he asked if I was happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Thyrsis, grimly. “Of course you said that you were + miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say much. I told him that your work was hard, and that my + courage wasn’t always equal to my task. Anyone can see that I have + suffered.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” said Thyrsis, “of course. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day—it was last Friday—he came up with a carriage + to take us driving. And Delia had a headache, and wanted to rest, and so + Harry and I went alone. I—I guess I shouldn’t have gone, but I + didn’t realize it. It was a beautiful afternoon, and we both had a good + time—in fact, I don’t know when I have been so contentedly happy. We + stopped to gather wild flowers, and once we sat by a little stream; and of + course, we talked and talked, and before I realized it, twilight was + falling, and we were a long way from home.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Thyrsis, as she hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “We started out. I recollected later, though I didn’t seem to notice it at + the time—that Harry’s voice seemed to grow husky, and he spoke + indistinctly. He had let the horse have the reins, and his arm was on the + back of my seat. I hadn’t noticed it; but then—then—fancy my + horror—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “It happened—all of a sudden.” Corydon stammered, her cheeks turning + scarlet. “I felt his arm clasp me; and I turned and stared, and his face + was close to mine, and his eyes were fairly shining.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. “What did you do?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “I just looked at him calmly, and said, ‘Oh, how <i>could</i> you?’ And at + that he took his arm away quickly, and sat up stiff and straight, with a + terribly hurt expression. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I was mad.’ And we + neither of us spoke a word all the way home. And when we came to the + house, I jumped out of the carriage without saying good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon sat staring at her husband, with her wide-open, anxious eyes. “And + was that all?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To-day I had a letter from him. He said he was going away, over the + Christmas holidays. He said that he was very much ashamed of himself, and + he hoped that I would be able to forgive him. And that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + They sat for a while in silence. “You won’t be too angry?” asked Corydon, + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not angry at all,” he said. “But naturally it’s disturbing. I don’t + like to have such things happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s strange, you know,” said Corydon, “but I haven’t seemed to stay very + indignant. He was so hurt, you know—and I can realize how unhappy + he’s been. Curiously enough, I’ve even found myself thinking that I’d like + to see him again. And that puzzled me. I felt that I ought to be quite + outraged. That he should imagine he could hug me—like any + shop-girl!” + </p> + <p> + They spent many hours discussing this adventure; in fact it was a week or + two before they had disposed of it entirely. Thyrsis was hoping that the + experience might be utilized to persuade Corydon to modify her utopian + attitude towards young men with soulful eyes and waving brown hair. He was + at some pains to set forth to her the psychology of the male creature—insisting + that he knew more about this than she did, and that his remarks applied to + drawing-teachers as well as to all other arts and professions. + </p> + <p> + The main question, of course, was as to their attitude towards Harry + Stuart when he returned. Corydon, it became clear, had forgiven him; the + phraseology of his letter was touching, and he was now invested in the + glamor of penitence. She insisted that the episode might be overlooked, + and that their friendship could go on as before. But Thyrsis argued + vigorously that their relationship could never be the same again, and + declared that they ought not to meet. + </p> + <p> + “But then,” Corydon protested, “he’ll be at the Jennings! And I can’t snub + him!” + </p> + <p> + “What does Delia think about it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” Corydon exclaimed. “I haven’t told Delia a word of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t told her! But why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she’d be horrified. She’d never speak to Harry Stuart again!” + </p> + <p> + “But then you want <i>me</i> to speak to him! And even to be cordial to + him! You want to go ahead and carry on a sentimental flirtation with him—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Thyrsis!” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “But that’s what it would come to. And how much peace of mind do you + suppose I’d have, while I knew that was going on?” + </p> + <p> + At which Corydon sighed pathetically. “I’m a fine sort of emancipated + woman!” she said. “Don’t you see you’re playing the role of the + conventional jealous husband?” + </p> + <p> + But as she thought over the matter in the privacy of her own mind she was + filled with perplexity, and wondered at herself. She found herself + actually longing to see Harry Stuart. She asked herself, “Can it really be + I, Corydon, who am capable of being interested in any other man besides my + husband?” She could not bring herself to face the fact that it was true. + </p> + <p> + Section 4. Thyrsis went away, and took to wandering about the country, + wrestling with his new book. After the fashion of every work that came to + possess him, it seemed to possess him as no other work had ever done + before. His mind was in a turmoil with it, his thoughts racing from one + part to another; he would stop in the midst of pumping a bucket of water + or bringing in a supply of wood, to jot down some notes that came to him. + Each day he realized more fully the nature of the task. Seated alone at + night in his tiny cabin, his spirit would cry out in terror at the burden + that had been heaped upon it. + </p> + <p> + He had decided upon the title of the book—“Art and Money: an Essay + in the Economic Interpretation of Literature”. And then, late one night, + as he was pondering it, there had flashed over him the form into which he + should cast the work; he would make it, not only an exposition of his + philosophy, but the story of his life, the cry of his soul. There had come + to him an introductory statement; it was a smashing thing—a thing + that would arrest and stun! Disraeli had said that a critic was a man who + had failed as a creative writer; and Thyrsis would take that taunt and + make it into his battle-cry. “I who write this,” he would say—“I am + a failure; I am a murdered artist! I sit by the corpse of my dead dreams, + I dip my pen into the heart’s blood of my strangled vision!” So he would + indict the forces that had murdered him, and through the rest of the book + he would pursue them—he would track them to their lair and corner + them, and slay them with a sharp sword. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Delia Gordon had gone back to her studies, and Corydon had + settled down to her lonely task. She washed and dressed and fed the baby, + and satisfied what she could of his insatiable demands for play. Thyrsis + would come and help to get the meals and wash the dishes; but even then he + was poor company—he was either tired out, or lost in thought, and + his nerves were in such a state that he could not bear to be criticized. + It was getting to be harder for him to endure the strain of hearing + complaints; and so Corydon shrunk more and more into herself, and took to + pouring out her soul in long letters and journals. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible,” she wrote to Delia, “that to some people life is a + continuous expiation—an expiation of submerged hereditary sins, as + well as of conscious ones? A great deal of the time life seems to me a + hopeless puzzle; I am so utterly unfitted for the roles I labor to play. + Is it that I am too low for my environment? Or can it be that I am too + high? Surely there must some day be other things that women can do in the + world besides training children. I try to love my task, but I have no + talent for it, and it is a frightful strain upon me. After one hour of + blocks and choo-choo cars, I am perfectly prostrated. I have been cheated + out of the joys of motherhood, that is the truth—the spring was + poisoned for me at the very beginning. + </p> + <p> + “You must not mind my lamentations, dear Delia,” she wrote in another + letter. “You can’t imagine how lonely my life is—no, for it is + different when you are here. Oh, I am so weary! so weary! It didn’t use to + be like this. Every moment of leisure I had I would run and try to study; + I would read something—I was always eager and hungry. But now I am + dull—I do not follow my inspirations. If only Thyrsis and I might + sometimes read together! I love to be read to, but he cannot bear it—he + reads three times as fast to himself, he says. He will do it if I am sick; + but even then it makes him nervous, and I cannot help but know that, + however he tries to hide it. It is one of our troubles, but we know each + other’s states of mind intuitively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Delia, was there ever a tragedy in the world like that of our love? + (Almost everything in our lives is pain, and so we are coming to stand for + pain to each other!) I ask myself sometimes if any two people who love + could stand what we have to stand. Sometimes I think they could, if their + love was different; but then that thought breaks my heart! Why cannot our + love be different, I ask! + </p> + <p> + “I had one of my frightful fits of unhappiness to-day. It was nothing—it + was my fault, I guess. I am very sensitive. But I think it is a tendency + of Thyrsis’ temperament to try instinctively to overcome mine. Apparently + the only thing that will conquer him is seeing me suffer; then he will + give way—he will promise anything I want, blame himself for his + rigidity, scourge himself for his blindness, do anything at all I ask. So + I tell myself, everything will be different now; the last problem is + solved! I see how good and kind he is, how noble his impulses are; he has + never failed me in the big things of life. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Mr. Harding writes you about us. He was up here this afternoon. + He was very gentle and kind to me; he talked about his religion. Did you + tell him much about me? It is a singular thing, how he seems to understand + without being told. I realized to-day that whenever we talk about my life, + we take everything for granted. Also, it seems strange that he does not + blame me; generally people who are conventional think that I am selfish, + that I ought to be loving my baby, instead of struggling with my pitiful + soul. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote a little stanza the other night, dear Delia. Doesn’t it seem + strange, that when I am at the last gasp with agony, I should find myself + thinking of lines of poetry? I called it ‘Life’; you will say that it is + too sombre— + </p> + <p> + “‘A lonely journey in a night of storm, Lighted by flashes of inconstant + faith, Goaded by multitudes of vague desires, And mocked by phantoms of + remote delight!’” + </p> + <p> + Section 5. Just at this time Corydon found herself the victim of backaches + and fits of exhaustion, for which there was no cause to be discovered. + Each attack meant that Thyrsis would have to drop his work, and come and + be housekeeper and nurse; he would have to repress every slightest sign of + the impatience, which, was burning him up—knowing that if he gave + vent to it, he would drive Corydon half-wild with suffering. After two or + three such crises, he made up his mind that it was impossible for him to + go on, until there was some one to help her in these emergencies. + </p> + <p> + As a result of their farm-hunting expeditions, they had in mind a place + which was a compromise between their different requirements. It had a good + barn and plenty of fruit, and at the same time a view, and a house with + comfortable rooms, and wall-paper that was not altogether unendurable. It + was offered for four thousand dollars, of which nearly three-quarters + might remain upon mortgage; so they had agreed that their future happiness + would depend upon the war-book’s bringing them in a thousand dollars. + Since this hope had failed, he had applied to Darrell, and to Paret, but + neither of them had the money to spare. It now fell out, that just as he + was at the point of desperation, he received a letter from the clergyman + who had married them, Dr. Hamilton. This worthy man had been reading + Thyrsis’ manuscripts and following his career; and he now wrote to tell + how greatly he had been impressed by the new novel. Whereupon the author + was seized by a sudden resolve, and packed up a hand-satchel and set out + for the city, with all the forces of his being nerved for an assault upon + this ill-fated clergyman. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Hamilton sat in his little office, looking pale and worn, his face + deeply seamed with lines of care. As the poet thought of it in later + years, he realized that this man’s function in life was to be a + clearing-house for human misery—the wrecks of the competitive system + in all classes and grades of society came to him to pour out their + troubles and beg for help. It was not so very long afterwards that he went + to pieces from overwork and nervous strain; and Thyrsis wondered with a + guilty feeling how much his own assault had contributed to this result. + Assuredly it could not happen often that a clergyman had to listen to a + more harrowing tale than this “murdered artist” had to tell. + </p> + <p> + The doctor heard it out, and then began to argue: like the philanthropist + in Boston, he was greatly troubled by the fear of “weakening the springs + of character”. Being an “advanced” clergyman, he was familiar with the pat + phrases of evolutionary science—his mind was a queer jumble of the + philosophy of Herbert Spencer and that of Thomas à Kempis. But Thyrsis + just now was in a mood which might have moved even Spencer himself; he was + almost frantic because of Corydon, whom he had left half-ill at home. He + was not pleading for himself, he said—he could always get along; but + oh, the horror of having to kill his wife for the sake of his books! To + have to sit by day by day and watch her dying! He told about that night + when Corydon had tried to kill herself; and now another winter was upon + them, and he knew that unless something were done, the spring-time would + not find her alive. + </p> + <p> + The suicide story turned the balance with the clergyman; Herbert Spencer + was put back upon the shelf, and Thomas à Kempis ruled the day. Dr. + Hamilton said that he would see one of his rich parishioners, and persuade + him to take a second mortgage on the farm. And so Thyrsis went back, a + messenger of wondrous tidings. + </p> + <p> + A few days later came the check. The deed had been got ready; and Thyrsis + drove to the farm, and carried off the farmer and his wife to the nearest + notary-public. The old man pleaded to stay in his home until the new year, + but Thyrsis was obdurate, allowing him only a week in which to get himself + and his belongings to another place. And meantime he and Corydon were + packing up. They drove to another “vandew”, and purchased more odds and + ends of household stuff; and Thyrsis had his little study loaded upon a + wagon, and taken to the new place. + </p> + <p> + A wonderful adventure was this moving! To enter a real house, with two + stories, and two pairs of stairs, and eight rooms, and a cellar, and + regular plastered walls, and no end of closets and shelves and such-like + domestic luxuries! To be able to set apart a whole room in which the baby + might spread himself with his toys and marbles and dolls and picture-books—and + without any one’s having to stumble over them, and break their owner’s + heart! To have a real parlor, with a stove to sit by, and a table for a + lamp, and shelves for books; and yet another room to eat in, and another + to cook in! To be able to have a woman come to wash the dishes without + making a bosom friend of her, and having her hear all the conversation! To + be able to walk through fields and orchards and woodland, and know that + they belonged to one’s self, and would some day shed their coat of snow + and blossom into new life! Thyrsis wished that he could have the book out + of his mind for a month, so that he might be properly thrilled by this + experience. + </p> + <p> + It was at the Christmas season, and therefore an appropriate times for + celebrating. He went down into the “wood-lot”—their own “wood-lot”—and + cut a spruce tree, and set it up in the dining-room; they hung thereon all + the contrivances which the associated grandparents had sent down to + commemorate an occasion which was not only Christmas and house-warming, + but the baby’s third birthday as well. Because of the triple conjunction, + they invested in a fat goose, to be roasted in the new kitchen-range; and + besides this there were some spare-ribs and home-made sausages with which + a neighbor had tempted them. It was a regular storybook Christmas, with a + snow-storm raging outside, and the wind howling down the chimney, and an + odor of molasses-taffy pervading the house. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. After which festivities Thyrsis bid farewell to his family once + more, and went away to wrestle with his angel. Weeks of failure and + struggle it cost him before he could get back what he had lost—before + he could recall those phrases that had once blazed white-hot in his brain, + and could see again the whole gigantic form and figure of his undertaking. + Many an hour he spent pacing his little eight-foot piazza—four steps + and a half each way, back and forth; many a night he would sit before his + little fourteen-inch stove, so lost in his meditations that the stove + would lose its red-hot glow, and the icy gale which raged outside and + rattled the door would steal in through the cracks and set him to + shivering. + </p> + <p> + Other times he would trudge through the snow and mud to the town, spending + the day in the library, and then bringing out an armful of books to last + him through the night. Thyrsis had read pretty thoroughly the literature + of the six languages he knew; but now—this was the appalling nature + of his task—he had to go back and read it over again. He did not + realize, until he got actually at the work, what an utter overturning + there would be in all his ideas. How strange it was to return and read the + “classics” of one’s youth! What oceans of futility one discovered, what + mountains of pretense—and with what forests of scholarship grown + over them! It seemed to Thyrsis that everywhere he turned the search-light + of his new truth, the structure of his opinions would topple like a house + of cards. Truly, here was a <i>“Götzendämmerung”</i>, an <i>“Umwertung + aller Werthe”!</i> + </p> + <p> + The worst of it was that he had to read, not only literature, but also + history—often his own kind of history, that had not yet been + written. If he wished to know the Shakespearean dramas as a product of the + aristocratic and imperialist ideal in the glory and intoxication of its + youth, he had to study, not only Shakespeare’s poetry, but the cultural + and social life of the Elizabethan people. And he could not take any man’s + word for the truth; he had to know for himself. The thing that would avail + him in this battle was not eloquence and fervor, not the flashes of his + irony and the white-hot shafts of his scorn. What he must have were facts, + and more facts—and then again facts! + </p> + <p> + The facts were there, to be had for the gathering. Thyrsis again could + only compare himself to Aladdin in his palace. Could it be believed that + so many ideas had been left for one man to discover? It seemed to him, + that the kingdoms of literature lay at his mercy; he was like a magician + who has discovered a new spell, which places his rivals in his power. He + knew that this book, if he could ever finish it, would alter the aspect of + literary criticism, as a blow changes the pattern in a kaleidoscope. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis had failed many times before, but this time he felt that success + was in his hands; he knew the bookworld now, he was master of the game. + This would set them to thinking, this would stir them up! He had got under + the armor of his enemy at last, and he could feel him wince and writhe at + each thrust that he drove home. So he wrought at his task, in a state of + tense excitement, living always in imagination in the midst of the battle, + following stroke with stroke and driving a rout before him.—So he + would be for weeks; and then would come the reaction, when he fell back + exhausted, and realized that his victory was mere phantasy, that nothing + of it really counted until he had completed his labor. And that would take + two years! Two years! + </p> + <p> + Section 7. From visions such as this Thyrsis came back to wrestle with all + the problems of a household; with pumps that froze and drains that + clogged, with stoves that went out and ashes that spilled, with milk-boys + that were late and kitchen-maids that were snow-bound. He would leave his + work at one or two o’clock in the morning, and make his way through the + snow and the storm to the house, and crawl into bed, and then take his + chances of being awakened by the baby, or by some spell of agony with + Corydon. + </p> + <p> + He might not sleep alone; that supreme symbol of domesticity Corydon could + not give up, and he soon ceased to ask for it. It seemed such a little + thing to yield; and yet it meant so much to him! The room where he slept + came to seem to him a chamber of terror, a place to which he went “like + the galley-slave at night, scourged to his dungeon”. It was a place where + a crime was enacted; where the vital forces of his being were squandered, + and the body and soul of him were wrung and squeezed dry like a sponge. + This was marriage—it was the essence of marriage; it was the slavery + into which he had delivered himself, the duty to which he was bound. And + in how many millions of homes was this same thing going on—this + licensed preying of one personality upon another? And the nightmare thing + was upheld and buttressed by all the forces of society—priests were + saying blessings over it and moralists were singing the praises of it—“the + holy bonds of matrimony”, it was called! + </p> + <p> + It was all the worse to Thyrsis because there was that in him which + welcomed this animal intimacy. So he saw that day by day their lives were + slipping to a lower plane; day by day they were discovering new weaknesses + and developing new vices in themselves. Corydon was now a good part of the + time in pain of some sort; and the doctors had accustomed her to stave off + these crises with various kinds of drugs, so that she had a set of shelves + crowded with pills and powders and bottles. She had learned to rely upon + them in emergencies, to plead for them when she was helpless; and so + Thyrsis saw her declining into an inferno. He would argue with her and + plead with her and fight with her; he would spend days trying to open her + eyes to the peril, to show her that it was better to suffer pain than to + resort to these treacherous aids. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. They still had their hours of enthusiasm, of course, their + illuminations and their resolutions. During the summer, while browsing + among the English magazines in the library, Thyrsis had stumbled upon an + astonishing article dealing with the subject of health. He read it in a + state of great excitement, and then took it home and read it to Corydon. + It told of the achievements of a gentleman by the name of Horace Fletcher, + who had once possessed robust health, and lost it through careless living, + and had then restored it by a new system of eating. To Thyrsis this came + as one of the great discoveries of his life. For years every instinct of + his nature had been whispering to him that his ways of eating were + vicious; but he had been ignorant and helpless—and with all the + world that he knew in opposition to him. As he read the article, he + recalled a talk he had had with his “family doctor”, way back before his + marriage, when he had first begun to notice symptoms of stomach-trouble. + He had suggested timidly that there might be something wrong with his + diet, and that if the doctor would tell him exactly what he ought to eat, + and how much and how often, he would be glad to adopt the regimen. But the + doctor had only laughed and answered, “Nonsense, boy—don’t you get + to thinking about your food!” And so Thyrsis had gone away, to follow the + old plan of eating what he liked. Health, it would seem, must be a + spontaneous and accidental thing, it could not be a deliberate and + reasoned thing. + </p> + <p> + But now he and Corydon became smitten with a passion of shame for all + their stupidity and their gluttony; they invested in Fletcher’s books, and + set out upon this new adventure. They would help themselves to a very + small saucerful of food; and they would take of this a very small spoonful—and + chew—and chew—and chew. Mr. Fletcher said that half an hour a + day was enough for the eating of the food one needed; but they, + apparently, could have chewed for hours, and still been hungry. They + labored religiously to stop as soon as they could pretend to be satisfied; + the result of which was that Thyrsis lost fourteen pounds in as many days—and + it was many a long year before he got those fourteen pounds back! He + became still more “spiritual” in his aspect; until finally he and Corydon + set out for a walk one day, and coming up a hill to their home they gave + out altogether, and first Thyrsis had to crawl up the hill and get + something to eat, and then take something down to Corydon! + </p> + <p> + However, in spite of all their blunders, this new idea was of genuine + benefit to them; at least it put them upon the right track—it taught + them the relationship between diet and disease. They saw the two as cause + and consequence—they watched the food they ate affecting their + bodies as one might watch a match affecting a thermometer. They were no + longer victims of the idea that health must be a spontaneous and + accidental thing—they were set definitely to thinking about it, as + something that could be achieved by will and intelligence. + </p> + <p> + But the right knowledge lay far in the future; and meantime they were + groping in ignorance, and disease was still a mysterious visitation that + came upon them out of the night. “Thus saith the Lord, About midnight will + I go out into the midst of Egypt; and all the firstborn in the land of + Egypt shall die. And there shall be a great cry throughout all the land of + Egypt, such as there hath been none like it, nor shall be like it any + more.” + </p> + <p> + Their own firstborn had low been on the <i>regime</i> of the “child + specialist” for a year and a half. He was big and fat and rosy, and + according to all the standards they knew, a picture of health. He was the + pride of his parents’ hearts—the one success they had achieved, and + to which they could turn their eyes. He was a frightful burden to them—the + most noisy and irrepressible of children. But they struggled and worried + along with him, and were proud of him—and even, in a stormy sort of + way, were happy with him. But now a calamity fell upon him, bringing them + the most terrible distress they had yet had to face in their lives. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. It was all the worse because they laid the blame upon themselves. + They were accustomed to attribute sickness to this or that trivial cause—if + Corydon caught a cold, it was because she had sat in a draught, and if + Thyrsis was laid up with tonsilitis, it was because he had gone out for + kindling-wood without his hat. It had been their wont to bundle the child + up and turn him out to play; and one very cold day he had stood a long + time under the woodshed, and had got chilled. So that night his head was + hot, and he was fretful; and in the morning he would not eat, and + apparently had a fever. They sent off in haste for the doctor; and the + doctor came and examined him, and shook his head and looked very grave. It + was pneumonia, he said, and a serious case. + </p> + <p> + So Corydon and Thyrsis had to put all things else aside, and gird + themselves for a siege. There were medicines to be administered every + hour, and minute precautions to be taken to keep the patient from the + slightest chill; he must be in a warm room, and yet with some ventilation. + All these things they attended to, and then they would sit and gaze at the + sufferer, dumb with grief and fear. Through the night Thyrsis sat by the + bedside, while Cedric babbled and raved in delirium; and no suffering that + he had ever experienced was equal to this. + </p> + <p> + How he loved this baby, how passionately, how cruelly! How he clung to + him, blindly and desperately—the thought of losing him simply tore + his heart to pieces! He would hold the hot hands, he would touch the + little body; how he loved that body, that was so beautiful and soft and + white! How many times he had bathed it and dressed it and hugged it to + him! He would sit and listen to the fevered prattle, full of childish + phrases which brought before him the childish soul—the wonderful, + lovable thing, so merry and eager, so full of mischief and curiosity; with + strange impulses of tenderness, and flashes of intelligence that thrilled + one, and opened long vistas to the imagination. He was all they had, this + baby—he was all they had saved out of the ruin of their lives, out + of the shipwreck of their love. What sacrifices they had made for him—what + agonies he represented! And now, the idea that they might never see him, + nor touch him, nor hear his voice again! + </p> + <p> + Also would come agonies of remorse. Thyrsis would face the blunder they + had made—it might have been avoided so easily, and now it was + irrevocable! His whole body would shake with silent sobbing. Ah, this + curse of their lives, this hideous shame—that they had not even been + able to take proper care of their child! This wrong, too, the world meant + to inflict upon them—this supreme vengeance, this cruel punishment! + </p> + <p> + Section 10. The doctor came next morning, and found the patient worse. This + was the crisis, he said; if the little one lived through the night—And + there he paused, seeing the agony in the eyes of the mother and father. + They would do all they could, he said; they must hope for the best. + </p> + <p> + So the siege went on. Thyrsis sat through the night again—and + Corydon, who could not rest either, would come into the room every little + while, and listen and watch. They would hold each other’s hand for hours, + dumb with suffering; ghostly presences seemed to haunt the sick-chamber + and set them to trembling. Thyrsis found himself thinking of that most + terrible of all ballads, “The Erl-King”. How he had shuddered once, + hearing it sung!— + </p> + <p> + “Dem Vater grauset’s, er reitet geschwind!” + </p> + <p> + All through the night he seemed to hear the hammer-strokes of the horse’s + hoofs echoing through his soul. + </p> + <p> + The child lived through the night, but the crisis was not yet over. The + fever held on; the issue of life and death seemed to hang upon the flutter + of an eyelid. There was one more night to be sat through and Thyrsis, + whose restless intellect must needs be dealing with all issues, had by + then fought his way through this terror also. They must get control of + themselves at all hazards, he said; they must face the facts. If so the + child should die— + </p> + <p> + He tried to say something of the sort to Corydon, seeking to steady her. + But Corydon became almost frantic at his words. “You must not say such a + thing, you must not think such a thing!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Corydon had been reading about “new thought”, and she insisted that would + be “holding the idea” of death over the child. “The thing for us to do,” + she said, “is to make up our minds—he must live, we must <i>know</i> + that he will live!”—It was no time to argue about metaphysics, but + Thyrsis found this proposition a source of great perplexity. How could a + man make himself know what he did not know? + </p> + <p> + The crisis passed, and the child lived. But the illness continued for a + couple of weeks—and how pitiful it was to see their baby, that had + been so big and rosy, and was now pale and thin and weak! And when at last + he got up and went outdoors again, he caught a cold, and there was a + relapse, and another siege of the dread disease; the doctor had not warned + them sufficiently, it seemed. So there was a week or two more of watching + and worrying; and then they had to face the fact that little Cedric would + be delicate for a long while—would need to be guarded with care all + through the spring. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis blamed himself for all that had happened; the weight of it rested + upon him forever afterwards, as if it were some crime he had committed. + Sometimes when he was overwrought and overdriven, he would lie awake in + the small hours of the morning, and this spectre would come and sit by + him. He had made a martyr of the child he loved, he had sacrificed it to + what he called his art; and how had he dared to do it? + </p> + <p> + It was hard to think of a more cruel question to put to a man. Himself, no + doubt, he might scourge and drive and wreck; but this child—what + were the child’s rights? Thyrsis would try to weigh them against the + claims of posterity. What his own work might be, he knew; and to what + extent should he sacrifice it to the unknown possibilities of his son? + Some sacrifice there had to be—such was the stern decree of the + “economic screw.” + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis once more was a field of warring motives; once more he faced + the curse of his life—that he could not be as other men, he could + not have other men’s virtues. It was the latest aspect, and the most + tragic, of that impulse in him which had made him fight so hard against + marriage; which had made him quote to Corydon the lines of the outlaw’s + song— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The fiend whose lantern lights the mead + Were better mate than I!” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XVI. THE BREAK FOR FREEDOM + </h2> + <p> + <i>The scarlet flush of morning was in the sky; and they stood upon the + hill again, and watched the color spreading. </i> + </p> + <p> + “We must go,” she was saying. “But it was worthwhile to come.” + </p> + <p> + “It was all worth-while,” he said—“all!” + </p> + <p> + And she smiled, and quoted some lines from the poem— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Thou too, O Thyrsis, on like quest wast bound; + Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour! + Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest, + If men esteem’d thee feeble, gave thee power, + If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest!” + </pre> + <p> + Section 1. This illness of the baby’s had been a fearful drain upon their + strength; and Thyrsis perceived that they had now got to a point where + they could no longer stand alone. There must be a servant in the house, to + help Corydon, and do for the baby what had to be done. It was a hard + decision for him to face, for his money was almost gone, and the book + loomed larger than ever. But there was no escaping the necessity. + </p> + <p> + They would get a married couple, they decided—the man could pay for + himself by working the farm. So they put an advertisement in a city paper, + and perused the scores of mis-spelled replies. After due correspondence, + and much consultation, they decided upon Patrick and Mary Flanagan; and + Thyrsis hired a two-seated carriage and drove in to meet them at the + depot. + </p> + <p> + It was all very funny; years afterwards, when the clouds of tragedy were + dispersed, they were able to laugh over the situation. Thyrsis had been + used to servants in boyhood, but that was before he had acquired any ideas + as to universal brotherhood and the rights of man. Now he hated all the + symbols and symptoms of mastership; he shrunk from any sort of clash with + unlovely personalities—he would be courteous and deprecating to the + very tramp who came to his door to beg. And here were Patrick and Mary, + very Irish, enormously stout, and devotedly Roman Catholic, having spent + all their lives as caretakers of “gentlemen’s country-places”. They had + most precise ideas as to what gentlemen’s country-places should be, and + how they should be equipped, and how the gentlemen of the country-places + should treat their servants. And needless to say, they found nothing in + this new situation which met with their approval. There were signs of + humiliating poverty everywhere, and the farm-outfit was inadequate. As to + the master and mistress, they must have been puzzling phenomena for + Patrick and Mary to make up their minds about—possessing so many of + the attributes of the lady and gentleman, and yet being lacking in so many + others! + </p> + <p> + Patrick was a precise and particular person; he wanted his work laid out + just so, and then he would do it without interference. As for Mary—he + stood in awe of Mary himself, and so he accepted the idea that Corydon and + Thyrsis should stand in awe of her too. Mary it was who announced that + their dietary was inadequate; she took no stock at all in Fletcher and + Chittenden—she knew that working-people must have meat at least four + times a week. Also Mary maintained that their room was not large enough + for so stout a couple. Also she arranged it that Corydon and Thyrsis + should get the dinner on Sundays—the Roman Catholic church being + five miles away, and the hour of mass being late, and the horse very old + and slow. + </p> + <p> + For two months Corydon and Thyrsis struggled along under the dark and + terrible shadow of the disapproval of the Flanagan family. Then one day + there came a violent crisis between Corydon and Mary—occasioned by a + discussion of the effect of an excess of grease upon the digestibility of + potato-starch. Corydon fled in tears to her husband, who started for the + kitchen forthwith, meaning to dispose of the Flanagans; when, to his vast + astonishment, Corydon experienced one of her surges of energy, and thrust + him to one side, and striding out upon the field of combat, proceeded to + deliver herself of her pent-up sentiments. It was a discourse in the + grandest style of tragedy, and Mary Flanagan was quite dumbfounded—apparently + this was a “lady” after all! So the Flanagan family packed its belongings + and departed in a chastened frame of mind; and Corydon turned to her + spouse, her eyes still flashing, and remarked, “If only I had talked to + her that way from the beginning!” + </p> + <p> + Section 2. Then once more there was answering of advertisements, and another + couple was spewed forth from the maw of the metropolis—“Henery and + Bessie Dobbs”, as they subscribed themselves. “Henery” proved to be the + adult stage of the East Side “gamin”; lean and cynical, full of slang and + humor and the odor of cigarettes. He was fresh from a “ticket-chopper’s” + job in the subway, and he knew no more about farming than Thyrsis did; but + he put up a clever “bluff”, and was so prompt with his wits that it was + hard to find fault with him successfully. As for his wife, she had come + out of a paper-box factory, and was as skilled at housekeeping as her + husband was at agriculture; she was frail and consumptive, and told + Corydon the story of her pitiful life, with the result that she was able + to impose upon her even more than her predecessor had done. + </p> + <p> + “Henery” was slow at pitching hay and loading stone, but when the season + came, he developed a genius for peddling fruit; he was always hungry for + any sort of chance to bargain, and was forever coming upon things which + Thyrsis ought to buy. Very quickly the neighborhood discovered this + propensity of his, and there was a constant stream of farmers who came to + offer second-hand buggies, and wind-broken horses, and dried-up cows, and + patent hay-rakes and churns and corn-shellers at reduced values; all of + which rather tended to reveal to Thyrsis the unlovely aspects of his + neighbors, and to weaken his faith in the perfectibility of the race. + </p> + <p> + Among Henery’s discoveries was a pair of aged and emaciated mules. He + became eloquent as to how he could fatten up these mules and what crops he + could raise in the spring. So Thyrsis bought the mules, and also a supply + of feed; but the fattening process failed to take effect-for the reason, + as Thyrsis finally discovered, that the mules were in need of new teeth. + When the plowing season began, Henery at first expended a vast amount of + energy in beating the creatures with a stick, but finally he put his + inventive genius to work, and devised a way to drive them without beating. + It was some time before Thyrsis noted the change; when he made inquiries, + he learned to his consternation that the ingenious Henery had fixed up the + stick with a pin in the end! + </p> + <p> + At any time of the day one might stand upon the piazza of the house and + gaze out across the corn-field, and see a long procession marching through + the furrow. First there came the mules, and then came the plow, and then + came Henery; and after Henery followed the dog, and after the dog followed + the baby, and after the baby followed a train of chickens, foraging for + worms. Little Cedric was apparently content to trot back and forth in the + field for hours; which to his much-occupied parents seemed a delightful + solution of a problem. But it happened one day when they had a visit from + Mr. Harding, that Thyrsis and the clergyman came round the side of the + house, and discovered the child engaged in trying to drag a heavy + arm-chair through a door that was too small for it. He was wrestling like + a young titan, purple in the face with rage; and shouting, in a perfect + reproduction of Henery’s voice and accent, “Come round here, God damn you, + come round here!” + </p> + <p> + There were many such drawbacks to be balanced against the joys of “life on + a farm”. Thyrsis reflected with a bitter smile that his experiences and + Corydon’s had been calculated to destroy their illusions as to several + kinds of romance. They had tried “Grub Street”, and the poet’s garret, and + the cultivating of literature upon a little oatmeal; they had not found + that a joyful adventure. They had tried the gypsy style of existence; they + had gone back “to the bosom of nature”—and had found it a cold and + stony bosom. They had tried out “love in a cottage”, and the + story-writer’s dream of domestic raptures. And now they were chasing + another will o’ the wisp—that of “amateur farming”! When Thyrsis had + purchased half the old junk in the township, and had seen the mules go + lame, and the cows break into the pear-orchard and “founder” themselves; + when he had expended two hundred dollars’ worth of money and two thousand + dollars’ worth of energy to raise one hundred dollars’ worth of vegetables + and fruit, he framed for himself the conclusion that a farm is an + excellent place for a literary man, provided that he can be kept from + farming it. + </p> + <p> + Section 3. As the result of such extravagances, when they had got as far as + the month of February, Thyrsis’ bank-account had sunk to almost nothing. + However, he had been getting ready for this emergency; he had prepared a + <i>scenario</i> of his new book, setting forth the ideas it would contain + and the form which it would take. This he sent to his publisher, with a + letter saying that he wanted the same contract and the same advance as + before. + </p> + <p> + And again he waited in breathless suspense. He knew that he had here a + work of vital import, one that would be certain to make a sensation, even + if it did not sell like a novel. It was, to be sure, a radical book—perhaps + the most radical ever published in America; but on the other hand, it + dealt with questions of literature and philosophy, where occasionally even + respectable and conservative reviews permitted themselves to dally with + ideas. Thyrsis was hoping that the publisher might see prestige and + publicity in the adventure, and decide to take a chance; when this proved + to be the case, he sank back with a vast sigh of relief. He had now money + enough to last until midsummer, and by that time the book would be more + than half done—and also the farm would be paying. + </p> + <p> + But alas, it seemed with them that strokes of calamity always followed + upon strokes of good fortune. At this time Corydon’s ailments became + acute, and her nervous crises were no longer to be borne. There were + anxious consultations on the subject, and finally it was decided that she + should consult another “specialist”. This was an uncle of Mr. Harding’s, a + man of most unusual character, the clergyman declared; the latter was + going to the city, and would be glad to introduce Corydon. + </p> + <p> + So, a couple of days later came to Thyrsis a letter, conveying the tidings + that she was discovered to be suffering from an abdominal tumor, and + should undergo an immediate operation. It would cost a hundred dollars, + and the hospital expenses would be at least as much; which meant that, + with the bill-paying that had already taken place, their money would all + be gone at the outset! + </p> + <p> + But Thyrsis did not waste any time in lamenting the inevitable. He was + rather glad of the tidings, on the whole—at least there was a + definite cause for Corydon’s suffering, and a prospect of an end to it. + Both of them had still their touching faith in doctors and surgeons, as + speaking with final and godlike authority upon matters beyond the + comprehension of the ordinary mind. The operation would not be dangerous, + Corydon wrote, and it would make a new woman of her. + </p> + <p> + “If I could only have Delia Gordon with me,” she added, “then my happiness + would be complete. Only think of it, she left for Africa last week! I know + she would have waited, if she’d known about this. + </p> + <p> + “However, I shall make out. Mr. Harding is going to be in town for more + than a week—he is attending a conference of some sort, and he has + promised to come and see me in the hospital. I think he likes to do such + things—he has the queerest professional air about it, so that you + feel you are being sympathized with for the glory of God. But really he is + very beautiful and good, and I think you have never appreciated him. I am + happy to-day, almost exhilarated; I feel as if I were about to escape from + a dungeon.” + </p> + <p> + Section 4. Such was the mood in which she went to her strange experience. + She liked the hospital-room, tiny, but immaculately clean; she liked the + nurses, who seemed to her to be altogether superior and exemplary beings—moving + with such silence and assurance about their various tasks. She slept + soundly, and in the morning they combed and plaited her hair and prepared + her for the ceremony. There came a bunch of roses to her room, with a card + from Mr. Harding; and these were exquisite, and made her happy, so that, + when the doctor arrived, she went almost gaily to the operating-room. + </p> + <p> + Everything there aroused her curiosity; the pure white walls and ceiling, + shining with matchless cleanness, the glittering instruments arranged + carefully on glass tables, the attentive and pleasant-faced nurses, + standing also in pure white, and the doctor in his vestments, smiling + reassuringly. In the centre of the room was a large glass table, long + enough for a reclining body, and through the sky-light the sun poured a + pleasing radiance over all. “How beautiful!” exclaimed Corydon; and the + nurses exchanged glances, and the old doctor failed to hide an expression + of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I wish all my patients felt like that,” said he. “Now climb up on the + table.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon promptly did so, and another doctor who was to administer the + anaesthetic came to her side. “Take a very deep breath, please,” he said, + as he placed over her mouth a white, cone-shaped thing that had a rather + suffocating odor. Corydon was obedience itself, and breathed. + </p> + <p> + In a moment her body seemed to be falling from her. “Oh, I don’t like it!” + she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Breathe deeply, and count as far as you can,” came a voice from far above + her. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” whispered Corydon. “Oh, I don’t want—I want to come back!” + </p> + <p> + Then she began to count—or rather some strange voice, not hers, + seemed to count for her; as the first numbness passed, farther and farther + away she seemed to dissolve, to become a disembodied consciousness poised + in a misty ether. And at that moment—so she told Thyrsis afterwards—the + face of Mr. Harding seemed to appear just above her, and to look at her + with a pained and startled expression. It was a beautiful face, she + thought; and she knew that everything she felt was being immediately + registered in Mr. Harding’s mind. They were two affinitized beings, + suspended in the centre of a cosmos; “their soul intelligences were all + that had been left of the sentient world after some cataclysm. + </p> + <p> + “I always knew that about us,” thought Corydon, and she realized that the + face before her understood, even though at the moment it, too, was + dissolving. “I wonder why”—she mused—“why—” And then the + little spark went out. + </p> + <p> + Two hours later the doctor was bending over her, anxiously scrutinizing + her passive face. “Nurse, bring me some ice-water,” he was saying. “She + takes her time coming to.” And sharply he struck her cheek and forehead + with his finger-tips; but she showed no sign. + </p> + <p> + Deep down in some mysterious inner chamber, beneath the calm face, there + was being enacted a grim spirit-drama. Corydon’s soul was making a + monstrous effort to return to its habitation; Corydon felt herself + hanging, a tortured speck of being, in a dark and illimitable void. “This + may be Hell,” she thought. “I have neither hands nor feet, and I cannot + fight; but I can <i>will</i> to get back!” This effort cost her + inexpressible agony. + </p> + <p> + A strange incessant throbbing was going on in the black pit over which she + seemed suspended. It had a kind of rhythm—metallic, and yet with a + human resonance. It began way down somewhere, and proceeded with maddening + accuracy to ascend through the semi-tones of a gigantic scale. Each beat + was agony to her; it ascended to a certain pitch in merciless crescendo, + then fell to the bottom again, and began anew its swift, maddeningly + accurate ascent. Each time it ascended a little higher, and always + straining her endurance to the uttermost, and bringing a more vivid + realization of agony. “Will you stop here,” it seemed to pulsate. “No, no, + I will go on,” willed Corydon. “You shall not keep me, I must escape, I + must <i>get out</i>.” But it kept up incessantly, ruthlessly, its strange, + formless, soundless din, until the spirit writhed in its grasp. + </p> + <p> + Finally it seemed to Corydon that she was getting nearer—nearer to + something, she knew not what. The blackness about her seemed to condense, + and she found herself in what was apparently the middle of a lake, and + some dark bodies with arms were trying to drag her down. “No, no,” she + willed to these forms, “you <i>shall</i> not. I do not belong here, I + belong up—up!” And by a violent effort she escaped—into + sensations yet more agonizing, more acute. The vibrations were getting + faster and faster, whirling her along, stretching her consciousness to + pieces. “Will it never end?” she thought. “Have mercy!” But after an + eternity of such repetition, she found a bright light staring at her, and + a frightful sense of heaviness, like mountains piled upon her. Also, + eating her up from head to foot, was a strange, unusual pain; yes, it must + be pain, though she had never felt anything like it before. She moaned; + and there came a spasm of nausea, that seemed to tear her asunder. + </p> + <p> + The doctor was standing by her. “She gave me quite a fright,” he was + saying. “There, that’s it, nurse. She’ll be sleeping sweetly in a minute.” + The nurse hurried forward, and Corydon felt a stinging sensation in her + side, and then a delightful numbness crept over her. “Oh, thank you, + doctor,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Section 5. The next week held for Corydon continuous suffering, which she + bore with a rebellious defiance—feeling that she had been betrayed + in some way. “If you had only told me,” she wailed, to the doctor. “I + would rather have stayed as I was before!” For answer he would pat her + cheek and tell her to go to sleep. + </p> + <p> + The days dragged on. Every afternoon her mother came and read to her for + several hours; and in the afternoons Mr. Harding would come, and sit by + her bedside in his kind way and talk to her. Sometimes he only stayed a + few minutes, but often he would spend an hour or so, trying to dispel the + clouds of gloom and despondency that were hanging over her. Corydon told + him of her vision in the operating-room, and strange to say he declared + that he had known it all; also he said that he had helped her to fight her + way back to life. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to understand her every need, and from his sympathy gave her all + the comfort he could. But he little realized all that it meant to her—how + deeply it stirred her gratitude and her liking for him. During the day she + would find herself counting the hours until the time he had named; and + when the expected knock would come, and his tall figure appear at the + door, her heart would give a sudden jump and send the blood rushing to her + head. Her lips would tremble slightly as she held out her hand to him; and + as he sat and looked at her, she would become uncomfortably conscious of + the beating of her heart; in fact at times it would almost suffocate her, + and her cheeks would become as fire. + </p> + <p> + She wondered if he noticed it. But he seemed concerned only for her + welfare, and anxiously inquired how she felt. She was not doing well, it + seemed, and the doctor was greatly troubled; her temperature had not + become normal since the operation, and they could not account for it, as + she was suffering no more than the usual amount of pain. To Corydon this + was a matter of no importance; she was willing to lie there all day, if + only the hour of Mr. Harding’s visit would come more quickly. She was + beginning to be alarmed because she had such difficulty in controlling her + excitement. + </p> + <p> + The magic hour would strike, and the door of hope open, and there upon the + threshold he would appear, in all his superb manhood. Corydon thought she + had never before met a man who gave her such an impression of vitality. He + was splendid; he was like a young Viking, who brought into the room with + him the pure air of the Northern mountains. When he looked at her, his + eyes assumed a wonderful expression, a “golden” expression, as Corydon + described it to herself. And day after day she clothed this Viking in more + lustrous garments, woven from the threads of her imagination, her + innermost desires and her dreams. And always at sight of him, her heart + beat faster, her head became hotter; until the bed she lay upon became a + bed of burning coals. She realized at last what had happened to her, that + she loved—yes, that she loved! But she must not let her Viking see + it; that would be unpardonable, it would damn her forever in his sight. + And so she struggled with her secret. At night she slept in fitful starts, + and in the morning she lay pale and sombre. But when he came she was all + brilliancy and animation. + </p> + <p> + Section 6. Each night the doctor would look anxiously at his thermometer; it + was a source of great worry to him and to Corydon’s parents that the fever + did not abate. Also, needless to say, the news worried Thyrsis; all the + more, because it meant a long stay in the hospital, and more of their + money gone. At last he came up to town to see about it; and Corydon + thought to herself, “This is very wrong of me. It is Thyrsis I ought to be + interested in, it is his sympathy I ought to be craving.” + </p> + <p> + She brought the image of Thyrsis before her; it seemed vague and unreal. + She found that she remembered mostly the unattractive aspects of him. And + this brought a pang to her. “He is good and noble,” she told herself; she + forced herself to think of generous things that he had done. + </p> + <p> + He came; and then she felt still more ashamed. He had been working very + hard, and was pale and haggard; it was becoming to him to be that way. + Recollections came back to her in floods; yes, he was truly good and + noble! + </p> + <p> + He sat by her bedside, and she told him about the operation, and poured + out the hunger of her soul to him. He stayed all the morning with her, and + he came again and spent the afternoon with her. He read to her and kissed + her and soothed her—his influence was very calming, she found. After + he had gone for the night, Corydon lay thinking, “I still love him!” + </p> + <p> + How strange it was that she could love two men at once! It was surely very + wrong! She would never have dreamed that she, Corydon, could do such a + thing. She thought of Harry Stuart, and of the unacknowledged thrill of + excitement which his presence had brought to her. “And now here it is + again,” she mused—“only this time it is worse! What <i>can</i>—be + the matter with me?” + </p> + <p> + Then she wondered, “Do I really love Mr. Harding? Haven’t I got over it + now?” But the least thinking of him sufficed to set her heart to thumping + again; and so she shrunk from that train of thought. She wanted to love + her husband. + </p> + <p> + He came again the next morning, and Corydon found that she was very happy + in his presence. Her fever was slightly lower, and she thought, “I will + get well quickly now.” + </p> + <p> + But alas, she had reckoned in this without Thyrsis! To sit in the hospital + all day was a cruel strain upon him; the more so as he had been entirely + unprepared for it. Corydon had assured him that the operation would be + nothing, and that she would not need him; and so he had just finished a + harrowing piece of labor on the book. Now to stay all day and witness her + struggle, to satisfy her craving for sympathy and to meet and wrestle with + her despair—it was like having the last drops of his soul-energy + squeezed out of him. He did not know what was troubling Corydon, but the + <i>rapport</i> between them was so close, that he knew she was in some + distress of mind. + </p> + <p> + He stood the ordeal as long as he could, and then he had to beg for + respite. Cedric was down on the farm, with no one but the servants to care + for him; so he would go back, and see that everything was all right, and + after he had rested up for two or three days, he would come again. Corydon + smiled faintly and assented—for that morning she had received a note + from Mr. Harding, saying that he would be in town the next day, and would + call. + </p> + <p> + So Thyrsis went away, and Corydon lay and thought the problem over again. + “Yes, I love my husband; but it’s such an effort for him to love me! And + why should that be? I don’t believe it would be such an effort for Mr. + Harding to love me!” + </p> + <p> + So again she was seized by the thought of the young clergyman. And she was + astonished at the difference in her feelings—the flood of emotion + that swept over her. Her heart began to beat fast and her cheeks once more + to burn. He was coming up to the city on purpose, this time; it must be + that he wanted to see her very much! + </p> + <p> + That night was an especially hard one for her; she felt as though the + frail shell that held her were breaking, as though her endurance were + failing altogether. The fever had risen, and her bed had seemed like the + burning arms of Moloch. Once she imagined that the room was stifling her, + and in a sudden frenzy of impatience she struggled upon one elbow and + flung her pillow across the room. In that instant she had noticed a new + and sharp pain in her side; it did not leave her, though at the time she + thought little about it. + </p> + <p> + She was all absorbed in the coming of Mr. Harding; by the time morning had + come she had made up her mind that her one hope of deliverance was in + confession. She must tell him, she must make known to him her love; and he + would forgive her, and then her heart would not beat so violently at sight + of him, her fever would abate and she might rest. + </p> + <p> + But when he sat there, talking to her, and looking so beautiful and so + strange, she trembled, and made half a dozen vain efforts to begin. + Finally she asked, “Have you ever read that poem of Heine’s—‘Ein + Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen, Die hat einen Andern erwählt?’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he answered; then they were silent again. Finally Corydon + nerved herself to yet another effort. “Mr. Harding,” she said, “will you + come a little nearer, please. I have something very important to say to + you.” And then, waveringly and brokenly, now in agonized abashment, now + rushing ahead as she felt his encouragement and sympathy, she gave him the + whole story of her suffering and its cause. When she came to the words + “because I love you”, she closed her eyes and her spirit sank back with a + great gasp of relief. + </p> + <p> + When she opened them again, his head was bowed in his hands and he did not + move. “Mr. Harding,” she whispered, “Mr. Harding, you forgive me, do you + not? You do not hate me?” + </p> + <p> + He roused himself with an effort. “Dear child,” said he, and as he looked + at her she thought she had never seen a face so sad, so exquisite—“it + is I who ask forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + He rose and came to her bedside, and took her hand in both of his. “It + would not be right for me to say to you what you have said to me. We must + not speak of this any more. You will promise me this, and then you will + rest, and to-morrow you will be better. Soon you will be well; and how + glad your husband will be—and all of us.” + </p> + <p> + With that he pressed her hand firmly, and left the room; and Corydon + turned her face to the wall, and whispered happily to herself, “Yes, he + loves me, he loves me! And now I shall rest!” + </p> + <p> + Section 7. For a while she slept the sleep of exhaustion, nor did there fall + across her dreams the shadow of the angel of fate who was even then + placing his mark upon her forehead. Toward morning she was awakened + suddenly with the sharp pain in her side; but it abated presently, and + Corydon thought blissfully of the afternoon before. He would come again to + her, she would see him that very day; and so what did pain matter? She was + really happy at last. But as the day advanced, she became uneasy; her + fever had not diminished, and the pain was becoming more persistent. + </p> + <p> + The nurse was anxious, too. Her mother came and regarded her in alarm. But + she was thinking of Mr. Harding. He was coming; he might arrive at any + moment. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock upon the door. Corydon’s pulse fluttered, and she + whispered, “Here he is!” She could scarcely speak the words, “Come in”. + But when the door opened, she saw that it was the doctor. Her heart sank, + and she closed her eyes with a moan of pain. Could it be that he was not + coming? Could it be that she had been mistaken—that he did not love + her after all? She must see him—she must! She could not endure this + suspense; she could not endure these interruptions by other people. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came and sat by her. “I must see what is the matter here,” he + said. “Why do you not get well, Corydon?” + </p> + <p> + He questioned her carefully and looked grave. “I must have a consultation + at once,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Corydon’s hand caught at his sleeve. “No, no!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid,” said the doctor. “It won’t hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t that,” said Corydon. She all but added, “I must see Mr. + Harding!” + </p> + <p> + She was wheeled into the operating-room, but this time there was no + interest in her eyes as she regarded the smooth table and the shining + instruments. As they lifted her upon it, she shuddered. “Oh I cannot, I + cannot!” she wailed. + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” said the doctor. “Be brave. We wish simply to see what the + matter is. It won’t take long.” + </p> + <p> + And they put the cone to her mouth. Corydon struggled and gasped, but it + was no use, she was in the clutches of the fiend again; only this time + there was no ecstasy, and no vision of Mr. Harding. Instead there was + instant and sickening suffocation. Again she descended into the uttermost + depths of the inferno; and it seemed as though this time the brave will + was not equal to the battle before it. + </p> + <p> + The surgeons made their examination, and they discovered more diseased + tissue, and a slowly spreading infection. So there was nothing for it but + to operate again—they held a quick consultation, and then went + ahead. And afterwards they labored and sweated, and by dint of persistent + effort, and every device at their command, they fanned into life once more + the faint spark in the ashen-grey form that lay before them. But it was a + feeble flame they got; as Corydon’s eyelids fluttered, the only sign of + recognition that came from her lips was a moan, and from her eyes a look + of dazed stupidity. But there was hope for her life, the doctors said; and + they sent a telegram which Thyrsis got three days later, when he had + fought his way to the town through five miles of heavy snow-drifts. + </p> + <p> + Meantime the grim fight for life was going on. In the morning Corydon + opened her eyes to a burning torture, the racked and twisted nerves + quivering in rebellion. It did not come in twinges of pain, it was a slow, + deadening, persistent agony, that pervaded every inch of her body. She + wondered how she could bear it, how she could live. And yet, strangely, + inexplicably, she wanted to live. She did not know why—she had been + outraged, she had been deserted by all, she was but a feeble atom of + determination in the centre of a hostile universe. And yet she would pit + her will against them all, God, man, and devil; they should not conquer + her, she would win out. + </p> + <p> + So she would clench her teeth together and fight. For hours she would + stare at the wall, the blank, unresponsive, formless wall before her; and + then, when the shadows of the evening fell, and they saw she was fainting + from exhaustion, they would come with the needle of oblivion, and the + dauntless soul would die for the night, and return in the morning to its + pitiless task. + </p> + <p> + Section 8. Thyrsis received a couple of letters at the same time as the + telegram, and he took the next train for the city. It is said that a + drowning man sees before him in a few moments the panorama of his whole + life; but to Thyrsis were given three hours in which to recall the events + of his love for Corydon. He had every reason to believe that he would find + her dying; and such pangs of suffering as came to him he had never known + before. He was in a crowded car, and he would not shed a tear; but he sat, + crouched in a heap and staring before him, fairly quivering with pent-up + and concentrated grief. God, how he loved her! What a spirit of pure flame + she was—what a creature from another sky! What martyrdom she had + dared for him, and how cruelly she had been punished for her daring! And + now, this was the end; she was dying—perhaps dead! How was he to + live without her—in the bare and barren future that he saw + stretching out before him? + </p> + <p> + Flashes of memory would come to him, waves of torment roll over him. He + would recall her gestures, the curves of her face, the tones of her voice, + the songs that she had sung; and then would come a choking in his throat, + and he would clench his hands, as a runner in the last moments of a + desperate race. He thought of her as he had seen her last. He had gone + away, careless and unthinking—how blind he had been! The things that + he had not said to her, and that he might have said so easily! The love he + had not uttered, the pardons he had not procured! The yearnings and + consecrations that had remained unspoken all through their lives—ah + God, what a tragedy of impotence and failure their lives had been! + </p> + <p> + Then before his soul came troops of memories, each one a fiend with a whip + of fire; the words of anger that he had spoken, the acts of cruelty that + he had done! The times when he had made her weep, and had not comforted + her! Oh, what a fool he had been—what a blind and wanton fool! And + now—if he were to find her dead, and never be able to tell her of + his shame and sorrow—he knew that he would carry the memories with + him all his days, they would be like blazing scars upon his soul. + </p> + <p> + She was still alive, however; and so he took a deep breath, and went at + his task. There was no question now of what he could bear to do, but of + what he must do; she must be saved, and who could do it but himself? Who + else could take her hands and whisper to her, and fill her with new + courage and hope; who else could bid her to live—to live; could + rouse the fainting spirit, and bid it rise up and set forth upon the + agonizing journey? + </p> + <p> + So out of the very abyss they came together. But when at last the fight + was won, when the doctors an-nounced that she was out of danger, Thyrsis + was fairly reeling with exhaustion. When he left her in the afternoon, he + would go to his hotel-room and lie down, utterly prostrated; he would lie + awake the whole night through, wrestling with the demons of horror that he + had brought with him from her bedside. + </p> + <p> + So he realized that he was on the verge of collapse, and that cost what it + would, he must get away. Corydon’s mother was with her, and when she was + strong enough to be moved, she would be taken back to the farm. He + mentioned this to Corydon, and she replied that she would be satisfied. + There would be Mr. Harding also, she said; Mr. Harding wrote that he would + come up to the city, and do what he could to help her in her dire + distress. + </p> + <p> + Section 9. There came from the higher regions a pass upon a steamer to + Florida; and so Thyrsis sailed away. With a determined effort he took all + his cares, and locked them back in a far chamber of his mind. He would not + think about Corydon, nor about what he would do for money when he came + home; more important yet, he would clear the book out of his thoughts—he + would not permit it to gnaw at him all day and all night. + </p> + <p> + And by these resolves he stood grimly. He walked the deck for hours every + day; he watched the foaming green waters, and the gulls wheeling in the + sky, and the sun setting over the sea, and the new moon showering its fire + upon the waves. Gradually the air grew warm, and ice and snow became as an + evil dream. A land of magic it seemed to which Thyrsis came—the + beauty of it enfolded him like a clasp of love. He saw pine-forests, and + swamps with alligators in them, and live oaks draped with trailing grey + moss. The clumps of palmettos fascinated him—he had seen pictures of + such trees in the tropics, and would hardly have been astonished to see a + herd of elephants in their shadows. + </p> + <p> + He found a beach, snow-white and hard, upon which he walked for uncounted + miles. He gathered strange shells and crabs, and watched the + turkey-buzzards on the shore, and the slow procession of the pelicans, + sailing past above the tops of the breakers. He saw the black fins of the + grampuses cutting the water, and thought that they were sharks. He stood + for hours at a time up to his waist in the surf, casting for sea-bass; he + got few fish, but joy and excitement he got in abundance. + </p> + <p> + Then, back upon the hammocks—to walk upon the hard shell roads, and + see orange and lemon-groves, and gardens filled with roses and magnolias, + and orchards of mulberry and fig-trees. Truly this must have been the land + which the poet had described— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Where every prospect pleases, + And only man is vile.” + </pre> + <p> + Thyrsis stayed in a humble boarding-house, but nearby was one of the + famous winter-resorts of the Florida East Coast, and he was free to go + there, and wander about the lobbies and piazzas of the palatial hotels, + and watch the idle rich at their diversions. A strange society they were—it + seemed as if the scum of the civilization of forty-five states had been + blown into this bit of back-water. Here were society women, jaded with + dissipation; stock-brokers and financiers, fleeing from the strain of the + “Street”; here were parasites of every species, who, having nothing to do + at home—or perhaps not even having any home—had come to this + land of warmth to prolong their orgies. They raced over the roads and + beaches in autos, and over the water in swift motor-boats; they dressed + themselves half a dozen times a day, they fed themselves upon rich and + costly foods, they gambled and gossiped and drank and wantoned their time + away. As he watched them it was all that Thyrsis could do to keep himself + from beginning another manifesto for the “Appeal to Reason”. Oh, if only + the toilers of the nation could be brought here, and shown what became of + the wealth they produced! + </p> + <p> + As if to complete his study of winter-resort manners and morals, Thyrsis + encountered a college acquaintance whose father had become enormously rich + through a mining speculation, and was here with a party of friends in a + private-train. So he was whirled off in one of half a dozen automobiles, + and rode for a hundred miles or so to an inland lake, and sat down to an + <i>al fresco</i> luncheon of such delicacies as <i>paté de fois gras</i> + and jellied grouse and champagne. Afterwards the young people wandered + about and amused themselves, and the elders played “bridge”, in the face + of all the raptures of this wonderland of nature. + </p> + <p> + A strange and sombre figure Thyrsis must have seemed to these people, with + his brooding air and his worn clothing; he rode home in an auto with half + a dozen youths and maidens, and while they flashed by lakes and rivers + that gleamed in the golden moon-light, and by orchards and gardens from + which the mingled scents of millions of blossoms were wafted to them, + these voung people jested together and laughed and sang. + </p> + <p> + And Thyrsis lay back and watched them and studied them. Their music was + what is called “rag-time”—they had apparently found nothing better + to do with their lives than to learn hundreds of verses and melodies, of + which the subject-matter was the whims and moods of the half-tamed African + race—their vanities and their barbarous impulses, and above all + their hot and lustful passions. Song after song they poured forth, the + substance of which was summed up in one line that Thyrsis happened to + carry away with him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah lubs you, mah honey, yes, Ah do!” + </pre> + <p> + It seemed to him such a curious and striking commentary upon the stage + which leisure-class culture had reached, in the course of its reversion to + savagery. + </p> + <p> + Section 10. Thyesis came home after three weeks, browned and refreshed, and + ready to take up the struggle again. He came with the cup of his love and + sympathy overflowing; eager to see Corydon, and to tell her his + adventures, and to share with her his store of new hope. + </p> + <p> + He found her reclining on the piazza of the farm-house. The April buds + were bursting upon the trees, and the odor of spring was in the air; also, + the flush of health was stealing back into Corydon’s cheeks. How beautiful + she looked, and how soft and gentle was her caress, and what wistfulness + and tenderness were in the smile with which she greeted him! + </p> + <p> + There was the baby also, tumultuous and excited. Thyrsis took him upon his + knee, and while he fondled him and played with him, he told Corydon about + his trip. But in a short while it became evident to him that she had + something on her mind; and finally she sent the baby away to play, and + began, “There is something I have to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is something very, very important.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know just how to begin,” said Corydon. “I hope you are + not going to be angry.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine myself being angry just now,” he replied; and then, + struck by a sense of familiarity in this introduction, he asked, with a + smile, “You haven’t been seeing Harry Stuart, have you?” + </p> + <p> + Corydon frowned at the words. “Don’t speak of that!” she said, quickly. “I + am not joking.” + </p> + <p> + He saw that she was agitated, and so he fell silent. + </p> + <p> + “I hesitated a long time about telling you,” she went on. “But you must + know. I am sure it’s right to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “By all means, dearest,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a long story,” she said. “I must go back to my first operation.” And + then she began, and told him how she had found herself thinking of Mr. + Harding, and of the strange vision she had had; she told of all her + fevered excitements, and of her confession to him. When she finished she + was trembling all over, and her face and throat were flushed. + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis sat for a while in silence, looking very grave. “I see,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You—you are not angry with me?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not angry,” he replied. “But tell me, what has been going on + since?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Corydon, “Mr. Harding has been coming here to see me. He saw + I needed help, and he couldn’t refuse it. It was—it was his duty to + come.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other. “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think he had an idea that the whole thing was a product of my + sickness; and when I was well again, it would all be over.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it, Corydon?” + </p> + <p> + She sat staring in front of her; her voice sank to a whisper. “No,” she + said. “It—it isn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “And does he know that?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “He knows everything,” she replied. “I don’t need to tell him things.” + </p> + <p> + “But have you talked about it with him?” + </p> + <p> + “A little,” she said. “That is, you see, I had to explain to him—to + apologize for what I had done in the hospital. I wanted him to know that I + wouldn’t have said anything to him, if I hadn’t been so very ill.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “And I want you to understand,” added Corydon, quickly-“you must not blame + him. For he’s the soul of honor, Thyrsis; and he can’t help how he feels + about me-any more than I can help it. You must know that, dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s been so good and so noble about it. He thinks so much of you, + Thyrsis—he wouldn’t do you wrong, not by a single word. He said that + to me—-over and over again. He’s frightened, you know, that either + of us might do wrong. He’s so sensitive-I think he takes things more + seriously than anybody we’ve ever known.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Thyrsis; and then, after a pause, he inquired, “But + what’s to come of it?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don’t know that there’s anything to do, Thyrsis. What would there + be?” + </p> + <p> + “But are you going on being in love with him forever?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t see how I can tell, Thyrsis. Would it do any harm?” + </p> + <p> + “It might grow on you,” he said, with a slight smile. “It sometimes does.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Harding said we ought never to speak of it again,” said she. “And I + guess he’s right about that. He said that our lives would always be + richer, because we had discovered each other’s souls; that it would help + us to grow into a nobler life.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Thyrsis. “But it’s a trifle disconcerting at first. I’ll + need a little time to get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Harding is very anxious to know you better,” remarked Corydon. “But + you see, he’s afraid of you, Thyrsis. You are so direct—you get to + the point too quickly for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Um—yes,” said he. “I can imagine that.” + </p> + <p> + “And he thinks you distrust him,” she went on—“just because he’s + orthodox. But he’s really not half as backward as you think. His faith + means a great deal to him. I only wish I had such a faith in my own life.” + </p> + <p> + To which Thyrsis responded, “God knows, my dear, I wish you had.” + </p> + <p> + Section 11. The young clergyman came to call the next afternoon, and the + three sat upon the lawn and talked. They talked about Florida, and then + about Socialism—as was inevitable, after Thyrsis had described the + population of the East Coast hotels. But he felt constrained and troubled—he + did not know just how a man should conduct himself with his wife’s lover; + and so in the end he excused himself and strolled off. + </p> + <p> + He came back as Mr. Harding was leaving; and it seemed to him that the + other’s face wore a look of pain and distress. Also, at supper he noted + that Corydon was ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + “Something has gone wrong with your program?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + To which Corydon answered, “Mr. Harding thinks he ought not to come any + more.” + </p> + <p> + “Not come any more?” + </p> + <p> + “He says I don’t need him now. And he thinks—he thinks it isn’t + right. He’s afraid to come.” + </p> + <p> + And so a week passed, and the young clergyman was not seen again. Thyrsis + noticed that his wife was silent a great deal; and that when she did talk, + she talked about Mr. Harding. His heart ached to see her as she was, so + pitifully weak and appealing. She was scarcely able to walk alone yet; and + she complained also that her mind had been weakened by the frightful + ordeal she had undergone. It exhausted her to do any thinking at all; and + she seemed to have forgotten nearly all she knew—there were whole + subjects upon which her mind appeared to be a blank. + </p> + <p> + So he gave up trying to think about his book, and went about all day + pondering this new problem. It was one of the laws of the marriage state + that he must suffer whenever she suffered. It was never permitted to him + to question the reality of any of her emotions; if they were real to her, + they were real in the only sense that counted; and he must take them with + the entire tragic seriousness that she took them, he must regard them as + inevitable and fatal. For himself, he could change or suppress emotions—that + ability was the most characteristic fact about him; but Corydon could not + do it, and so he was not permitted to do it. That would be to manifest the + “cold” and “stern” self, which was to Corydon an object of abhorrence and + fear. + </p> + <p> + So now he went about all day, brooding over this trouble. He would come to + Corydon and see her gazing across the valley with a melancholy look upon + her features; he would see her, with her sweet face as if suffused with + unshed tears. And what was he to do about it? Was he to rebuke her—however + gently—and urge her to suppress this yearning? To do that would be + to plunge her into abysses of grief. Or was he to come to her, and utter + his own love to her, and draw her to him again? He knew that he could do + that—he was conceited enough to believe that with his eloquence and + his power of soul, he could have wiped Mr. Harding clean out of her + thoughts in a few days. But then, when he had done it, he would have to go + back to the task of revolutionizing the world’s critical standards; and + what would become of Corydon after that? What she needed, he told himself, + was a love that was not a will o’ the wisp and a fraud, but a love that + was real and unceasing; she needed the love of a man, and not of an + artist! + </p> + <p> + Here were two young people who were in love with each other; and according + to the specifications of the moral code, they had their minds made up to + sublime renunciation. But then, Thyrsis had a moral code of his own, and + in it renunciation was not the only law of life. + </p> + <p> + It was only when he thought of losing Corydon, that he realized to the + full how much he loved her. Then all their consecrations and their pledges + would come back to him; he would hold her as the greatest human soul that + he had ever met. But it was a strange paradox, that precisely the depth of + his love for her made him willing to think of losing her. He loved her for + herself, and not for anything she gave him; he wanted her to be happy, he + wanted her to grow and achieve, and in order to see her do this he would + make any sacrifice in the world. In how many hours of insight had it + become clear to him that he himself could never make her happy—that + he was not the man to be her husband! Now it seemed as if the time had + come for him to prove that he meant what he had said—that he was + willing to stand by his vision and to act upon it. + </p> + <p> + So after one day of especial unhappiness, he made up his mind to a + desperate resolve; and at night, when all the household was asleep, he + went over to his lonely study and sat down with a pen in his hand, and + summoned the spirit of Mr. Harding before him. + </p> + <p> + “I have concluded to write you a letter,” he began. “You will find it a + startling and unusual one. I can only beg you to believe that I have + written it after much hesitation, and that it represents most earnest and + prayerful thought upon my part. + </p> + <p> + “Since my return, I have become aware of the situation which has developed + between yourself and my wife. Her welfare is dearer to me than anything + else in the world; and after thinking it over, I concluded that her + welfare required that I should explain to you the relationship which + exists between us. It seems unlikely that you could know about it + otherwise, for it is a very unusual relationship. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there is no need for me to tell you that Corydon is not happy. + She never has been happy as my wife, and I fear that she never will be. + She is by nature warm-hearted, craving affection and companionship. I, on + the other hand, am by nature impersonal and self-absorbed—I am + compelled by the exigencies of my work to be abstracted and indifferent to + things about me. I perceived this before our marriage, but not clearly + enough to save her; it has been her misfortune that I have loved her so + dearly that I have been driven to attempt the impossible. I am + continuually deceiving myself into the belief that I am succeeding—and + I am continually deceiving Corydon in the same way. It has been our habit + to talk things out between us frankly; but this is a truth from which we + have shrunk instinctively. I have always seen it as the seed of what must + grow to be a bitter tragedy. + </p> + <p> + “The possibility that Corydon might come to love some other man was one + that I had not thought of—it was very stupid of me, no doubt. But + now it has happened; and I have worked over the problem with all the + faculties I possess. A man who was worthy of Corydon’s love would be very + apt, under the circumstances, to feel that he must crush his impulses + towards her. But when we were married, it was with the agreement that our + marriage should be binding upon us only so long as it was for the highest + spiritual welfare of both; and by that agreement it is necessary that we + should stand at all times. My purpose in writing to you is to let you know + that I have no claim upon Corydon which prohibits her from continuing her + acquaintance with you; and that if in the course of time it should become + clear that Corydon would be happier as your wife than as mine, I should + regard it as my duty to step aside. Having said this, I feel that I have + done my part. I leave the matter in your hands, with the fullest + confidence in your sincerity and good faith.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis wrote this letter, and read it a couple of times. Then he decided + to sleep over it; and the next morning he wakened, and read it again—with + a shock of surprise. He found it a startling letter. It opened up vistas + to his spirit; vistas of loneliness and grief—and then again, vistas + of freedom and triumph. If he were to mail it, it would be irrevocable; + and it would probably mean that he would lose Corydon. And <i>could</i> he + make up his mind to lose her? His swift thoughts flew to their parting; + there were tears in his eyes—his love came back to him, as it had + when he thought she was dying. But then again, there came a thrill of + exultation; the captive lion within him smelt the air of the jungle, and + rattled his chains and roared. + </p> + <p> + Throughout breakfast he was absent-minded and ill at ease; he bid Corydon + a farewell which puzzled her by its tenderness, and then started to walk + to Bellevue with the letter. Half way in, he stopped. No, he could not do + it—it was a piece of madness; but then he started again—he <i>must</i> + do it. He found himself pacing up and down before the post office, where + for nearly an hour he struggled to screw his courage to the + sticking-point. Once he started away, having made up his mind that he + would take another day to think the matter over; but after he had walked + half a mile or so, he changed his mind and strode back, and dropped the + letter in the box. + </p> + <p> + And then a pang smote him. It was done! All the way as he walked home he + had to fight with an impulse to go back, and persuade the postmaster to + return the letter to him! + </p> + <p> + Section 12. Thyrsis figured that the fatal document would reach Mr. Harding + that afternoon; and the next morning in his anxiety he walked a mile or + two to meet the mail-carrier on his way. Sure enough, there was a reply + from the clergyman. He tore it open and read it swiftly: + </p> + <p> + “I received your letter, and I hasten to answer. I cannot tell you the + distress of mind which it has caused me. There has been a most dreadful + misundertanding, and I can only hope that it has not gone too far to be + corrected. I beg you to believe me that there has been nothing between + your wife and myself that could justify the inference you have drawn. Your + wife was in terrible distress of spirit, and I visited her and tried to + comfort her—such is my duty as a clergyman, as I conceive it. I did + nothing but what a clergyman should properly do, and you have totally + misunderstood me, and also your wife, who is the most innocent and gentle + and trusting of souls. She is utterly devoted to you, and the idea that + the help I have tried to give her should be the occasion of any + misunderstanding between you is dreadful for me to contemplate. + </p> + <p> + “I must implore you to believe this, and dismiss these cruel suspicions + from your mind. If I were to be the cause of breaking up your home, and + wrecking Corydon’s life, it would be more than I could bear. I have a most + profound belief in the sanctity of the institution of marriage, and not + for anything in the world would I have been led to do, or even to + contemplate in my own thoughts, anything which would trespass upon its + obligations. I repeat to you with all the earnestness of which I am + capable that your idea is without basis, and I beg you to banish it from + your mind. You may rely upon it that I will not see your wife again, under + any circumstances imaginable.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis read this, and then stared before him with knitted brows. “Why, + what’s the matter with the man?” he said to himself. And then he read the + letter over again, weighing its every phrase. “Did he think my letter was + sarcasm?” he wondered. “Did he think I was angry?” + </p> + <p> + He went to his study and got the rough draft of his own letter, and reread + and pondered it. No, he concluded, it was not possible that Mr. Harding + had thought he was angry. “He’s trying to dodge!” he exclaimed. “He can’t + bring himself to face the thing!” + </p> + <p> + But then again, he wondered. Could it be that the man was right; could it + be that Corydon had misunderstood him and his attitude? Or had he perhaps + experienced a reaction, and was now trying to deny his feelings? + </p> + <p> + For several hours Thyrsis pondered the problem; and then he went and sat + by her, as she was reading on the piazza. “You haven’t heard anything more + from Mr. Harding, have you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Corydon. + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose he intends to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think he means to come back.” + </p> + <p> + “But why not, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s afraid to trust himself, Thyrsis.” + </p> + <p> + “You think he really cares for you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But, how can you be sure?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + At which Corydon smiled. “A woman has ways of knowing about such things,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you’d tell me about it,” said he. + </p> + <p> + But after a little thought, she shook her head. “Maybe some day, but not + now. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It isn’t going any further, and that’s + enough for you to know.” + </p> + <p> + “He must be unhappy, isn’t he?” said Thyrsis, artfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, “he’s unhappy, I’m sure. He takes things very + seriously.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis paused a moment. “Did he tell you that he loved you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Corydon. “He—he wouldn’t have permitted himself to do + that. That would have been wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “But then—what did he do?” + </p> + <p> + “He looked at me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “When he went off the other day—did he know how you still felt?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Thyrsis; why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you might have been deceiving yourself.”’ + </p> + <p> + At which she smiled and replied, “I wouldn’t have bothered to tell you in + that case.” + </p> + <p> + Section 13. So Thyrsis strolled away, and after duly considering the matter, + he sat himself down to compose another letter to the young clergyman. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Harding: + </p> + <p> + “I read your note with a great deal of perplexity. It is evident to me + that I have not made the situation clear to you; you probably do not find + it easy to realize the frankness which Corydon and I maintain in our + relationship. I must tell you at the outset that she has narrated to me + what has passed between you, and so I am not dealing with ‘cruel + suspicions’, but with facts. Can I not persuade you to do the same? + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult for me to be sure just what is in your mind. But for one + thing, let me make certain that you are not trying to read anything + between the lines of what I write you. Please understand I am not angry, + or jealous, or suspicious; also, I am not unhappy—at least not so + unhappy but that I can stand it. I have stood a good deal of unhappiness + in my life, and Corydon has also. + </p> + <p> + “You tell me about your attitude towards my wife. Of course it may be that + as you come to look back upon what has passed between you, it seems to you + that your feeling for her was not deep and permanent, and that you would + prefer not to continue your acquaintance with her. That would be your + right—you have not pledged yourself in any way. All that I desire + is, that in considering the state of your feelings, you should deal with + them, and not with any duty which you may imagine you owe to <i>me</i>. I + have no claim in the matter, and any that I might have, I forego. + </p> + <p> + “The crux of the whole difficulty I imagine must lie in what you say about + your ‘profound belief in the sanctity of the institution of marriage’. + That is, of course, a large question to attempt to discuss in a letter. I + can only say that I once had such a belief, and that as a result of my + studies I have it no longer. I see the institution of marriage as a + product of a certain phase of the economic development of the race, which + phase is rapidly passing, if it be not already past. And the institution + to me seems to share in the evils of the economic phase; indeed I am + accustomed, when invited to discuss the institution of marriage, to insist + upon discussing what actually exists—which is the institution of + marriage-plus-prostitution. + </p> + <p> + “Our economic system affords to certain small classes of men—to + capitalists, to merchants, to lawyers, to clergymen—opportunities of + comfort and dignity and knowledge and health and virtue. But to certain + other classes, and far larger classes-to miners, to steel-workers, to + garment-makers—it deals out misery and squalor and ignorance and + disease and vice. And in the case of women it does exactly the same; to + some it gives a sheltered home, with comfort and beauty and peace; while + to others it gives a life of loneliness and sterility, and to others a + life of domestic slavery, and to yet others only the horrors of the + brothel. And when you come to investigate, you find that the difference is + everywhere one of economic advantage. The merchant, the lawyer, the + clergyman, has education and privilege, he can wait and make his terms; + but the miner, the steel-worker, the sweat-shop-toiler, has to sell his + labor for what will keep him alive that day. And in the same way with + women—some can acquire accomplishments, virtues, charms; and when it + comes to giving their love, they can secure the life-contract which we + call marriage. But the daughter of the slums has no opportunity to acquire + such accomplishments and virtues and charms, and often she cannot hold out + for such a bargain—she sells her love for the food and shelter that + she needs to keep her alive. + </p> + <p> + “This will seem radical doctrine to you, I suppose; I have noticed that + you take our institutions at their face-value, and do not ask how much in + them may be sham. But it seems to me there is no need to go into that + matter here, for no trespass upon the marriage obligation is proposed. The + conventions undoubtedly give me the right to be outraged because my wife + is in love with another man; I can denounce him, and humiliate her. But if + I am willing to forego this right, if I do not care to play Othello to her + Desdemona, what then? Who can claim to be injured by my renunciation? + </p> + <p> + “Of course I know it is said that marriages are made in Heaven, and that + what God hath joined together, no man may put asunder. But it is difficult + for me to imagine that an intelligent man would take this attitude at the + present day. If I were dead, you would surely recognize that Corydon might + remarry; you would recognize it, I presume, if I were hopelessly insane, + or degenerate. What if I were in the habit of getting drunk and + maltreating her—would you claim that she was condemned to suffer + this for life? Or suppose that I were found to be physically impotent? And + can you not recognize the fact that there might be impotence of an + intellectual and spiritual sort, which could leave a woman quite as + unhappy, and make her life quite as barren and futile? + </p> + <p> + “Let us suppose, for the sake of the argument, that I have stated + correctly the facts between Corydon and myself; that there exists between + us a fundamental difference in temperament, which makes it certain that, + however much we might respect and admire, and even love each other, we + could never either of us be happy as man and wife; and suppose that + Corydon were to meet some other man, with whom she could live + harmoniously; and that she loved him sincerely, and he loved her; and that + I were to recognize this, and be willing that she should leave me—do + you mean that you would maintain that such a course was wrong? And if it + were, with whom would the blame be? With her, because she did not condemn + herself to a lifetime of failure? Or with me, because I did not desire her + to do this—because I did not wish to waste my life-force in trying + to content a discontented woman? + </p> + <p> + “I might add that I have said nothing to Corydon about having written to + you; she has no idea that I have thought of such a thing, and she would be + horrified at the suggestion. I have taken the responsibility of doing it, + realizing that there was no other way in which you could be made + acquainted with the true situation. There is much more that I could say + about all this, but it seems a waste of time to write it. Can we not meet + sometime, and get at each other’s point of view? I am going to be in town + the day after to-morrow, and unless I hear from you to the contrary, I + will drop in to see you some time in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Section 14. Thyrsis read this letter over two or three times; and then, + resisting the impulse to elaborate his exposition of the economic bases of + the marriage institution, he took it in to town and mailed it. He waited + eagerly for a reply the next day; but no reply came. + </p> + <p> + The morning after that, he walked down to town as he had agreed to, and + called at Mr. Harding’s home. The door was opened by his housekeeper, + Delia Gordon’s aunt. “Is Mr. Harding in?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone up to the city,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “To the city,” said Thyrsis. “When did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “He left this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “And when will he be back?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. He left rather suddenly, and he didn’t say.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Thyrsis. “Tell him I called, please.” + </p> + <p> + And so he went home and mailed another note to Mr. Harding, asking him to + make an appointment for a meeting; after which he waited for three or four + days—but still there came no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard anything more from Mr. Harding?” he asked of Corydon, + finally. + </p> + <p> + “No, dear,” she answered. “I don’t expect to hear.” But he saw that she + was nervous and <i>distrait</i>; and he knew by her unwonted interest in + the mail that she was all the time hoping to get some word from him. + </p> + <p> + When it came to handling any affair with Corydon, Thyrsis was a poor + diplomatist. He would tell himself that this or that should be kept from + her for the present; but the secrecy always irked him—his impulse + was to talk things out with her, to go hand in hand with her to face the + facts of their life. So now, in this case; one afternoon he settled her + comfortably in a hammock, and sat beside her and took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Corydon,” he said, “I’ve something I want to tell you. I’ve been having a + correspondence with Mr. Harding.” + </p> + <p> + She started, and stared at him wildly. “What do you mean?” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote him two letters,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “What about?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to explain about us,” he said; and then he told her what he had + put in the first letter, and read Mr. Harding’s reply, which he had in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “What do you make of it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what your answer was!” cried Corydon, quickly; and so he began to + outline his second letter. + </p> + <p> + But she did not let him get very far. “You wrote him that way about + marriage!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “But, Thyrsis! He’ll be perfectly horrified!” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Thyrsis! Don’t you understand? He’s a clergyman!” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but it’s the truth—-” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know anything about people at all!” she cried. “Can’t you + realize? He doesn’t reason about things like you; you can’t appeal to him + in that way!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what was I to do—-” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll never see him again!” exclaimed Corydon, in despair. + </p> + <p> + “That won’t be any worse than it was before, will it?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she rushed on, in her agitation. “Did you tell him that I had + no idea what you were doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I told him that.” + </p> + <p> + “But did you make it perfectly clear to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you said! Tell me the rest of the letter.” + </p> + <p> + And so he recited it, as well as he could, while she listened, breathless + with dismay. “How could you!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Then she read over Mr. Harding’s letter once more. “You see,” she said; + “he was simply dazed. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to + think.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll get over it in time. He had to know, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>why</i> did he have to know? Why couldn’t things have stayed as + they were?” + </p> + <p> + “But my dear, you are in love with the man, aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t want to marry him, Thyrsis! I don’t—I don’t love him + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “You might have come to it in the course of time,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see that he’d have to give up being a clergyman?” she + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “That’s been done before,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But—see it from his point of view! Think of the scandal!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think much about scandals,” Thyrsis answered. “That part could be + arranged.” + </p> + <p> + “But do the laws give people divorces in that way?” + </p> + <p> + “Our divorce laws are relics of feudalism,” he answered. “One does not + take them seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you get around them, Thyrsis?” + </p> + <p> + “You simply have to admit whatever offense they require.” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis! Think how that would seem to Mr. Harding!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” he answered, “if I knew that a divorce was necessary to your + happiness, I would take upon myself whatever disgrace was necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Corydon sat gazing at him. “Is it so easy to give me up?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t easy at all, my dear,” he answered. “It was a fight that I + fought out.” + </p> + <p> + “But you decided that you could do it!” she exclaimed; and that, he found, + was the aspect of the matter that stayed with her in the end. It seemed a + poor sort of compliment he had paid her; and how could he make real to her + the pangs the decision had cost him? He expected her to take that for + granted—in all these years, had he not been able to convince her of + his love? + </p> + <p> + It was the old story between them, he reflected; he was always being + called upon to express his feelings, and always reluctant to attempt it. + Just now she wanted him to enter upon an eloquent exposition of how he had + suffered and hesitated before he mailed the letter; and she would hang + upon his words, and drink them in greedily—and of course, the more + convincing he made them, the more she would love <i>him</i>. + </p> + <p> + She could never leave him, she insisted—the idea of giving him up + was madness. She had not meant any such thing by falling in love with Mr. + Harding. Why must he be so elemental, so brutally direct? He was like some + clumsy animal, blundering about in the garden where she kept her + sentimental plants. He frightened her, as he had frightened Mr. Harding. + She stood appalled at this thing which he had done; the truth being that + his action had sprung from a certain deep conviction in him, which he + never found courage to utter to her. + </p> + <p> + Section 15. Thyrsis pledged his word that he would write no more to Mr. + Harding; and so they settled down to wait for a reply. But a couple more + days passed, and still there came nothing. + </p> + <p> + Corydon was restless and impatient. “What <i>can</i> he be doing?” she + exclaimed. Finally it chanced that Thyrsis had to go to Bellevue upon some + errand; and so the two drove into town together, and came upon the + solution of the mystery. + </p> + <p> + On the street they met Mr. Jennings, the high-school principal. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” said he. “A fine day.” And then, “Have you heard the news + about Harding?” + </p> + <p> + “What news?” asked Thyrsis. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone away.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone away!” + </p> + <p> + “He’s resigned his pastorate.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis stared at the man, dazed; he felt Corydon beside him give a start. + “Resigned his pastorate!” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other, “just so.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “We none of us know. We’re at our wits’ end.” + </p> + <p> + “But—how did you hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m one of the trustees of the church, and his letter was read last + night.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis could not find a word to utter. He sat staring at the man in + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” cried Corydon, at last. + </p> + <p> + “He said that for some time he had been dissatisfied with his work, and + felt the need of more study and reflection. It quite took our breath away, + for nobody’d had the least idea that anything was wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s he going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently he’s going abroad,” was the answer—“at least he ordered + his mail to be forwarded to an address in Switzerland. And that’s all we + know.” + </p> + <p> + Then, after a few remarks about the spiritual ferment in the churches, the + worthy high-school principal went on his way, and left Corydon and Thyrsis + in the middle of the street. For a minute or two they sat staring before + them as if in a trance; and then suddenly from Thyrsis’ lips there burst a + peal of wild laughter. “By the Lord God, he ran away from it!” he cried; + and he seized Corydon by the arm and cried again, “He ran away from it!” + </p> + <p> + “Thyrsis!” exclaimed the other. “Don’t laugh about it!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t laugh!” he gasped; and again the convulsion of hilarity swept over + him. + </p> + <p> + But Corydon turned upon him swiftly. “No!” she cried. “Stop! It’s no + joke!” + </p> + <p> + She was staring at him, her eyes wide with consternation and dismay. + “Think!” she exclaimed. “He’s given up his career!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “so it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s awful!” she cried. “Oh, how <i>could</i> he!” + </p> + <p> + He saw the way the news affected her, and he made an effort to control + himself. “The man simply couldn’t face it,” he said. “He didn’t dare to + trust himself. He ran.” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! He’s given up his whole + life-work!” + </p> + <p> + “He’s fled like Joseph,” said Thyrsis—“leaving his cloak in the + hands of the temptress!” + </p> + <p> + And then, the strain proving too much for him, he began to laugh again. + Becoming aware of the stares of some people on the street, he started up + the horse, and drove on into the country, where he could be alone, and + could give unrestrained expression to the emotions that possessed him. + </p> + <p> + He imagined the dismay and perplexity of the unhappy clergyman, with his + belief in the sacred institution of marriage—and with the vision of + Corydon pursuing him all day, and haunting his dreams at night. He + imagined him trying to face the interview with the husband—with the + terrible, conventionless husband, whose arguments could not be answered. + “He simply couldn’t face me! He went the very morning I was coming!” + </p> + <p> + So he would laugh again; he would laugh until he was so weak that he had + to lie back in his seat. “I can’t believe that it’s true!” he exclaimed. + “My dear, I think it’s the funniest thing that ever happened since the + world began!” + </p> + <p> + “But Thyrsis!” she protested. “Think what we’ve done to him! The man’s + life is wrecked!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said he. “It’s the best thing that could have happened to him. + He might have gone on preaching sermons all his life—but now he’s + got some ideas to work out. He’ll have time to read books, and to think.” + </p> + <p> + “But he must be suffering so!” exclaimed Corydon, who could not forget her + love, even in the presence of his ribaldry. + </p> + <p> + “He needs to suffer,” Thyrsis replied. “He may meet some of the radicals + over there, and come back with a new point of view.” + </p> + <p> + But Corydon shook her head. “You don’t know him,” she said. “He couldn’t + possibly change. I don’t think I’ll ever hear from him again.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis looked at her and saw that there were tears in her eyes. He put + his hand upon hers. “We’ll have to worry through for a while longer, + dear,” he said. “Never mind—we’ll manage to make out somehow!” + </p> + <p> + Section 16. They drove home; and all through supper they talked about this + breathless event. Afterwards they sat in the twilight, upon the porch, and + threshed it out in its every aspect. + </p> + <p> + “Corydon,” said he, “I don’t believe you really loved him as much as you + thought. Did you?” + </p> + <p> + She stared before her without answering. + </p> + <p> + “Would you have loved him for long?” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + She pondered over this. “I don’t think one could love a man always,” she + answered, “unless he had a mind.” + </p> + <p> + At which he pondered in turn. “Then it was too bad to drive him away!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” said she. “That’s what I couldn’t make clear to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But still, we had to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> may have,” she said. “I didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Thyrsis looked, and saw that she was smiling through her tears. He took + her hand in his. “We’ll see each other through, dear,” he said. “We’ll + have to wait until the world grows up.” + </p> + <p> + He felt an answering pressure of her hand. “Thyrsis,” she said, “you must + promise me that you will never do anything dreadful like that again. You + must understand me; I might think that I was in love, but it would never + be real—truly it wouldn’t. No man could ever mean to me what you + mean—I know that! And I couldn’t give you up—you must never + let yourself think of such a thing! I couldn’t give you up!” + </p> + <p> + So there came to Thyrsis one of those bursts of tenderness that she knew + so well. He put his arms about her and kissed her with fervor; but even + while he spoke with her, and gave her the love she desired, there was + something in him that sank back and moaned with despair. So the captive + sinks and moans when he finds that his break for freedom has led only to + the tightening of his chains. + </p> + <p> + <i>They stood for the last time before the cabin, bidding farewell to the + little glen and all its memories.</i> + </p> + <p> + “There are lines in the poem for everything,” she said. “Even for that!” + And she quoted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He hearkens not! light comer, he is flown!” + </pre> + <p> + He laughed. “I can do better yet,” he said— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Alack, for Corydon no rival now!” + </pre> + <p> + There was a pause. “That was five years,” she mused. “And there were five + more!” + </p> + <p> + “It will mean another book,” he said. “To tell about the new work; and how + Thyrsis became a social lion; and how, like Icarus, he flew too high and + melted his wings. And then, ‘The Exploiters,’ the book of his vengeance! + And then Corydon—-” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do not forget Corydon,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “How he watched her dying before his eyes, and how he prayed for months + for courage to kill her, and could not, but ran away. And then—-” + </p> + <p> + “It will make a long story.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a long story. ‘Love’s Deliverance,’ let us call it.” + </p> + <p> + “They will smile at that. It sounds like Reno, Nevada.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Love’s Deliverance,’ even so,” he said. “To tell how Thyrsis went out + into the wilderness and found himself; and of the new love that came to + Corydon.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a Bible for lovers,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, and smiled-“with a book of Chronicles, and a book of + Proverbs, and a book of Psalms, and a book of Revelations—” + </p> + <p> + “And several books of Epistles,” she interposed. + </p> + <p> + “The tablets in the temple are cracked,” he said, “and the fortresses of + privilege are crumbling. When the Revolution is here—when there are + no longer priests nor judges nor class-taboos—then out of the hunger + of our own hearts we shall have to shape our sex-ideals, and organize our + new aristocracies.” + </p> + <p> + “They will call it a book of ‘free love’,” said she. + </p> + <p> + To which he answered, gravely: <i>“Let us redeem our great words from base + uses. Let that no longer call itself Love, which knows that it is not + free!”</i> + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love’s Pilgrimage, by Upton Sinclair + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE’S PILGRIMAGE *** + +***** This file should be named 5694-h.htm or 5694-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/9/5694/ + + +Text file produced by Charles Franks, Charles Aldarondo, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +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. 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