Jack London
Martin Eden
»Let me live out my years in heat of blood
Let me lie drunken with the dreamers wine
Let me not see this soulhouse built of mud
Go toppling to the dust a vacant shrine«
Chapter I
The one opened the door with a latchkey and went in followed by a young fellow
who awkwardly removed his cap He wore rough clothes that smacked of the sea
and he was manifestly out of place in the spacious hall in which he found
himself He did not know what to do with his cap and was stuffing it into his
coat pocket when the other took it from him The act was done quietly and
naturally and the awkward young fellow appreciated it »He understands« was
his thought »Hell see me through all right«
He walked at the others heels with a swing to his shoulders and his legs
spread unwittingly as if the level floors were tilting up and sinking down to
the heave and lunge of the sea The wide rooms seemed too narrow for his rolling
gait and to himself he was in terror lest his broad shoulders should collide
with the doorways or sweep the bricabrac from the low mantel He recoiled from
side to side between the various objects and multiplied the hazards that in
reality lodged only in his mind Between a grand piano and a centretable piled
high with books was space for a half a dozen to walk abreast yet he essayed it
with trepidation His heavy arms hung loosely at his sides He did not know what
to do with those arms and hands and when to his excited vision one arm seemed
liable to brush against the books on the table he lurched away like a
frightened horse barely missing the piano stool He watched the easy walk of
the other in front of him and for the first time realized that his walk was
different from that of other men He experienced a momentary pang of shame that
he should walk so uncouthly The sweat burst through the skin of his forehead in
tiny beads and he paused and mopped his bronzed face with his handkerchief
»Hold on Arthur my boy« he said attempting to mask his anxiety with
facetious utterance »This is too much all at once for yours truly Give me a
chance to get my nerve You know I didnt want to come an I guess your famly
aint hankerin to see me neither«
»Thats all right« was the reassuring answer »You mustnt be frightened at
us Were just homely people Hello theres a letter for me«
He stepped back to the table tore open the envelope and began to read
giving the stranger an opportunity to recover himself And the stranger
understood and appreciated His was the gift of sympathy understanding and
beneath his alarmed exterior that sympathetic process went on He mopped his
forehead dry and glanced about him with a controlled face though in the eyes
there was an expression such as wild animals betray when they fear the trap He
was surrounded by the unknown apprehensive of what might happen ignorant of
what he should do aware that he walked and bore himself awkwardly fearful that
every attribute and power of him was similarly afflicted He was keenly
sensitive hopelessly selfconscious and the amused glance that the other stole
privily at him over the top of the letter burned into him like a daggerthrust
He saw the glance but he gave no sign for among the things he had learned was
discipline Also that daggerthrust went to his pride He cursed himself for
having come and at the same time resolved that happen what would having come
he would carry it through The lines of his face hardened and into his eyes
came a fighting light He looked about more unconcernedly sharply observant
every detail of the pretty interior registering itself on his brain His eyes
were wide apart nothing in their field of vision escaped and as they drank in
the beauty before them the fighting light died out and a warm glow took its
place He was responsive to beauty and here was cause to respond
An oil painting caught and held him A heavy surf thundered and burst over
an outjutting rock lowering stormclouds covered the sky and outside the line
of surf a pilotschooner closehauled heeled over till every detail of her
deck was visible was surging along against a stormy sunset sky There was
beauty and it drew him irresistibly He forgot his awkward walk and came closer
to the painting very close The beauty faded out of the canvas His face
expressed his bepuzzlement He stared at what seemed a careless daub of paint
then stepped away Immediately all the beauty flashed back into the canvas »A
trick picture« was his thought as he dismissed it though in the midst of the
multitudinous impressions he was receiving he found time to feel a prod of
indignation that so much beauty should be sacrificed to make a trick He did not
know painting He had been brought up on chromos and lithographs that were
always definite and sharp near or far He had seen oil paintings it was true
in the show windows of shops but the glass of the windows had prevented his
eager eyes from approaching too near
He glanced around at his friend reading the letter and saw the books on the
table Into his eyes leaped a wistfulness and a yearning as promptly as the
yearning leaps into the eyes of a starving man at sight of food An impulsive
stride with one lurch to right and left of the shoulders brought him to the
table where he began affectionately handling the books He glanced at the
titles and the authors names read fragments of text caressing the volumes
with his eyes and hands and once recognized a book he had read For the rest
they were strange books and strange authors He chanced upon a volume of
Swinburne and began reading steadily forgetful of where he was his face
glowing Twice he closed the book on his forefinger to look at the name of the
author Swinburne he would remember that name That fellow had eyes and he had
certainly seen color and flashing light But who was Swinburne Was he dead a
hundred years or so like most of the poets Or was he alive still and writing
He turned to the titlepage yes he had written other books well he would
go to the free library the first thing in the morning and try to get hold of
some of Swinburnes stuff He went back to the text and lost himself He did not
notice that a young woman had entered the room The first he knew was when he
heard Arthurs voice saying
»Ruth this is Mr Eden«
The book was closed on his forefinger and before he turned he was thrilling
to the first new impression which was not of the girl but of her brothers
words Under that muscled body of his he was a mass of quivering sensibilities
At the slightest impact of the outside world upon his consciousness his
thoughts sympathies and emotions leapt and played like lambent flame He was
extraordinarily receptive and responsive while his imagination pitched high
was ever at work establishing relations of likeness and difference Mr Eden
was what he had thrilled to he who had been called Eden or Martin Eden or
just Martin all his life And »Mister« It was certainly going some was his
internal comment His mind seemed to turn on the instant into a vast camera
obscura and he saw arrayed around his consciousness endless pictures from his
life of stokeholes and forecastles camps and beaches jails and boozingkens
feverhospitals and slum streets wherein the thread of association was the
fashion in which he had been addressed in those various situations
And then he turned and saw the girl The phantasmagoria of his brain
vanished at sight of her She was a pale ethereal creature with wide
spiritual blue eyes and a wealth of golden hair He did not know how she was
dressed except that the dress was as wonderful as she He likened her to a pale
gold flower upon a slender stem No she was a spirit a divinity a goddess
such sublimated beauty was not of the earth Or perhaps the books were right
and there were many such as she in the upper walks of life She might well be
sung by that chap Swinburne Perhaps he had had somebody like her in mind when
he painted that girl Iseult in the book there on the table All this plethora
of sight and feeling and thought occurred on the instant There was no pause
of the realities wherein he moved He saw her hand coming out to his and she
looked him straight in the eyes as she shook hands frankly like a man The
women he had known did not shake hands that way For that matter most of them
did not shake hands at all A flood of associations visions of various ways he
had made the acquaintance of women rushed into his mind and threatened to swamp
it But he shook them aside and looked at her Never had he seen such a woman
The women he had known Immediately beside her on either hand ranged the
women he had known For an eternal second he stood in the midst of a portrait
gallery wherein she occupied the central place while about her were limned
many women all to be weighed and measured by a fleeting glance herself the
unit of weight and measure He saw the weak and sickly faces of the girls of the
factories and the simpering boisterous girls from the south of Market There
were women of the cattle camps and swarthy cigarettesmoking women of Old
Mexico These in turn were crowded out by Japanese women dolllike stepping
mincingly on wooden clogs by Eurasians delicate featured stamped with
degeneracy by fullbodied SouthSeaIsland women flowercrowned and
brownskinned All these were blotted out by a grotesque and terrible nightmare
brood frowsy shuffling creatures from the pavements of Whitechapel
ginbloated hags of the stews and all the vast hells following of harpies
vilemouthed and filthy that under the guise of monstrous female form prey upon
sailors the scrapings of the ports the scum and slime of the human pit
»Wont you sit down Mr Eden« the girl was saying »I have been looking
forward to meeting you ever since Arthur told us It was brave of you «
He waved his hand deprecatingly and muttered that it was nothing at all
what he had done and that any fellow would have done it She noticed that the
hand he waved was covered with fresh abrasions in the process of healing and a
glance at the other loosehanging hand showed it to be in the same condition
Also with quick critical eye she noted a scar on his cheek another that
peeped out from under the hair of the forehead and a third that ran down and
disappeared under the starched collar She repressed a smile at sight of the red
line that marked the chafe of the collar against the bronzed neck He was
evidently unused to stiff collars Likewise her feminine eye took in the clothes
he wore the cheap and unæsthetic cut the wrinkling of the coat across the
shoulders and the series of wrinkles in the sleeves that advertised bulging
biceps muscles
While he waved his hand and muttered that he had done nothing at all he was
obeying her behest by trying to get into a chair He found time to admire the
ease with which she sat down then lurched toward a chair facing her
overwhelmed with consciousness of the awkward figure he was cutting This was a
new experience for him All his life up to then he had been unaware of being
either graceful or awkward Such thoughts of self had never entered his mind He
sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair greatly worried by his hands They
were in the way wherever he put them Arthur was leaving the room and Martin
Eden followed his exit with longing eyes He felt lost alone there in the room
with that pale spirit of a woman There was no barkeeper upon whom to call for
drinks no small boy to send around the corner for a can of beer and by means of
that social fluid start the amenities of friendship flowing
»You have such a scar on your neck Mr Eden« the girl was saying »How did
it happen I am sure it must have been some adventure«
»A Mexican with a knife miss« he answered moistening his parched lips and
clearing his throat »It was just a fight After I got the knife away he tried
to bite off my nose«
Baldly as he had stated it in his eyes was a rich vision of that hot
starry night at Salina Cruz the white strip of beach the lights of the sugar
steamers in the harbor the voices of the drunken sailors in the distance the
jostling stevedores the flaming passion in the Mexicans face the glint of the
beasteyes in the starlight the sting of the steel in his neck and the rush of
blood the crowd and the cries the two bodies his and the Mexicans locked
together rolling over and over and tearing up the sand and from away off
somewhere the mellow tinkling of a guitar Such was the picture and he thrilled
to the memory of it wondering if the man could paint it who had painted the
pilotschooner on the wall The white beach the stars and the lights of the
sugar steamers would look great he thought and midway on the sand the dark
group of figures that surrounded the fighters The knife occupied a place in the
picture he decided and would show well with a sort of gleam in the light of
the stars But of all this no hint had crept into his speech »He tried to bite
off my nose« he concluded
»Oh« the girl said in a faint far voice and he noticed the shock in her
sensitive face
He felt a shock himself and a blush of embarrassment shone faintly on his
sunburned cheeks though to him it burned as hotly as when his cheeks had been
exposed to the open furnacedoor in the fireroom Such sordid things as
stabbing affrays were evidently not fit subjects for conversation with a lady
People in the books in her walk of life did not talk about such things
perhaps they did not know about them either
There was a brief pause in the conversation they were trying to get started
Then she asked tentatively about the scar on his cheek Even as she asked he
realized that she was making an effort to talk his talk and he resolved to get
away from it and talk hers
»It was just an accident« he said putting his hand to his cheek »One
night in a calm with a heavy sea running the mainboomlift carried away an
next the tackle The lift was wire an it was threshin around like a snake
The whole watch was tryin to grab it an I rushed in an got swatted«
»Oh« she said this time with an accent of comprehension though secretly
his speech had been so much Greek to her and she was wondering what a lift was
and what swatted meant
»This man Swineburne« he began attempting to put his plan into execution
and pronouncing the i long
»Who«
»Swineburne« he repeated with the same mispronunciation »The poet«
»Swinburne« she corrected
»Yes thats the chap« he stammered his cheeks hot again »How long since
he died«
»Why I havent heard that he was dead« She looked at him curiously »Where
did you make his acquaintance«
»I never clapped eyes on him« was the reply »But I read some of his poetry
out of that book there on the table just before you come in How do you like his
poetry«
And thereat she began to talk quickly and easily upon the subject he had
suggested He felt better and settled back slightly from the edge of the chair
holding tightly to its arms with his hands as if it might get away from him and
buck him to the floor He had succeeded in making her talk her talk and while
she rattled on he strove to follow her marvelling at all the knowledge that
was stowed away in that pretty head of hers and drinking in the pale beauty of
her face Follow her he did though bothered by unfamiliar words that fell
glibly from her lips and by critical phrases and thoughtprocesses that were
foreign to his mind but that nevertheless stimulated his mind and set it
tingling Here was intellectual life he thought and here was beauty warm and
wonderful as he had never dreamed it could be He forgot himself and stared at
her with hungry eyes Here was something to live for to win to to fight for
ay and die for The books were true There were such women in the world She
was one of them She lent wings to his imagination and great luminous canvases
spread themselves before him whereon loomed vague gigantic figures of love and
romance and of heroic deeds for womans sake for a pale woman a flower of
gold And through the swaying palpitant vision as through a fairy mirage he
stared at the real woman sitting there and talking of literature and art He
listened as well but he stared unconscious of the fixity of his gaze or of the
fact that all that was essentially masculine in his nature was shining in his
eyes But she who knew little of the world of men being a woman was keenly
aware of his burning eyes She had never had men look at her in such fashion
and it embarrassed her She stumbled and halted in her utterance The thread of
argument slipped from her He frightened her and at the same time it was
strangely pleasant to be so looked upon Her training warned her of peril and of
wrong subtle mysterious luring while her instincts rang clarionvoiced
through her being impelling her to hurdle caste and place and gain to this
traveller from another world to this uncouth young fellow with lacerated hands
and a line of raw red caused by the unaccustomed linen at his throat who all
too evidently was soiled and tainted by ungracious existence She was clean
and her cleanness revolted but she was woman and she was just beginning to
learn the paradox of woman
»As I was saying what was I saying« She broke off abruptly and laughed
merrily at her predicament
»You was saying that this man Swinburne failed bein a great poet because
an that was as far as you got miss« he prompted while to himself he seemed
suddenly hungry and delicious little thrills crawled up and down his spine at
the sound of her laughter Like silver he thought to himself like tinkling
silver bells and on the instant and for an instant he was transported to a
far land where under pink cherry blossoms he smoked a cigarette and listened
to the bells of the peaked pagoda calling strawsandalled devotees to worship
»Yes thank you« she said »Swinburne fails when all is said because he
is well indelicate There are many of his poems that should never be read
Every line of the really great poets is filled with beautiful truth and calls
to all that is high and noble in the human Not a line of the great poets can be
spared without impoverishing the world by that much«
»I thought it was great« he said hesitatingly »the little I read I had no
idea he was such a a scoundrel I guess that crops out in his other books«
»There are many lines that could be spared from the book you were reading«
she said her voice primly firm and dogmatic
»I must a missed em« he announced »What I read was the real goods It
was all lighted up an shining an it shun right into me an lighted me up
inside like the sun or a searchlight Thats the way it landed on me but I
guess I aint up much on poetry miss«
He broke off lamely He was confused painfully conscious of his
inarticulateness He had felt the bigness and glow of life in what he had read
but his speech was inadequate He could not express what he felt and to himself
he likened himself to a sailor in a strange ship on a dark night groping
about in the unfamiliar running rigging Well he decided it was up to him to
get acquainted in this new world He had never seen anything that he couldnt
get the hang of when he wanted to and it was about time for him to want to learn
to talk the things that were inside of him so that she could understand She was
bulking large on his horizon
»Now Longfellow « she was saying
»Yes Ive read m« he broke in impulsively spurred on to exhibit and make
the most of his little store of book knowledge desirous of showing her that he
was not wholly a stupid clod »The Psalm of Life Excelsior an I guess
thats all«
She nodded her head and smiled and he felt somehow that her smile was
tolerant pitifully tolerant He was a fool to attempt to make a pretence that
way That Longfellow chap most likely had written countless books of poetry
»Excuse me miss for buttin in that way I guess the real facts is that I
dont know nothin much about such things It aint in my class But Im goin
to make it in my class«
It sounded like a threat His voice was determined his eyes were flashing
the lines of his face had grown harsh And to her it seemed that the angle of
his jaw had changed its pitch had become unpleasantly aggressive At the same
time a wave of intense virility seemed to surge out from him and impinge upon
her
»I think you could make it in in your class« she finished with a laugh
»You are very strong«
Her gaze rested for a moment on the muscular neck heavy corded almost
bulllike bronzed by the sun spilling over with rugged health and strength
And though he sat there blushing and humble again she felt drawn to him She
was surprised by a wanton thought that rushed into her mind It seemed to her
that if she could lay her two hands upon that neck that all its strength and
vigor would flow out to her She was shocked by this thought It seemed to
reveal to her an undreamed depravity in her nature Besides strength to her was
a gross and brutish thing Her ideal of masculine beauty had always been slender
gracefulness Yet the thought still persisted It bewildered her that she should
desire to place her hands on that sunburned neck In truth she was far from
robust and the need of her body and mind was for strength But she did not know
it She knew only that no man had ever affected her before as this one had who
shocked her from moment to moment with his awful grammar
»Yes I aint no invalid« he said »When it comes down to hardpan I can
digest scrapiron But just now Ive got dyspepsia Most of what you was sayin
I cant digest Never trained that way you see I like books and poetry and
what time Ive had Ive read em but Ive never thought about em the way you
have Thats why I cant talk about em Im like a navigator adrift on a
strange sea without chart or compass Now I want to get my bearins Mebbe you
can put me right How did you learn all this youve ben talkin«
»By going to school I fancy and by studying« she answered
»I went to school when I was a kid« he began to object
»Yes but I mean high school and lectures and the university«
»Youve gone to the university« he demanded in frank amazement He felt
that she had become remoter from him by at least a million miles
»Im going there now Im taking special courses in English«
He did not know what English meant but he made a mental note of that item
of ignorance and passed on
»How long would I have to study before I could go to the university« he
asked
She beamed encouragement upon his desire for knowledge and said »That
depends upon how much studying you have already done You have never attended
high school Of course not But did you finish grammar school«
»I had two years to run when I left« he answered »But I was always
honorably promoted at school«
The next moment angry with himself for the boast he had gripped the arms
of the chair so savagely that every fingerend was stinging At the same moment
he became aware that a woman was entering the room He saw the girl leave her
chair and trip swiftly across the floor to the newcomer They kissed each other
and with arms around each others waists they advanced toward him That must
be her mother he thought She was a tall blond woman slender and stately
and beautiful Her gown was what he might expect in such a house His eyes
delighted in the graceful lines of it She and her dress together reminded him
of women on the stage Then he remembered seeing similar grand ladies and gowns
entering the London theatres while he stood and watched and the policemen shoved
him back into the drizzle beyond the awning Next his mind leaped to the Grand
Hotel at Yokohama where too from the sidewalk he had seen grand ladies Then
the city and the harbor of Yokohama in a thousand pictures began flashing
before his eyes But he swiftly dismissed the kaleidoscope of memory oppressed
by the urgent need of the present He knew that he must stand up to be
introduced and he struggled painfully to his feet where he stood with trousers
bagging at the knees his arms loosehanging and ludicrous his face set hard
for the impending ordeal
Chapter II
The process of getting into the dining room was a nightmare to him Between
halts and stumbles jerks and lurches locomotion had at times seemed
impossible But at last he had made it and was seated alongside of Her The
array of knives and forks frightened him They bristled with unknown perils and
he gazed at them fascinated till their dazzle became a background across which
moved a succession of forecastle pictures wherein he and his mates sat eating
salt beef with sheathknives and fingers or scooping thick peasoup out of
pannikins by means of battered iron spoons The stench of bad beef was in his
nostrils while in his ears to the accompaniment of creaking timbers and
groaning bulkheads echoed the loud mouthnoises of the eaters He watched them
eating and decided that they ate like pigs Well he would be careful here He
would make no noise He would keep his mind upon it all the time
He glanced around the table Opposite him was Arthur and Arthurs brother
Norman They were her brothers he reminded himself and his heart warmed toward
them How they loved each other the members of this family There flashed into
his mind the picture of her mother of the kiss of greeting and of the pair of
them walking toward him with arms entwined Not in his world were such displays
of affection between parents and children made It was a revelation of the
heights of existence that were attained in the world above It was the finest
thing yet that he had seen in this small glimpse of that world He was moved
deeply by appreciation of it and his heart was melting with sympathetic
tenderness He had starved for love all his life His nature craved love It was
an organic demand of his being Yet he had gone without and hardened himself in
the process. He had not known that he needed love Nor did he know it now He
merely saw it in operation and thrilled to it and thought it fine and high
and splendid
He was glad that Mr Morse was not there It was difficult enough getting
acquainted with her and her mother and her brother Norman Arthur he already
knew somewhat The father would have been too much for him he felt sure It
seemed to him that he had never worked so hard in his life The severest toil
was childs play compared with this Tiny nodules of moisture stood out on his
forehead and his shirt was wet with sweat from the exertion of doing so many
unaccustomed things at once He had to eat as he had never eaten before to
handle strange tools to glance surreptitiously about and learn how to
accomplish each new thing to receive the flood of impressions that was pouring
in upon him and being mentally annotated and classified to be conscious of a
yearning for her that perturbed him in the form of a dull aching restlessness
to feel the prod of desire to win to the walk in life whereon she trod and to
have his mind ever and again straying off in speculation and vague plans of how
to reach to her Also when his secret glance went across to Norman opposite
him or to any one else to ascertain just what knife or fork was to be used in
any particular occasion that persons features were seized upon by his mind
which automatically strove to appraise them and to divine what they were all
in relation to her Then he had to talk to hear what was said to him and what
was said back and forth and to answer when it was necessary with a tongue
prone to looseness of speech that required a constant curb And to add confusion
to confusion there was the servant an unceasing menace that appeared
noiselessly at his shoulder a dire Sphinx that propounded puzzles and
conundrums demanding instantaneous solution He was oppressed throughout the
meal by the thought of fingerbowls Irrelevantly insistently scores of times
he wondered when they would come on and what they looked like He had heard of
such things and now sooner or later somewhere in the next few minutes he
would see them sit at table with exalted beings who used them ay and he
would use them himself And most important of all far down and yet always at
the surface of his thought was the problem of how he should comport himself
toward these persons What should his attitude be He wrestled continually and
anxiously with the problem There were cowardly suggestions that he should make
believe assume a part and there were still more cowardly suggestions that
warned him he would fail in such course that his nature was not fitted to live
up to it and that he would make a fool of himself
It was during the first part of the dinner struggling to decide upon his
attitude that he was very quiet He did not know that his quietness was giving
the lie to Arthurs words of the day before when that brother of hers had
announced that he was going to bring a wild man home to dinner and for them not
to be alarmed because they would find him an interesting wild man Martin Eden
could not have found it in him just then to believe that her brother could be
guilty of such treachery especially when he had been the means of getting this
particular brother out of an unpleasant row So he sat at table perturbed by
his own unfitness and at the same time charmed by all that went on about him
For the first time he realized that eating was something more than a utilitarian
function He was unaware of what he ate It was merely food He was feasting his
love of beauty at this table where eating was an æsthetic function It was an
intellectual function too His mind was stirred He heard words spoken that
were meaningless to him and other words that he had seen only in books and that
no man or woman he had known was of large enough mental caliber to pronounce
When he heard such words dropping carelessly from the lips of the members of
this marvellous family her family he thrilled with delight The romance and
beauty and high vigor of the books were coming true He was in that rare and
blissful state wherein a man sees his dreams stalk out from the crannies of
fantasy and become fact
Never had he been at such an altitude of living and he kept himself in the
background listening observing and pleasuring replying in reticent
monosyllables saying »Yes miss« and »No miss« to her and »Yes maam« and
»No maam« to her mother He curbed the impulse arising out of his
seatraining to say »Yes sir« and »No sir« to her brothers He felt that it
would be inappropriate and a confession of inferiority on his part which would
never do if he was to win to her Also it was a dictate of his pride »By God«
he cried to himself once »Im just as good as them and if they do know lots
that I dont I could learn m a few myself all the same« And the next moment
when she or her mother addressed him as Mr Eden his aggressive pride was
forgotten and he was glowing and warm with delight He was a civilized man
that was what he was shoulder to shoulder at dinner with people he had read
about in books He was in the books himself adventuring through the printed
pages of bound volumes
But while he belied Arthurs description and appeared a gentle lamb rather
than a wild man he was racking his brains for a course of action He was no
gentle lamb and the part of second fiddle would never do for the highpitched
dominance of his nature He talked only when he had to and then his speech was
like his walk to the table filled with jerks and halts as he groped in his
polyglot vocabulary for words debating over words he knew were fit but which he
feared he could not pronounce rejecting other words he knew would not be
understood or would be raw and harsh But all the time he was oppressed by the
consciousness that this carefulness of diction was making a booby of him
preventing him from expressing what he had in him Also his love of freedom
chafed against the restriction in much the same way his neck chafed against the
starched fetter of a collar Besides he was confident that he could not keep it
up He was by nature powerful of thought and sensibility and the creative
spirit was restive and urgent He was swiftly mastered by the concept or
sensation in him that struggled in birththroes to receive expression and form
and then he forgot himself and where he was and the old words the tools of
speech he knew slipped out
Once he declined something from the servant who interrupted and pestered at
his shoulder and he said shortly and emphatically »Pow«
On the instant those at the table were keyed up and expectant the servant
was smugly pleased and he was wallowing in mortification But he recovered
himself quickly
»Its the Kanaka for finish« he explained »and it just come out naturally
Its spelt pau«
He caught her curious and speculative eyes fixed on his hands and being in
explanatory mood he said
»I just come down the Coast on one of the Pacific mail steamers She was
behind time an around the Puget Sound ports we worked like niggers storing
cargo mixed freight if you know what that means Thats how the skin got
knocked off«
»Oh it wasnt that« she hastened to explain in turn »Your hands seemed
too small for your body«
His cheeks were hot He took it as an exposure of another of his
deficiencies
»Yes« he said depreciatingly »They aint big enough to stand the strain I
can hit like a mule with my arms and shoulders They are too strong an when I
smash a man on the jaw the hands get smashed too«
He was not happy at what he had said He was filled with disgust at himself
He had loosed the guard upon his tongue and talked about things that were not
nice
»It was brave of you to help Arthur the way you did and you a stranger«
she said tactfully aware of his discomfiture though not of the reason for it
He in turn realized what she had done and in the consequent warm surge of
gratefulness that overwhelmed him forgot his looseworded tongue
»It wasnt nothin at all« he said »Any guy ud do it for another That
bunch of hoodlums was lookin for trouble an Arthur wasnt botherin em none
They butted in on m an then I butted in on them an poked a few Thats where
some of the skin off my hands went along with some of the teeth of the gang I
wouldnt a missed it for anything When I seen «
He paused openmouthed on the verge of the pit of his own depravity and
utter worthlessness to breathe the same air she did And while Arthur took up
the tale for the twentieth time of his adventure with the drunken hoodlums on
the ferryboat and of how Martin Eden had rushed in and rescued him that
individual with frowning brows meditated upon the fool he had made of himself
and wrestled more determinedly with the problem of how he should conduct himself
toward these people He certainly had not succeeded so far He wasnt of their
tribe and he couldnt talk their lingo was the way he put it to himself He
couldnt fake being their kind The masquerade would fail and besides
masquerade was foreign to his nature There was no room in him for sham or
artifice Whatever happened he must be real He couldnt talk their talk just
yet though in time he would Upon that he was resolved But in the meantime
talk he must and it must be his own talk toned down of course so as to be
comprehensible to them and so as not to shock them too much And furthermore he
wouldnt claim not even by tacit acceptance to be familiar with anything that
was unfamiliar In pursuance of this decision when the two brothers talking
university shop had used trig several times Martin Eden demanded
»What is trig«
»Trigonometry« Norman said »a higher form of math«
»And what is math« was the next question which somehow brought the laugh
on Norman
»Mathematics arithmetic« was the answer
Martin Eden nodded He had caught a glimpse of the apparently illimitable
vistas of knowledge. What he saw took on tangibility His abnormal power of
vision made abstractions take on concrete form In the alchemy of his brain
trigonometry and mathematics and the whole field of knowledge which they
betokened were transmuted into so much landscape The vistas he saw were vistas
of green foliage and forest glades all softly luminous or shot through with
flashing lights In the distance detail was veiled and blurred by a purple
haze but behind this purple haze he knew was the glamour of the unknown the
lure of romance It was like wine to him Here was adventure something to do
with head and hand a world to conquer and straightway from the back of his
consciousness rushed the thought conquering to win to her that lilypale
spirit sitting beside him
The glimmering vision was rent asunder and dissipated by Arthur who all
evening had been trying to draw his wild man out Martin Eden remembered his
decision For the first time he became himself consciously and deliberately at
first but soon lost in the joy of creating in making life as he knew it appear
before his listeners eyes He had been a member of the crew of the smuggling
schooner Halcyon when she was captured by a revenue cutter He saw with wide
eyes and he could tell what he saw He brought the pulsing sea before them and
the men and the ships upon the sea He communicated his power of vision till
they saw with his eyes what he had seen He selected from the vast mass of
detail with an artists touch drawing pictures of life that glowed and burned
with light and color injecting movement so that his listeners surged along with
him on the flood of rough eloquence enthusiasm and power At times he shocked
them with the vividness of the narrative and his terms of speech but beauty
always followed fast upon the heels of violence and tragedy was relieved by
humor by interpretations of the strange twists and quirks of sailors minds
And while he talked the girl looked at him with startled eyes His fire
warmed her She wondered if she had been cold all her days She wanted to lean
toward this burning blazing man that was like a volcano spouting forth
strength robustness and health She felt that she must lean toward him and
resisted by an effort Then too there was the counter impulse to shrink away
from him She was repelled by those lacerated hands grimed by toil so that the
very dirt of life was ingrained in the flesh itself by that red chafe of the
collar and those bulging muscles His roughness frightened her each roughness
of speech was an insult to her ear each rough phase of his life an insult to
her soul And ever and again would come the draw of him till she thought he
must be evil to have such power over her All that was most firmly established
in her mind was rocking His romance and adventure were battering at the
conventions Before his facile perils and ready laugh life was no longer an
affair of serious effort and restraint but a toy to be played with and turned
topsyturvy carelessly to be lived and pleasured in and carelessly to be flung
aside »Therefore play« was the cry that rang through her »Lean toward him
if so you will and place your two hands upon his neck« She wanted to cry out
at the recklessness of the thought and in vain she appraised her own cleanness
and culture and balanced all that she was against what he was not She glanced
about her and saw the others gazing at him with rapt attention and she would
have despaired had not she seen horror in her mothers eyes fascinated horror
it was true but none the less horror This man from outer darkness was evil
Her mother saw it and her mother was right She would trust her mothers
judgment in this as she had always trusted it in all things The fire of him was
no longer warm and the fear of him was no longer poignant
Later at the piano she played for him and at him aggressively with the
vague intent of emphasizing the impassableness of the gulf that separated them
Her music was a club that she swung brutally upon his head and though it
stunned him and crushed him down it incited him He gazed upon her in awe In
his mind as in her own the gulf widened but faster than it widened towered
his ambition to win across it But he was too complicated a plexus of
sensibilities to sit staring at a gulf a whole evening especially when there
was music He was remarkably susceptible to music It was like strong drink
firing him to audacities of feeling a drug that laid hold of his imagination
and went cloudsoaring through the sky It banished sordid fact flooded his
mind with beauty loosed romance and to its heels added wings He did not
understand the music she played It was different from the dancehall
pianobanging and blatant brass bands he had heard But he had caught hints of
such music from the books and he accepted her playing largely on faith
patiently waiting at first for the lilting measures of pronounced and simple
rhythm puzzled because those measures were not long continued Just as he
caught the swing of them and started his imagination attuned in flight always
they vanished away in a chaotic scramble of sounds that was meaningless to him
and that dropped his imagination an inert weight back to earth
Once it entered his mind that there was a deliberate rebuff in all this He
caught her spirit of antagonism and strove to divine the message that her hands
pronounced upon the keys Then he dismissed the thought as unworthy and
impossible and yielded himself more freely to the music The old delightful
condition began to be induced His feet were no longer clay and his flesh
became spirit before his eyes and behind his eyes shone a great glory and then
the scene before him vanished and he was away rocking over the world that was
to him a very dear world The known and the unknown were commingled in the
dreampageant that thronged his vision He entered strange ports of sunwashed
lands and trod marketplaces among barbaric peoples that no man had ever seen
The scent of the spice islands was in his nostrils as he had known it on warm
breathless nights at sea or he beat up against the southeast trades through
long tropic days sinking palmtufted coral islets in the turquoise sea behind
and lifting palmtufted coral islets in the turquoise sea ahead Swift as
thought the pictures came and went One instant he was astride a broncho and
flying through the fairycolored Painted Desert country the next instant he was
gazing down through shimmering heat into the whited sepulchre of Death Valley
or pulling an oar on a freezing ocean where great ice islands towered and
glistened in the sun He lay on a coral beach where the cocoanuts grew down to
the mellowsounding surf The hulk of an ancient wreck burned with blue fires
in the light of which danced the hula dancers to the barbaric lovecalls of the
singers who chanted to tinkling ukuleles and rumbling tomtoms It was a
sensuous tropic night In the background a volcano crater was silhouetted
against the stars Overhead drifted a pale crescent moon and the Southern Cross
burned low in the sky
He was a harp all life that he had known and that was his consciousness was
the strings and the flood of music was a wind that poured against those strings
and set them vibrating with memories and dreams He did not merely feel
Sensation invested itself in form and color and radiance and what his
imagination dared it objectified in some sublimated and magic way Past
present and future mingled and he went on oscillating across the broad warm
world through high adventure and noble deeds to Her ay and with her winning
her his arm about her and carrying her on in flight through the empery of his
mind
And she glancing at him across her shoulder saw something of all this in
his face It was a transfigured face with great shining eyes that gazed beyond
the veil of sound and saw behind it the leap and pulse of life and the gigantic
phantoms of the spirit She was startled The raw stumbling lout was gone The
illfitting clothes battered hands and sunburned face remained but these
seemed the prisonbars through which she saw a great soul looking forth
inarticulate and dumb because of those feeble lips that would not give it
speech Only for a flashing moment did she see this then she saw the lout
returned and she laughed at the whim of her fancy But the impression of that
fleeting glimpse lingered and when the time came for him to beat a stumbling
retreat and go she lent him the volume of Swinburne and another of Browning
she was studying Browning in one of her English courses He seemed such a boy
as he stood blushing and stammering his thanks that a wave of pity maternal in
its prompting welled up in her She did not remember the lout nor the
imprisoned soul nor the man who had stared at her in all masculineness and
delighted and frightened her She saw before her only a boy who was shaking her
hand with a hand so calloused that it felt like a nutmeggrater and rasped her
skin and who was saying jerkily
»The greatest time of my life You see I aint used to things « He
looked about him helplessly »To people and houses like this Its all new to
me and I like it«
»I hope youll call again« she said as he was saying good night to her
brothers
He pulled on his cap lurched desperately through the doorway and was gone
»Well what do you think of him« Arthur demanded
»He is most interesting a whiff of ozone« she answered »How old is he«
»Twenty almost twentyone I asked him this afternoon I didnt think he
was that young«
And I am three years older was the thought in her mind as she kissed her
brothers good night
Chapter III
As Martin Eden went down the steps his hand dropped into his coat pocket It
came out with a brown rice paper and a pinch of Mexican tobacco which were
deftly rolled together into a cigarette He drew the first whiff of smoke deep
into his lungs and expelled it in a long and lingering exhalation »By God« he
said aloud in a voice of awe and wonder »By God« he repeated And yet again
he murmured »By God« Then his hand went to his collar which he ripped out of
the shirt and stuffed into his pocket A cold drizzle was falling but he bared
his head to it and unbuttoned his vest swinging along in splendid unconcern He
was only dimly aware that it was raining He was in an ecstasy dreaming dreams
and reconstructing the scenes just past
He had met the woman at last the woman that he had thought little about
not being given to thinking about women but whom he had expected in a remote
way he would sometime meet He had sat next to her at table He had felt her
hand in his he had looked into her eyes and caught a vision of a beautiful
spirit but no more beautiful than the eyes through which it shone nor than
the flesh that gave it expression and form He did not think of her flesh as
flesh which was new to him for of the women he had known that was the only
way he thought Her flesh was somehow different He did not conceive of her body
as a body subject to the ills and frailties of bodies. Her body was more than
the garb of her spirit It was an emanation of her spirit a pure and gracious
crystallization of her divine essence This feeling of the divine startled him
It shocked him from his dreams to sober thought No word no clew no hint of
the divine had ever reached him before He had never believed in the divine He
had always been irreligious scoffing goodnaturedly at the skypilots and their
immortality of the soul There was no life beyond he had contended it was here
and now then darkness everlasting But what he had seen in her eyes was soul
immortal soul that could never die No man he had known nor any woman had
given him the message of immortality But she had She had whispered it to him
the first moment she looked at him Her face shimmered before his eyes as he
walked along pale and serious sweet and sensitive smiling with pity and
tenderness as only a spirit could smile and pure as he had never dreamed purity
could be Her purity smote him like a blow It startled him He had known good
and bad but purity as an attribute of existence had never entered his mind
And now in her he conceived purity to be the superlative of goodness and of
cleanness the sum of which constituted eternal life
And promptly urged his ambition to grasp at eternal life He was not fit to
carry water for her he knew that it was a miracle of luck and a fantastic
stroke that had enabled him to see her and be with her and talk with her that
night It was accidental There was no merit in it He did not deserve such
fortune His mood was essentially religious He was humble and meek filled with
selfdisparagement and abasement In such frame of mind sinners come to the
penitent form He was convicted of sin But as the meek and lowly at the
penitent form catch splendid glimpses of their future lordly existence so did
he catch similar glimpses of the state he would gain to by possessing her But
this possession of her was dim and nebulous and totally different from
possession as he had known it Ambition soared on mad wings and he saw himself
climbing the heights with her sharing thoughts with her pleasuring in
beautiful and noble things with her It was a soulpossession he dreamed
refined beyond any grossness a free comradeship of spirit that he could not put
into definite thought He did not think it For that matter he did not think at
all Sensation usurped reason and he was quivering and palpitant with emotions
he had never known drifting deliciously on a sea of sensibility where feeling
itself was exalted and spiritualized and carried beyond the summits of life
He staggered along like a drunken man murmuring fervently aloud »By God
By God«
A policeman on a street corner eyed him suspiciously then noted his sailor
roll
»Where did you get it« the policeman demanded
Martin Eden came back to earth His was a fluid organism swiftly
adjustable capable of flowing into and filling all sorts of nooks and crannies
With the policemans hail he was immediately his ordinary self grasping the
situation clearly
»Its a beaut aint it« he laughed back »I didnt know I was talkin out
loud«
»Youll be singing next« was the policemans diagnosis
»No I wont Gimme a match an Ill catch the next car home«
He lighted his cigarette said good night and went on »Now wouldnt that
rattle you« he ejaculated under his breath »That copper thought I was drunk«
He smiled to himself and meditated »I guess I was« he added »but I didnt
think a womans faces do it«
He caught a Telegraph Avenue car that was going to Berkeley It was crowded
with youths and young men who were singing songs and ever and again barking out
college yells He studied them curiously They were university boys They went
to the same university that she did were in her class socially could know her
could see her every day if they wanted to He wondered that they did not want
to that they had been out having a good time instead of being with her that
evening talking with her sitting around her in a worshipful and adoring
circle His thoughts wandered on He noticed one with narrowslitted eyes and a
looselipped mouth That fellow was vicious he decided On shipboard he would
be a sneak a whiner a tattler He Martin Eden was a better man than that
fellow The thought cheered him It seemed to draw him nearer to Her He began
comparing himself with the students He grew conscious of the muscled mechanism
of his body and felt confident that he was physically their master But their
heads were filled with knowledge that enabled them to talk her talk the
thought depressed him But what was a brain for he demanded passionately What
they had done he could do They had been studying about life from the books
while he had been busy living life His brain was just as full of knowledge as
theirs though it was a different kind of knowledge. How many of them could tie
a lanyard knot or take a wheel or a lookout His life spread out before him in
a series of pictures of danger and daring hardship and toil He remembered his
failures and scrapes in the process of learning He was that much to the good
anyway Later on they would have to begin living life and going through the mill
as he had gone Very well While they were busy with that he could be learning
the other side of life from the books
As the car crossed the zone of scattered dwellings that separated Oakland
from Berkeley he kept a lookout for a familiar twostory building along the
front of which ran the proud sign HIGGINBOTHAMS CASH STORE Martin Eden got
off at this corner He stared up for a moment at the sign It carried a message
to him beyond its mere wording A personality of smallness and egotism and petty
underhandedness seemed to emanate from the letters themselves Bernard
Higginbotham had married his sister and he knew him well He let himself in
with a latchkey and climbed the stairs to the second floor Here lived his
brotherinlaw The grocery was below There was a smell of stale vegetables in
the air As he groped his way across the hall he stumbled over a toycart left
there by one of his numerous nephews and nieces and brought up against a door
with a resounding bang »The pincher« was his thought »too miserly to burn two
cents worth of gas and save his boarders necks«
He fumbled for the knob and entered a lighted room where sat his sister and
Bernard Higginbotham She was patching a pair of his trousers while his lean
body was distributed over two chairs his feet dangling in dilapidated
carpetslippers over the edge of the second chair He glanced across the top of
the paper he was reading showing a pair of dark insincere sharpstaring eyes
Martin Eden never looked at him without experiencing a sense of repulsion What
his sister had seen in the man was beyond him The other affected him as so much
vermin and always aroused in him an impulse to crush him under his foot »Some
day Ill beat the face off of him« was the way he often consoled himself for
enduring the mans existence The eyes weasellike and cruel were looking at
him complainingly
»Well« Martin demanded »Out with it«
»I had that door painted only last week« Mr Higginbotham half whined half
bullied »and you know what union wages are You should be more careful«
Martin had intended to reply but he was struck by the hopelessness of it
He gazed across the monstrous sordidness of soul to a chromo on the wall It
surprised him He had always liked it but it seemed that now he was seeing it
for the first time It was cheap that was what it was like everything else in
this house His mind went back to the house he had just left and he saw first
the paintings and next Her looking at him with melting sweetness as she shook
his hand at leaving He forgot where he was and Bernard Higginbothams
existence till that gentleman demanded
»Seen a ghost«
Martin came back and looked at the beady eyes sneering truculent
cowardly and there leaped into his vision as on a screen the same eyes when
their owner was making a sale in the store below subservient eyes smug and
oily and flattering
»Yes« Martin answered »I seen a ghost Good night Good night Gertrude«
He started to leave the room tripping over a loose seam in the slatternly
carpet
»Dont bang the door« Mr Higginbotham cautioned him
He felt the blood crawl in his veins but controlled himself and closed the
door softly behind him
Mr Higginbotham looked at his wife exultantly
»Hes ben drinkin« he proclaimed in a hoarse whisper »I told you he
would«
She nodded her head resignedly
»His eyes was pretty shiny« she confessed »and he didnt have no collar
though he went away with one But mebbe he didnt have moren a couple of
glasses«
»He couldnt stand up straight« asserted her husband »I watched him He
couldnt walk across the floor without stumblin You heard m yourself almost
fall down in the hall«
»I think it was over Alices cart« she said »He couldnt see it in the
dark«
Mr Higginbothams voice and wrath began to rise All day he effaced himself
in the store reserving for the evening with his family the privilege of being
himself
»I tell you that precious brother of yours was drunk«
His voice was cold sharp and final his lips stamping the enunciation of
each word like the die of a machine His wife sighed and remained silent She
was a large stout woman always dressed slatternly and always tired from the
burdens of her flesh her work and her husband
»Hes got it in him I tell you from his father« Mr Higginbotham went on
accusingly »An hell croak in the gutter the same way You know that«
She nodded sighed and went on stitching They were agreed that Martin had
come home drunk They did not have it in their souls to know beauty or they
would have known that those shining eyes and that glowing face betokened youths
first vision of love
»Settin a fine example to the children« Mr Higginbotham snorted
suddenly in the silence for which his wife was responsible and which he
resented Sometimes he almost wished she would oppose him more »If he does it
again hes got to get out Understand I wont put up with his shinanigan
debotchin innocent children with his boozing« Mr Higginbotham liked the word
which was a new one in his vocabulary recently gleaned from a newspaper column
»Thats what it is debotchin there aint no other name for it«
Still his wife sighed shook her head sorrowfully and stitched on Mr
Higginbotham resumed the newspaper
»Has he paid last weeks board« he shot across the top of the newspaper
She nodded then added »He still has some money«
»When is he goin to sea again«
»When his paydays spent I guess« she answered »He was over to San
Francisco yesterday looking for a ship But hes got money yet an hes
particular about the kind of ship he signs for«
»Its not for a deckswab like him to put on airs« Mr Higginbotham
snorted »Particular Him«
»He said something about a schooner thats gettin ready to go off to some
outlandish place to look for buried treasure that hed sail on her if his money
held out«
»If he only wanted to steady down Id give him a job drivin the wagon«
her husband said but with no trace of benevolence in his voice »Toms quit«
His wife looked alarm and interrogation
»Quit tonight Is goin to work for Carruthers They paid m moren I could
afford«
»I told you youd lose m« she cried out »He was worth moren you was
giving him«
»Now look here old woman« Higginbotham bullied »for the thousandth time
Ive told you to keep your nose out of the business I wont tell you again«
»I dont care« she sniffled »Tom was a good boy«
Her husband glared at her This was unqualified defiance
»If that brother of yours was worth his salt he could take the wagon« he
snorted
»He pays his board just the same« was the retort »An hes my brother
an so long as he dont owe you money youve got no right to be jumping on him
all the time Ive got some feelings if I have been married to you for seven
years«
»Did you tell m youd charge him for gas if he goes on readin in bed« he
demanded
Mrs Higginbotham made no reply Her revolt faded away her spirit wilting
down into her tired flesh Her husband was triumphant He had her His eyes
snapped vindictively while his ears joyed in the sniffles she emitted He
extracted great happiness from squelching her and she squelched easily these
days though it had been different in the first years of their married life
before the brood of children and his incessant nagging had sapped her energy
»Well you tell m tomorrow thats all« he said »An I just want to tell
you before I forget it that youd better send for Marian tomorrow to take
care of the children With Tom quit Ill have to be out on the wagon an you
can make up your mind to it to be down below waitin on the counter«
»But tomorrows wash day« she objected weakly
»Get up early then an do it first I wont start out till ten oclock«
He crinkled the paper viciously and resumed his reading
Chapter IV
Martin Eden with blood still crawling from contact with his brotherinlaw
felt his way along the unlighted back hall and entered his room a tiny
cubbyhole with space for a bed a washstand and one chair Mr Higginbotham
was too thrifty to keep a servant when his wife could do the work Besides the
servants room enabled them to take in two boarders instead of one Martin
placed the Swinburne and Browning on the chair took off his coat and sat down
on the bed A screeching of asthmatic springs greeted the weight of his body
but he did not notice them He started to take off his shoes but fell to
staring at the white plaster wall opposite him broken by long streaks of dirty
brown where rain had leaked through the roof On this befouled background
visions began to flow and burn He forgot his shoes and stared long till his
lips began to move and he murmured »Ruth«
»Ruth« He had not thought a simple sound could be so beautiful It
delighted his ear and he grew intoxicated with the repetition of it Ruth It
was a talisman a magic word to conjure with Each time he murmured it her face
shimmered before him suffusing the foul wall with a golden radiance This
radiance did not stop at the wall It extended on into infinity and through its
golden depths his soul went questing after hers The best that was in him was
pouring out in splendid flood The very thought of her ennobled and purified
him made him better and made him want to be better This was new to him He
had never known women who had made him better They had always had the counter
effect of making him beastly He did not know that many of them had done their
best bad as it was Never having been conscious of himself he did not know
that he had that in his being that drew love from women and which had been the
cause of their reaching out for his youth Though they had often bothered him
he had never bothered about them and he would never have dreamed that there
were women who had been better because of him Always in sublime carelessness
had he lived till now and now it seemed to him that they had always reached
out and dragged at him with vile hands This was not just to them nor to
himself But he who for the first time was becoming conscious of himself was
in no condition to judge and he burned with shame as he stared at the vision of
his infamy
He got up abruptly and tried to see himself in the dirty lookingglass over
the washstand He passed a towel over it and looked again long and carefully
It was the first time he had ever really seen himself His eyes were made for
seeing but up to that moment they had been filled with the ever changing
panorama of the world at which he had been too busy gazing ever to gaze at
himself He saw the head and face of a young fellow of twenty but being unused
to such appraisement he did not know how to value it Above a squaredomed
forehead he saw a mop of brown hair nutbrown with a wave to it and hints of
curls that were a delight to any woman making hands tingle to stroke it and
fingers tingle to pass caresses through it But he passed it by as without
merit in Her eyes and dwelt long and thoughtfully on the high square
forehead striving to penetrate it and learn the quality of its content What
kind of a brain lay behind there was his insistent interrogation What was it
capable of How far would it take him Would it take him to her
He wondered if there was soul in those steelgray eyes that were often quite
blue of color and that were strong with the briny airs of the sunwashed deep
He wondered also how his eyes looked to her He tried to imagine himself she
gazing into those eyes of his but failed in the jugglery He could successfully
put himself inside other mens minds but they had to be men whose ways of life
he knew He did not know her way of life She was wonder and mystery and how
could he guess one thought of hers Well they were honest eyes he concluded
and in them was neither smallness nor meanness The brown sunburn of his face
surprised him He had not dreamed he was so black He rolled up his shirtsleeve
and compared the white underside of the arm with his face Yes he was a white
man after all But the arms were sunburned too He twisted his arm rolled the
biceps over with his other hand and gazed underneath where he was least touched
by the sun It was very white He laughed at his bronzed face in the glass at
the thought that it was once as white as the underside of his arm nor did he
dream that in the world there were few pale spirits of women who could boast
fairer or smoother skins than he fairer than where he had escaped the ravages
of the sun
His might have been a cherubs mouth had not the full sensuous lips a
trick under stress of drawing firmly across the teeth At times so tightly
did they draw the mouth became stern and harsh even ascetic They were the
lips of a fighter and of a lover They could taste the sweetness of life with
relish and they could put the sweetness aside and command life The chin and
jaw strong and just hinting of square aggressiveness helped the lips to
command life Strength balanced sensuousness and had upon it a tonic effect
compelling him to love beauty that was healthy and making him vibrate to
sensations that were wholesome And between the lips were teeth that had never
known nor needed the dentists care They were white and strong and regular he
decided as he looked at them But as he looked he began to be troubled
Somewhere stored away in the recesses of his mind and vaguely remembered was
the impression that there were people who washed their teeth every day They
were the people from up above people in her class She must wash her teeth
every day too What would she think if she learned that he had never washed his
teeth in all the days of his life He resolved to get a toothbrush and form the
habit He would begin at once tomorrow It was not by mere achievement that he
could hope to win to her He must make a personal reform in all things even to
toothwashing and neckgear though a starched collar affected him as a
renunciation of freedom
He held up his hand rubbing the ball of the thumb over the calloused palm
and gazing at the dirt that was ingrained in the flesh itself and which no brush
could scrub away How different was her palm He thrilled deliciously at the
remembrance Like a rosepetal he thought cool and soft as a snowflake He
had never thought that a mere womans hand could be so sweetly soft He caught
himself imagining the wonder of a caress from such a hand and flushed guiltily
It was too gross a thought for her In ways it seemed to impugn her high
spirituality She was a pale slender spirit exalted far beyond the flesh but
nevertheless the softness of her palm persisted in his thoughts He was used to
the harsh callousness of factory girls and working women Well he knew why their
hands were rough but this hand of hers It was soft because she had never
used it to work with The gulf yawned between her and him at the awesome thought
of a person who did not have to work for a living He suddenly saw the
aristocracy of the people who did not labor It towered before him on the wall
a figure in brass arrogant and powerful He had worked himself his first
memories seemed connected with work and all his family had worked There was
Gertrude When her hands were not hard from the endless housework they were
swollen and red like boiled beef what of the washing And there was his sister
Marian She had worked in the cannery the preceding summer and her slim pretty
hands were all scarred with the tomatoknives Besides the tips of two of her
fingers had been left in the cutting machine at the paperbox factory the
preceding winter He remembered the hard palms of his mother as she lay in her
coffin And his father had worked to the last fading gasp the horned growth on
his hands must have been half an inch thick when he died But Her hands were
soft and her mothers hands and her brothers This last came to him as a
surprise it was tremendously indicative of the highness of their caste of the
enormous distance that stretched between her and him
He sat back on the bed with a bitter laugh and finished taking off his
shoes He was a fool he had been made drunken by a womans face and by a
womans soft white hands And then suddenly before his eyes on the foul
plasterwall appeared a vision He stood in front of a gloomy tenement house It
was nighttime in the East End of London and before him stood Margey a little
factory girl of fifteen He had seen her home after the beanfeast She lived in
that gloomy tenement a place not fit for swine His hand was going out to hers
as he said good night She had put her lips up to be kissed but he wasnt going
to kiss her Somehow he was afraid of her And then her hand closed on his and
pressed feverishly He felt her callouses grind and grate on his and a great
wave of pity welled over him He saw her yearning hungry eyes and her illfed
female form which had been rushed from childhood into a frightened and ferocious
maturity then he put his arms about her in large tolerance and stooped and
kissed her on the lips Her glad little cry rang in his ears and he felt her
clinging to him like a cat Poor little starveling He continued to stare at the
vision of what had happened in the long ago His flesh was crawling as it had
crawled that night when she clung to him and his heart was warm with pity It
was a gray scene greasy gray and the rain drizzled greasily on the pavement
stones And then a radiant glory shone on the wall and up through the other
vision displacing it glimmered Her pale face under its crown of golden hair
remote and inaccessible as a star
He took the Browning and the Swinburne from the chair and kissed them Just
the same she told me to call again he thought He took another look at himself
in the glass and said aloud with great solemnity
»Martin Eden the first thing tomorrow you go to the free library an read
up on etiquette Understand«
He turned off the gas and the springs shrieked under his body
»But youve got to quit cussin Martin old boy youve got to quit
cussin« he said aloud
Then he dozed off to sleep and to dream dreams that for madness and audacity
rivalled those of poppyeaters
Chapter V
He awoke next morning from rosy scenes of dream to a steamy atmosphere that
smelled of soapsuds and dirty clothes and that was vibrant with the jar and
jangle of tormented life As he came out of his room he heard the slosh of
water a sharp exclamation and a resounding smack as his sister visited her
irritation upon one of her numerous progeny The squall of the child went
through him like a knife He was aware that the whole thing the very air he
breathed was repulsive and mean How different he thought from the atmosphere
of beauty and repose of the house wherein Ruth dwelt There it was all
spiritual Here it was all material and meanly material
»Come here Alfred« he called to the crying child at the same time
thrusting his hand into his trousers pocket where he carried his money loose in
the same large way that he lived life in general He put a quarter in the
youngsters hand and held him in his arms a moment soothing his sobs »Now run
along and get some candy and dont forget to give some to your brothers and
sisters Be sure and get the kind that lasts longest«
His sister lifted a flushed face from the washtub and looked at him
»A nickeld ha ben enough« she said »Its just like you no idea of the
value of money The childll eat himself sick«
»Thats all right sis« he answered jovially »My moneyll take care of
itself. If you werent so busy Id kiss you good morning«
He wanted to be affectionate to this sister who was good and who in her
way he knew loved him But somehow she grew less herself as the years went
by and more and more baffling It was the hard work the many children and the
nagging of her husband he decided that had changed her It came to him in a
flash of fancy that her nature seemed taking on the attributes of stale
vegetables smelly soapsuds and of the greasy dimes nickels and quarters she
took in over the counter of the store
»Go along an get your breakfast« she said roughly though secretly
pleased Of all her wandering brood of brothers he had always been her favorite
»I declare I will kiss you« she said with a sudden stir at her heart
With thumb and forefinger she swept the dripping suds first from one arm and
then from the other He put his arms round her massive waist and kissed her wet
steamy lips The tears welled into her eyes not so much from strength of
feeling as from the weakness of chronic overwork She shoved him away from her
but not before he caught a glimpse of her moist eyes
»Youll find breakfast in the oven« she said hurriedly »Jim ought to be up
now I had to get up early for the washing Now get along with you and get out
of the house early It wont be nice today what of Tom quittin an nobody but
Bernard to drive the wagon«
Martin went into the kitchen with a sinking heart the image of her red face
and slatternly form eating its way like acid into his brain She might love him
if she only had some time he concluded But she was worked to death Bernard
Higginbotham was a brute to work her so hard But he could not help but feel on
the other hand that there had not been anything beautiful in that kiss It was
true it was an unusual kiss For years she had kissed him only when he returned
from voyages or departed on voyages But this kiss had tasted of soapsuds and
the lips he had noticed were flabby There had been no quick vigorous
lippressure such as should accompany any kiss Hers was the kiss of a tired
woman who had been tired so long that she had forgotten how to kiss He
remembered her as a girl before her marriage when she would dance with the
best all night after a hard days work at the laundry and think nothing of
leaving the dance to go to another days hard work And then he thought of Ruth
and the cool sweetness that must reside in her lips as it resided in all about
her Her kiss would be like her handshake or the way she looked at one firm
and frank In imagination he dared to think of her lips on his and so vividly
did he imagine that he went dizzy at the thought and seemed to rift through
clouds of rosepetals filling his brain with their perfume
In the kitchen he found Jim the other boarder eating mush very languidly
with a sick faraway look in his eyes Jim was a plumbers apprentice whose
weak chin and hedonistic temperament coupled with a certain nervous stupidity
promised to take him nowhere in the race for bread and butter
»Why dont you eat« he demanded as Martin dipped dolefully into the cold
halfcooked oatmeal mush »Was you drunk again last night«
Martin shook his head He was oppressed by the utter squalidness of it all
Ruth Morse seemed farther removed than ever
»I was« Jim went on with a boastful nervous giggle »I was loaded right to
the neck Oh she was a daisy Billy brought me home«
Martin nodded that he heard it was a habit of nature with him to pay heed
to whoever talked to him and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee
»Goin to the Lotus Club dance tonight« Jim demanded »Theyre goin to
have beer an if that Temescal bunch comes therell be a roughhouse I dont
care though Im takin my lady friend just the same Cripes but Ive got a
taste in my mouth«
He made a wry face and attempted to wash the taste away with coffee
»Dye know Julia«
Martin shook his head
»Shes my lady friend« Jim explained »and shes a peach Id introduce you
to her only youd win her I dont see what the girls see in you honest I
dont but the way you win them away from the fellers is sickenin«
»I never got any away from you« Martin answered uninterestedly The
breakfast had to be got through somehow
»Yes you did too« the other asserted warmly »There was Maggie«
»Never had anything to do with her Never danced with her except that one
night«
»Yes an thats just what did it« Jim cried out »You just danced with her
an looked at her an it was all off Of course you didnt mean nothin by it
but it settled me for keeps Wouldnt look at me again Always askin about you
Shed have made fast dates enough with you if youd wanted to«
»But I didnt want to«
»Wasnt necessary I was left at the pole« Jim looked at him admiringly
»How dye do it anyway Mart«
»By not carin about em« was the answer
»You mean makin blieve you dont care about them« Jim queried eagerly
Martin considered for a moment then answered »Perhaps that will do but
with me I guess its different I never have cared much If you can put it on
its all right most likely«
»You should a ben up at Rileys barn last night« Jim announced
inconsequently »A lot of the fellers put on the gloves There was a peach from
West Oakland They called m The Rat Slick as silk No one could touch m We
was all wishin you was there Where was you anyway«
»Down in Oakland« Martin replied
»To the show«
Martin shoved his plate away and got up
»Comin to the dance tonight« the other called after him
»No I think not« he answered
He went downstairs and out into the street breathing great breaths of air
He had been suffocating in that atmosphere while the apprentices chatter had
driven him frantic There had been times when it was all he could do to refrain
from reaching over and mopping Jims face in the mushplate The more he had
chattered the more remote had Ruth seemed to him How could he herding with
such cattle ever become worthy of her He was appalled at the problem
confronting him weighted down by the incubus of his workingclass station
Everything reached out to hold him down his sister his sisters house and
family Jim the apprentice everybody he knew every tie of life Existence did
not taste good in his mouth Up to then he had accepted existence as he had
lived it with all about him as a good thing He had never questioned it except
when he read books but then they were only books fairy stories of a fairer
and impossible world But now he had seen that world possible and real with a
flower of a woman called Ruth in the midmost centre of it and thenceforth he
must know bitter tastes and longings sharp as pain and hopelessness that
tantalized because it fed on hope
He had debated between the Berkeley Free Library and the Oakland Free
Library and decided upon the latter because Ruth lived in Oakland Who could
tell a library was a most likely place for her and he might see her there
He did not know the way of libraries and he wandered through endless rows of
fiction till the delicatefeatured Frenchlooking girl who seemed in charge
told him that the reference department was upstairs He did not know enough to
ask the man at the desk and began his adventures in the philosophy alcove He
had heard of book philosophy but had not imagined there had been so much
written about it The high bulging shelves of heavy tomes humbled him and at
the same time stimulated him Here was work for the vigor of his brain He found
books on trigonometry in the mathematics section and ran the pages and stared
at the meaningless formulas and figures He could read English but he saw there
an alien speech Norman and Arthur knew that speech He had heard them talking
it And they were her brothers He left the alcove in despair From every side
the books seemed to press upon him and crush him He had never dreamed that the
fund of human knowledge bulked so big He was frightened How could his brain
ever master it all Later he remembered that there were other men many men
who had mastered it and he breathed a great oath passionately under his
breath swearing that his brain could do what theirs had done
And so he wandered on alternating between depression and elation as he
stared at the shelves packed with wisdom In one miscellaneous section he came
upon a »Norries Epitome« He turned the pages reverently In a way it spoke a
kindred speech Both he and it were of the sea Then he found a »Bowditch« and
books by Lecky and Marshall There it was he would teach himself navigation He
would quit drinking work up and become a captain Ruth seemed very near to him
in that moment As a captain he could marry her if she would have him And if
she wouldnt well he would live a good life among men because of Her and he
would quit drinking anyway Then he remembered the underwriters and the owners
the two masters a captain must serve either of which could and would break him
and whose interests were diametrically opposed He cast his eyes about the room
and closed the lids down on a vision of ten thousand books No no more of the
sea for him There was power in all that wealth of books and if he would do
great things he must do them on the land Besides captains were not allowed to
take their wives to sea with them
Noon came and afternoon He forgot to eat and sought on for the books on
etiquette for in addition to career his mind was vexed by a simple and very
concrete problem When you meet a young lady and she asks you to call how soon
can you call was the way he worded it to himself But when he found the right
shelf he sought vainly for the answer He was appalled at the vast edifice of
etiquette and lost himself in the mazes of visitingcard conduct between
persons in polite society He abandoned his search He had not found what he
wanted though he had found that it would take all of a mans time to be polite
and that he would have to live a preliminary life in which to learn how to be
polite
»Did you find what you wanted« the man at the desk asked him as he was
leaving
»Yes sir« he answered »You have a fine library here«
The man nodded »We should be glad to see you here often Are you a sailor«
»Yes sir« he answered »And Ill come again«
Now how did he know that he asked himself as he went down the stairs
And for the first block along the street he walked very stiff and straight
and awkwardly until he forgot himself in his thoughts whereupon his rolling
gait gracefully returned to him
Chapter VI
A terrible restlessness that was akin to hunger afflicted Martin Eden He was
famished for a sight of the girl whose slender hands had gripped his life with a
giants grasp He could not steel himself to call upon her He was afraid that
he might call too soon and so be guilty of an awful breach of that awful thing
called etiquette He spent long hours in the Oakland and Berkeley libraries and
made out application blanks for membership for himself his sisters Gertrude and
Marian and Jim the latters consent being obtained at the expense of several
glasses of beer With four cards permitting him to draw books he burned the gas
late in the servants room and was charged fifty cents a week for it by Mr
Higginbotham
The many books he read but served to whet his unrest Every page of every
book was a peephole into the realm of knowledge. His hunger fed upon what he
read and increased Also he did not know where to begin and continually
suffered from lack of preparation The commonest references that he could see
plainly every reader was expected to know he did not know And the same was
true of the poetry he read which maddened him with delight He read more of
Swinburne than was contained in the volume Ruth had lent him and »Dolores« he
understood thoroughly But surely Ruth did not understand it he concluded How
could she living the refined life she did Then he chanced upon Kiplings
poems and was swept away by the lilt and swing and glamour with which familiar
things had been invested He was amazed at the mans sympathy with life and at
his incisive psychology Psychology was a new word in Martins vocabulary He
had bought a dictionary which deed had decreased his supply of money and
brought nearer the day on which he must sail in search of more Also it
incensed Mr Higginbotham who would have preferred the money taking the form of
board
He dared not go near Ruths neighborhood in the daytime but night found him
lurking like a thief around the Morse home stealing glimpses at the windows and
loving the very walls that sheltered her Several times he barely escaped being
caught by her brothers and once he trailed Mr Morse down town and studied his
face in the lighted streets longing all the while for some quick danger of
death to threaten so that he might spring in and save her father On another
night his vigil was rewarded by a glimpse of Ruth through a secondstory
window He saw only her head and shoulders and her arms raised as she fixed her
hair before a mirror It was only for a moment but it was a long moment to him
during which his blood turned to wine and sang through his veins Then she
pulled down the shade But it was her room he had learned that and thereafter
he strayed there often hiding under a dark tree on the opposite side of the
street and smoking countless cigarettes One afternoon he saw her mother coming
out of a bank and received another proof of the enormous distance that
separated Ruth from him She was of the class that dealt with banks He had
never been inside a bank in his life and he had an idea that such institutions
were frequented only by the very rich and the very powerful
In one way he had undergone a moral revolution Her cleanness and purity
had reacted upon him and he felt in his being a crying need to be clean He
must be that if he were ever to be worthy of breathing the same air with her He
washed his teeth and scrubbed his hands with a kitchen scrubbrush till he saw
a nailbrush in a drugstore window and divined its use While purchasing it
the clerk glanced at his nails suggested a nailfile and so he became
possessed of an additional toilettool He ran across a book in the library on
the care of the body and promptly developed a penchant for a coldwater bath
every morning much to the amazement of Jim and to the bewilderment of Mr
Higginbotham who was not in sympathy with such highfangled notions and who
seriously debated whether or not he should charge Martin extra for the water
Another stride was in the direction of creased trousers Now that Martin was
aroused in such matters he swiftly noted the difference between the baggy knees
of the trousers worn by the working class and the straight line from knee to
foot of those worn by the men above the working class Also he learned the
reason why and invaded his sisters kitchen in search of irons and
ironingboard He had misadventures at first hopelessly burning one pair and
buying another which expenditure again brought nearer the day on which he must
put to sea
But the reform went deeper than mere outward appearance He still smoked
but he drank no more Up to that time drinking had seemed to him the proper
thing for men to do and he had prided himself on his strong head which enabled
him to drink most men under the table Whenever he encountered a chance
shipmate and there were many in San Francisco he treated them and was treated
in turn as of old but he ordered for himself root beer or ginger ale and
goodnaturedly endured their chaffing And as they waxed maudlin he studied
them watching the beast rise and master them and thanking God that he was no
longer as they They had their limitations to forget and when they were drunk
their dim stupid spirits were even as gods and each ruled in his heaven of
intoxicated desire With Martin the need for strong drink had vanished He was
drunken in new and more profound ways with Ruth who had fired him with love
and with a glimpse of higher and eternal life with books that had set a myriad
maggots of desire gnawing in his brain and with the sense of personal
cleanliness he was achieving that gave him even more superb health than what he
had enjoyed and that made his whole body sing with physical wellbeing
One night he went to the theatre on the blind chance that he might see her
there and from the second balcony he did see her He saw her come down the
aisle with Arthur and a strange young man with a football mop of hair and
eyeglasses the sight of whom spurred him to instant apprehension and jealousy
He saw her take her seat in the orchestra circle and little else than her did
he see that night a pair of slender white shoulders and a mass of pale gold
hair dim with distance But there were others who saw and now and again
glancing at those about him he noted two young girls who looked back from the
row in front a dozen seats along and who smiled at him with bold eyes He had
always been easygoing It was not in his nature to give rebuff In the old days
he would have smiled back and gone further and encouraged smiling But now it
was different He did smile back then looked away and looked no more
deliberately But several times forgetting the existence of the two girls his
eyes caught their smiles He could not rethumb himself in a day nor could he
violate the intrinsic kindliness of his nature so at such moments he smiled
at the girls in warm human friendliness It was nothing new to him He knew they
were reaching out their womans hands to him But it was different now Far down
there in the orchestra circle was the one woman in all the world so different
so terrifically different from these two girls of his class that he could feel
for them only pity and sorrow He had it in his heart to wish that they could
possess in some small measure her goodness and glory And not for the world
could he hurt them because of their outreaching He was not flattered by it he
even felt a slight shame at his lowliness that permitted it He knew did he
belong in Ruths class that there would be no overtures from these girls and
with each glance of theirs he felt the fingers of his own class clutching at him
to hold him down
He left his seat before the curtain went down on the last act intent on
seeing Her as she passed out There were always numbers of men who stood on the
sidewalk outside and he could pull his cap down over his eyes and screen
himself behind some ones shoulder so that she should not see him He emerged
from the theatre with the first of the crowd but scarcely had he taken his
position on the edge of the sidewalk when the two girls appeared They were
looking for him he knew and for the moment he could have cursed that in him
which drew women Their casual edging across the sidewalk to the curb as they
drew near apprised him of discovery They slowed down and were in the thick of
the crowd as they came up with him One of them brushed against him and
apparently for the first time noticed him She was a slender dark girl with
black defiant eyes But they smiled at him and he smiled back
»Hello« he said
It was automatic he had said it so often before under similar circumstances
of first meetings Besides he could do no less There was that large tolerance
and sympathy in his nature that would permit him to do no less The blackeyed
girl smiled gratification and greeting and showed signs of stopping while her
companion arm linked in arm giggled and likewise showed signs of halting He
thought quickly It would never do for Her to come out and see him talking there
with them Quite naturally as a matter of course he swung in alongside the
darkeyed one and walked with her There was no awkwardness on his part no numb
tongue He was at home here and he held his own royally in the badinage
bristling with slang and sharpness that was always the preliminary to getting
acquainted in these swiftmoving affairs At the corner where the main stream of
people flowed onward he started to edge out into the cross street But the girl
with the black eyes caught his arm following him and dragging her companion
after her as she cried
»Hold on Bill Whats yer rush Youre not goin to shake us so sudden as
all that«
He halted with a laugh and turned facing them Across their shoulders he
could see the moving throng passing under the street lamps Where he stood it
was not so light and unseen he would be able to see Her as she passed by She
would certainly pass by for that way led home
»Whats her name« he asked of the giggling girl nodding at the darkeyed
one
»You ask her« was the convulsed response
»Well what is it« he demanded turning squarely on the girl in question
»You aint told me yours yet« she retorted
»You never asked it« he smiled »Besides you guessed the first rattle
Its Bill all right all right«
»Aw go long with you« She looked him in the eyes her own sharply
passionate and inviting »What is it honest«
Again she looked All the centuries of woman since sex began were eloquent
in her eyes And he measured her in a careless way and knew bold now that she
would begin to retreat coyly and delicately as he pursued ever ready to
reverse the game should he turn fainthearted And too he was human and could
feel the draw of her while his ego could not but appreciate the flattery of her
kindness Oh he knew it all and knew them well from A to Z Good as goodness
might be measured in their particular class hardworking for meagre wages and
scorning the sale of self for easier ways nervously desirous for some small
pinch of happiness in the desert of existence, and facing a future that was a
gamble between the ugliness of unending toil and the black pit of more terrible
wretchedness the way whereto being briefer though better paid
»Bill« he answered nodding his head »Sure Pete Bill an no other«
»No joshin« she queried
»It aint Bill at all« the other broke in
»How do you know« he demanded »You never laid eyes on me before«
»No need to to know youre lyin« was the retort
»Straight Bill what is it« the first girl asked
»Billll do« he confessed
She reached out to his arm and shook him playfully »I knew you was lyin
but you look good to me just the same«
He captured the hand that invited and felt on the palm familiar markings
and distortions
»Whend you chuck the cannery« he asked
»Howd yeh know« and »My aint cheh a mindreader« the girls chorussed
And while he exchanged the stupidities of stupid minds with them before his
inner sight towered the bookshelves of the library filled with the wisdom of
the ages He smiled bitterly at the incongruity of it and was assailed by
doubts But between inner vision and outward pleasantry he found time to watch
the theatre crowd streaming by And then he saw Her under the lights between
her brother and the strange young man with glasses and his heart seemed to
stand still He had waited long for this moment He had time to note the light
fluffy something that hid her queenly head the tasteful lines of her wrapped
figure the gracefulness of her carriage and of the hand that caught up her
skirts and then she was gone and he was left staring at the two girls of the
cannery at their tawdry attempts at prettiness of dress their tragic efforts
to be clean and trim the cheap cloth the cheap ribbons and the cheap rings on
the fingers He felt a tug at his arm and heard a voice saying
»Wake up Bill Whats the matter with you«
»What was you sayin« he asked
»Oh nothin« the dark girl answered with a toss of her head »I was only
remarkin «
»What«
»Well I was whisperin itd be a good idea if you could dig up a gentleman
friend for her« indicating her companion »and then we could go off an
have icecream soda somewhere or coffee or anything«
He was afflicted by a sudden spiritual nausea The transition from Ruth to
this had been too abrupt Ranged side by side with the bold defiant eyes of the
girl before him he saw Ruths clear luminous eyes like a saints gazing at
him out of unplumbed depths of purity And somehow he felt within him a stir
of power He was better than this Life meant more to him than it meant to these
two girls whose thoughts did not go beyond icecream and a gentleman friend He
remembered that he had led always a secret life in his thoughts These thoughts
he had tried to share but never had he found a woman capable of understanding
nor a man He had tried at times but had only puzzled his listeners And as
his thoughts had been beyond them so he argued now he must be beyond them He
felt power move in him and clenched his fists If life meant more to him then
it was for him to demand more from life but he could not demand it from such
companionship as this Those bold black eyes had nothing to offer He knew the
thoughts behind them of icecream and of something else But those saints
eyes alongside they offered all he knew and more than he could guess They
offered books and painting beauty and repose and all the fine elegance of
higher existence Behind those black eyes he knew every thought process It was
like clockwork He could watch every wheel go around Their bid was low
pleasure narrow as the grave that palled and the grave was at the end of it
But the bid of the saints eyes was mystery and wonder unthinkable and eternal
life He had caught glimpses of the soul in them and glimpses of his own soul
too
»Theres only one thing wrong with the programme« he said aloud »Ive got
a date already«
The girls eyes blazed her disappointment
»To sit up with a sick friend I suppose« she sneered
»No a real honest date with « he faltered »with a girl«
»Youre not stringin me« she asked earnestly
He looked her in the eyes and answered »Its straight all right But why
cant we meet some other time You aint told me your name yet An where dye
live«
»Lizzie« she replied softening toward him her hand pressing his arm
while her body leaned against his »Lizzie Connolly And I live at Fifth an
Market«
He talked on a few minutes before saying good night He did not go home
immediately and under the tree where he kept his vigils he looked up at a
window and murmured »That date was with you Ruth I kept it for you«
Chapter VII
A week of heavy reading had passed since the evening he first met Ruth Morse
and still he dared not call Time and again he nerved himself up to call but
under the doubts that assailed him his determination died away He did not know
the proper time to call nor was there any one to tell him and he was afraid of
committing himself to an irretrievable blunder Having shaken himself free from
his old companions and old ways of life and having no new companions nothing
remained for him but to read and the long hours he devoted to it would have
ruined a dozen pairs of ordinary eyes But his eyes were strong and they were
backed by a body superbly strong Furthermore his mind was fallow It had lain
fallow all his life so far as the abstract thought of the books was concerned
and it was ripe for the sowing It had never been jaded by study and it bit
hold of the knowledge in the books with sharp teeth that would not let go
It seemed to him by the end of the week that he had lived centuries so
far behind were the old life and outlook But he was baffled by lack of
preparation He attempted to read books that required years of preliminary
specialization One day he would read a book of antiquated philosophy and the
next day one that was ultramodern so that his head would be whirling with the
conflict and contradiction of ideas. It was the same with the economists On the
one shelf at the library he found Karl Marx Ricardo Adam Smith and Mill and
the abstruse formulas of the one gave no clew that the ideas of another were
obsolete He was bewildered and yet he wanted to know He had become
interested in a day in economics industry and politics Passing through the
City Hall Park he had noticed a group of men in the centre of which were half
a dozen with flushed faces and raised voices earnestly carrying on a
discussion He joined the listeners and heard a new alien tongue in the mouths
of the philosophers of the people One was a tramp another was a labor
agitator a third was a law-school student and the remainder was composed of
wordy workingmen For the first time he heard of socialism anarchism and
single tax and learned that there were warring social philosophies He heard
hundreds of technical words that were new to him belonging to fields of thought
that his meagre reading had never touched upon Because of this he could not
follow the arguments closely and he could only guess at and surmise the ideas
wrapped up in such strange expressions Then there was a blackeyed restaurant
waiter who was a theosophist a union baker who was an agnostic an old man who
baffled all of them with the strange philosophy that what is is right and
another old man who discoursed interminably about the cosmos and the fatheratom
and the motheratom
Martin Edens head was in a state of addlement when he went away after
several hours and he hurried to the library to look up the definitions of a
dozen unusual words And when he left the library he carried under his arm four
volumes Madam Blavatskys »Secret Doctrine« »Progress and Poverty« »The
Quintessence of Socialism« and »Warfare of Religion and Science«
Unfortunately he began on the »Secret Doctrine« Every line bristled with
manysyllabled words he did not understand He sat up in bed and the dictionary
was in front of him more often than the book He looked up so many new words
that when they recurred he had forgotten their meaning and had to look them up
again He devised the plan of writing the definitions in a notebook and filled
page after page with them And still he could not understand He read until
three in the morning and his brain was in a turmoil but not one essential
thought in the text had he grasped He looked up and it seemed that the room
was lifting heeling and plunging like a ship upon the sea Then he hurled the
»Secret Doctrine« and many curses across the room turned off the gas and
composed himself to sleep Nor did he have much better luck with the other three
books It was not that his brain was weak or incapable it could think these
thoughts were it not for lack of training in thinking and lack of the
thoughttools with which to think He guessed this and for a while entertained
the idea of reading nothing but the dictionary until he had mastered every word
in it
Poetry however was his solace and he read much of it finding his
greatest joy in the simpler poets who were more understandable He loved
beauty and there he found beauty Poetry like music stirred him profoundly
and though he did not know it he was preparing his mind for the heavier work
that was to come The pages of his mind were blank and without effort much he
read and liked stanza by stanza was impressed upon those pages so that he was
soon able to extract great joy from chanting aloud or under his breath the music
and the beauty of the printed words he had read Then he stumbled upon Gayleys
»Classic Myths« and Bulfinchs »Age of Fable« side by side on a library shelf
It was illumination a great light in the darkness of his ignorance and he read
poetry more avidly than ever
The man at the desk in the library had seen Martin there so often that he
had become quite cordial always greeting him with a smile and a nod when he
entered It was because of this that Martin did a daring thing Drawing out some
books at the desk and while the man was stamping the cards Martin blurted out
»Say theres something Id like to ask you«
The man smiled and paid attention
»When you meet a young lady an she asks you to call how soon can you
call«
Martin felt his shirt press and cling to his shoulders what of the sweat of
the effort
»Why Id say any time« the man answered
»Yes but this is different« Martin objected »She I well you see
its this way maybe she wont be there She goes to the university«
»Then call again«
»What I said aint what I meant« Martin confessed falteringly while he
made up his mind to throw himself wholly upon the others mercy »Im just a
rough sort of a fellow an I aint never seen anything of society This girl is
all that I aint an I aint anything that she is You dont think Im playin
the fool do you« he demanded abruptly
»No no not at all I assure you« the other protested »Your request is
not exactly in the scope of the reference department but I shall be only too
pleased to assist you«
Martin looked at him admiringly
»If I could tear it off that way Id be all right« he said
»I beg pardon«
»I mean if I could talk easy that way an polite an all the rest«
»Oh« said the other with comprehension
»What is the best time to call The afternoon not too close to mealtime
Or the evening Or Sunday«
»Ill tell you« the librarian said with a brightening face »You call her
up on the telephone and find out«
»Ill do it« he said picking up his books and starting away
He turned back and asked
»When youre speakin to a young lady say for instance Miss Lizzie Smith
do you say Miss Lizzie or Miss Smith«
»Say Miss Smith« the librarian stated authoritatively »Say Miss Smith
always until you come to know her better«
So it was that Martin Eden solved the problem
»Come down any time Ill be at home all afternoon« was Ruths reply over
the telephone to his stammered request as to when he could return the borrowed
books
She meet him at the door herself and her womans eyes took in immediately
the creased trousers and the certain slight but indefinable change in him for
the better Also she was struck by his face It was almost violent this health
of his and it seemed to rush out of him and at her in waves of force She felt
the urge again of the desire to lean toward him for warmth and marvelled again
at the effect his presence produced upon her And he in turn knew again the
swimming sensation of bliss when he felt the contact of her hand in greeting
The difference between them lay in that she was cool and selfpossessed while
his face flushed to the roots of the hair He stumbled with his old awkwardness
after her and his shoulders swung and lurched perilously
Once they were seated in the livingroom he began to get on easily more
easily by far than he had expected She made it easy for him and the gracious
spirit with which she did it made him love her more madly than ever They talked
first of the borrowed books of the Swinburne he was devoted to and of the
Browning he did not understand and she led the conversation on from subject to
subject while she pondered the problem of how she could be of help to him She
had thought of this often since their first meeting She wanted to help him He
made a call upon her pity and tenderness that no one had ever made before and
the pity was not so much derogatory of him as maternal in her Her pity could
not be of the common sort when the man who drew it was so much man as to shock
her with maidenly fears and set her mind and pulse thrilling with strange
thoughts and feelings The old fascination of his neck was there and there was
sweetness in the thought of laying her hands upon it It seemed still a wanton
impulse but she had grown more used to it She did not dream that in such guise
newborn love would epitomize itself Nor did she dream that the feeling he
excited in her was love She thought she was merely interested in him as an
unusual type possessing various potential excellencies and she even felt
philanthropic about it
She did not know she desired him but with him it was different He knew
that he loved her and he desired her as he had never before desired anything in
his life He had loved poetry for beautys sake but since he met her the gates
to the vast field of lovepoetry had been opened wide She had given him
understanding even more than Bulfinch and Gayley There was a line that a week
before he would not have favored with a second thought Gods own mad lover
dying on a kiss but now it was ever insistent in his mind He marvelled at the
wonder of it and the truth and as he gazed upon her he knew that he could die
gladly upon a kiss He felt himself Gods own mad lover and no accolade of
knighthood could have given him greater pride And at last he knew the meaning
of life and why he had been born
As he gazed at her and listened his thoughts grew daring He reviewed all
the wild delight of the pressure of her hand in his at the door and longed for
it again His gaze wandered often toward her lips and he yearned for them
hungrily But there was nothing gross or earthly about this yearning It gave
him exquisite delight to watch every movement and play of those lips as they
enunciated the words she spoke yet they were not ordinary lips such as all men
and women had Their substance was not mere human clay They were lips of pure
spirit and his desire for them seemed absolutely different from the desire that
had led him to other womens lips He could kiss her lips rest his own physical
lips upon them but it would be with the lofty and awful fervor with which one
would kiss the robe of God He was not conscious of this transvaluation of
values that had taken place in him and was unaware that the light that shone in
his eyes when he looked at her was quite the same light that shines in all mens
eyes when the desire of love is upon them He did not dream how ardent and
masculine his gaze was nor that the warm flame of it was affecting the alchemy
of her spirit Her penetrative virginity exalted and disguised his own emotions
elevating his thoughts to a starcool chastity and he would have been startled
to learn that there was that shining out of his eyes like warm waves that
flowed through her and kindled a kindred warmth She was subtly perturbed by it
and more than once though she knew not why it disrupted her train of thought
with its delicious intrusion and compelled her to grope for the remainder of
ideas partly uttered Speech was always easy with her and these interruptions
would have puzzled her had she not decided that it was because he was a
remarkable type She was very sensitive to impressions and it was not strange
after all that this aura of a traveller from another world should so affect
her
The problem in the background of her consciousness was how to help him and
she turned the conversation in that direction but it was Martin who came to the
point first
»I wonder if I can get some advice from you« he began and received an
acquiescence of willingness that made his heart bound »You remember the other
time I was here I said I couldnt talk about books an things because I didnt
know how Well Ive ben doin a lot of thinkin ever since Ive ben to the
library a whole lot but most of the books Ive tackled have ben over my head
Mebbe Id better begin at the beginnin I aint never had no advantages Ive
worked pretty hard ever since I was a kid an since Ive ben to the library
lookin with new eyes at books an lookin at new books too Ive just about
concluded that I aint ben reading the right kind You know the books you find
in cattlecamps an focsls aint the same youve got in this house for
instance Well thats the sort of readin matter Ive ben accustomed to And
yet an I aint just makin a brag of it Ive ben different from the people
Ive herded with Not that Im any better than the sailors an cowpunchers I
travelled with I was cowpunchin for a short time you know but I always
liked books read everything I could lay hands on an well I guess I think
differently from most of em
Now to come to what Im drivin at I was never inside a house like this
When I come a week ago an saw all this an you an your mother an
brothers an everything well I liked it Id heard about such things an
read about such things in some of the books an when I looked around at your
house why the books come true But the thing Im after is I liked it I wanted
it I want it now I want to breathe air like you get in this house air that
is filled with books and pictures and beautiful things where people talk in
low voices an are clean an their thoughts are clean The air I always
breathed was mixed up with grub an houserent an scrappin an booze an
thats all they talked about too Why when you was crossin the room to kiss
your mother I thought it was the most beautiful thing I ever seen Ive seen a
whole lot of life an somehow Ive seen a whole lot more of it than most of
them that was with me I like to see an I want to see more an I want to see
it different
But I aint got to the point yet Here it is I want to make my way to the
kind of life you have in this house Theres more in life than booze an hard
work an knockin about Now how am I goin to get it Where do I take hold
an begin Im willin to work my passage you know an I can make most men
sick when it comes to hard work Once I get started Ill work night an day
Mebbe you think its funny me askin you about all this I know youre the last
person in the world I ought to ask but I dont know anybody else I could ask
unless its Arthur Mebbe I ought to ask him If I was «
His voice died away His firmly planned intention had come to a halt on the
verge of the horrible probability that he should have asked Arthur and that he
had made a fool of himself Ruth did not speak immediately She was too absorbed
in striving to reconcile the stumbling uncouth speech and its simplicity of
thought with what she saw in his face She had never looked in eyes that
expressed greater power Here was a man who could do anything was the message
she read there and it accorded ill with the weakness of his spoken thought And
for that matter so complex and quick was her own mind that she did not have a
just appreciation of simplicity And yet she had caught an impression of power
in the very groping of this mind It had seemed to her like a giant writhing and
straining at the bonds that held him down Her face was all sympathy when she
did speak
»What you need you realize yourself and it is education You should go
back and finish grammar school and then go through the high school and
university«
»But that takes money« he interrupted
»Oh« she cried »I had not thought of that But then you have relatives
somebody who could assist you«
He shook his head
»My father and mother are dead Ive two sisters one married an the
otherll get married soon I suppose Then Ive a string of brothers Im the
youngest but they never helped nobody Theyve just knocked around over the
world lookin out for number one The oldest died in India Two are in South
Africa now an anothers on a whaling voyage an ones travellin with a
circus he does trapeze work An I guess Im just like them Ive taken care
of myself since I was eleven thats when my mother died Ive got to study by
myself I guess an what I want to know is where to begin«
»I should say the first thing of all would be to get a grammar Your grammar
is « She had intended saying »awful« but she amended it to »is not
particularly good«
He flushed and sweated
»I know I must talk a lot of slang an words you dont understand But then
theyre the only words I know how to speak Ive got other words in my mind
picked em up from books but I cant pronounce em so I dont use em«
»It isnt what you say so much as how you say it You dont mind my being
frank do you I dont want to hurt you«
»No no« he cried while he secretly blessed her for her kindness »Fire
away Ive got to know an Id sooner know from you than anybody else«
»Well then you say You was it should be You were You say I seen for I
saw You use the double negative «
»Whats the double negative« he demanded then added humbly »You see I
dont even understand your explanations«
»Im afraid I didnt explain that« she smiled »A double negative is let
me see well you say never helped nobody Never is a negative Nobody is
another negative It is a rule that two negatives make a positive Never helped
nobody means that not helping nobody they must have helped somebody«
»Thats pretty clear« he said »I never thought of it before But it dont
mean they must have helped somebody does it Seems to me that never helped
nobody just naturally fails to say whether or not they helped somebody I never
thought of it before and Ill never say it again«
She was pleased and surprised with the quickness and surety of his mind As
soon as he had got the clew he not only understood but corrected her error
»Youll find it all in the grammar« she went on »Theres something else I
noticed in your speech You say dont when you shouldnt Dont is a contraction
and stands for two words Do you know them«
He thought a moment then answered »Do not«
She nodded her head and said »And you use dont when you mean does not«
He was puzzled over this and did not get it so quickly
»Give me an illustration« he asked
»Well « She puckered her brows and pursed up her mouth as she thought
while he looked on and decided that her expression was most adorable »It dont
do to be hasty Change dont to do not and it reads It do not do to be hasty
which is perfectly absurd«
He turned it over in his mind and considered
»Doesnt it jar on your ear« she suggested
»Cant say that it does« he replied judicially
»Why didnt you say Cant say that it do« she queried
»That sounds wrong« he said slowly »As for the other I cant make up my
mind I guess my ear aint had the trainin yours has«
»There is no such word as aint« she said prettily emphatic
Martin flushed again
»And you say ben for been« she continued »I come for I came and the way
you chop your endings is something dreadful«
»How do you mean« He leaned forward feeling that he ought to get down on
his knees before so marvellous a mind »How do I chop«
»You dont complete the endings And spells and You pronounce it an
Ing spells ing Sometimes you pronounce it ing and sometimes you leave off the
g And then you slur by dropping initial letters and diphthongs Them spells
them You pronounce it oh well it is not necessary to go over all of them
What you need is the grammar Ill get one and show you how to begin«
As she arose there shot through his mind something that he had read in the
etiquette books and he stood up awkwardly worrying as to whether he was doing
the right thing and fearing that she might take it as a sign that he was about
to go
»By the way Mr Eden« she called back as she was leaving the room »What
is booze You used it several times you know«
»Oh booze« he laughed »Its slang It means whiskey an beer anything
that will make you drunk«
»And another thing« she laughed back »Dont use you when you are
impersonal You is very personal and your use of it just now was not precisely
what you meant«
»I dont just see that«
»Why you said just now to me whiskey and beer anything that will make
you drunk make me drunk dont you see«
»Well it would wouldnt it«
»Yes of course« she smiled »But it would be nicer not to bring me into
it Substitute one for you and see how much better it sounds«
When she returned with the grammar she drew a chair near his he wondered
if he should have helped her with the chair and sat down beside him She
turned the pages of the grammar and their heads were inclined toward each
other He could hardly follow her outlining of the work he must do so amazed
was he by her delightful propinquity But when she began to lay down the
importance of conjugation he forgot all about her He had never heard of
conjugation and was fascinated by the glimpse he was catching into the tieribs
of language He leaned closer to the page and her hair touched his cheek He
had fainted but once in his life and he thought he was going to faint again He
could scarcely breathe and his heart was pounding the blood up into his throat
and suffocating him Never had she seemed so accessible as now For the moment
the great gulf that separated them was bridged But there was no diminution in
the loftiness of his feeling for her She had not descended to him It was he
who had been caught up into the clouds and carried to her His reverence for
her in that moment was of the same order as religious awe and fervor It
seemed to him that he had intruded upon the holy of holies and slowly and
carefully he moved his head aside from the contact which thrilled him like an
electric shock and of which she had not been aware
Chapter VIII
Several weeks went by during which Martin Eden studied his grammar reviewed
the books on etiquette and read voraciously the books that caught his fancy Of
his own class he saw nothing The girls of the Lotus Club wondered what had
become of him and worried Jim with questions and some of the fellows who put on
the glove at Rileys were glad that Martin came no more He made another
discovery of treasuretrove in the library As the grammar had shown him the
tieribs of language so that book showed him the tieribs of poetry and he
began to learn metre and construction and form beneath the beauty he loved
finding the why and wherefore of that beauty Another modern book he found
treated poetry as a representative art treated it exhaustively with copious
illustrations from the best in literature Never had he read fiction with so
keen zest as he studied these books And his fresh mind untaxed for twenty
years and impelled by maturity of desire gripped hold of what he read with a
virility unusual to the student mind
When he looked back now from his vantageground the old world he had known
the world of land and sea and ships of sailormen and harpywomen seemed a
very small world and yet it blended in with this new world and expanded His
mind made for unity, and he was surprised when at first he began to see points
of contact between the two worlds And he was ennobled as well by the
loftiness of thought and beauty he found in the books This led him to believe
more firmly than ever that up above him in society like Ruth and her family
all men and women thought these thoughts and lived them Down below where he
lived was the ignoble and he wanted to purge himself of the ignoble that had
soiled all his days and to rise to that sublimated realm where dwelt the upper
classes All his childhood and youth had been troubled by a vague unrest he had
never known what he wanted but he had wanted something that he had hunted
vainly for until he met Ruth And now his unrest had become sharp and painful
and he knew at last clearly and definitely that it was beauty and intellect
and love that he must have
During those several weeks he saw Ruth half a dozen times and each time was
an added inspiration She helped him with his English corrected his
pronunciation and started him on arithmetic But their intercourse was not all
devoted to elementary study He had seen too much of life and his mind was too
matured to be wholly content with fractions cube root parsing and analysis
and there were times when their conversation turned on other themes the last
poetry he had read the latest poet she had studied And when she read aloud to
him her favorite passages he ascended to the topmost heaven of delight Never
in all the women he had heard speak had he heard a voice like hers The least
sound of it was a stimulus to his love and he thrilled and throbbed with every
word she uttered It was the quality of it the repose and the musical
modulation the soft rich indefinable product of culture and a gentle soul
As he listened to her there rang in the ears of his memory the harsh cries of
barbarian women and of hags and in lesser degrees of harshness the strident
voices of working women and of the girls of his own class Then the chemistry of
vision would begin to work and they would troop in review across his mind
each by contrast multiplying Ruths glories Then too his bliss was
heightened by the knowledge that her mind was comprehending what she read and
was quivering with appreciation of the beauty of the written thought She read
to him much from »The Princess« and often he saw her eyes swimming with tears
so finely was her æsthetic nature strung At such moments her own emotions
elevated him till he was as a god and as he gazed at her and listened he
seemed gazing on the face of life and reading its deepest secrets And then
becoming aware of the heights of exquisite sensibility he attained he decided
that this was love and that love was the greatest thing in the world And in
review would pass along the corridors of memory all previous thrills and
burnings he had known the drunkenness of wine the caresses of women the
rough play and give and take of physical contests and they seemed trivial and
mean compared with this sublime ardor he now enjoyed
The situation was obscured to Ruth She had never had any experiences of the
heart Her only experiences in such matters were of the books where the facts
of ordinary day were translated by fancy into a fairy realm of unreality and
she little knew that this rough sailor was creeping into her heart and storing
there pent forces that would some day burst forth and surge through her in waves
of fire She did not know the actual fire of love Her knowledge of love was
purely theoretical and she conceived of it as lambent flame gentle as the fall
of dew or the ripple of quiet water and cool as the velvetdark of summer
nights Her idea of love was more that of placid affection serving the loved
one softly in an atmosphere flowerscented and dimlighted of ethereal calm
She did not dream of the volcanic convulsions of love its scorching heat and
sterile wastes of parched ashes She knew neither her own potencies nor the
potencies of the world and the deeps of life were to her seas of illusion The
conjugal affection of her father and mother constituted her ideal of
loveaffinity and she looked forward some day to emerging without shock or
friction into that same quiet sweetness of existence with a loved one
So it was that she looked upon Martin Eden as a novelty a strange
individual and she identified with novelty and strangeness the effects he
produced upon her It was only natural In similar ways she had experienced
unusual feelings when she looked at wild animals in the menagerie or when she
witnessed a storm of wind or shuddered at the brightribbed lightning There
was something cosmic in such things and there was something cosmic in him He
came to her breathing of large airs and great spaces The blaze of tropic suns
was in his face and in his swelling resilient muscles was the primordial vigor
of life He was marred and scarred by that mysterious world of rough men and
rougher deeds the outposts of which began beyond her horizon He was untamed
wild and in secret ways her vanity was touched by the fact that he came so
mildly to her hand Likewise she was stirred by the common impulse to tame the
wild thing It was an unconscious impulse and farthest from her thoughts that
her desire was to rethumb the clay of him into a likeness of her fathers
image which image she believed to be the finest in the world Nor was there any
way out of her inexperience for her to know that the cosmic feel she caught of
him was that most cosmic of things love which with equal power drew men and
women together across the world compelled stags to kill each other in the
rutting season and drove even the elements irresistibly to unite
His swift development was a source of surprise and interest She detected
unguessed finenesses in him that seemed to bud day by day like flowers in
congenial soil She read Browning aloud to him and was often puzzled by the
strange interpretations he gave to mooted passages It was beyond her to realize
that out of his experience of men and women and life his interpretations were
far more frequently correct than hers His conceptions seemed naïve to her
though she was often fired by his daring flights of comprehension whose
orbitpath was so wide among the stars that she could not follow and could only
sit and thrill to the impact of unguessed power Then she played to him no
longer at him and probed him with music that sank to depths beyond her
plumbline His nature opened to music as a flower to the sun and the
transition was quick from his workingclass ragtime and jingles to her classical
display pieces that she knew nearly by heart Yet he betrayed a democratic
fondness for Wagner and the »Tannhäuser« overture when she had given him the
clew to it claimed him as nothing else she played In an immediate way it
personified his life All his past was the Venusburg motif while her he
identified somehow with the Pilgrims Chorus motif and from the exalted state
this elevated him to he swept onward and upward into that vast shadowrealm of
spiritgroping where good and evil war eternally
Sometimes he questioned and induced in her mind temporary doubts as to the
correctness of her own definitions and conceptions of music But her singing he
did not question It was too wholly her and he sat always amazed at the divine
melody of her pure soprano voice And he could not help but contrast it with the
weak pipings and shrill quaverings of factory girls illnourished and
untrained and with the raucous shriekings from gincracked throats of the women
of the seaport towns She enjoyed singing and playing to him In truth it was
the first time she had ever had a human soul to play with and the plastic clay
of him was a delight to mould for she thought she was moulding it and her
intentions were good Besides it was pleasant to be with him He did not repel
her That first repulsion had been really a fear of her undiscovered self and
the fear had gone to sleep Though she did not know it she had a feeling in him
of proprietary right Also he had a tonic effect upon her She was studying
hard at the university and it seemed to strengthen her to emerge from the dusty
books and have the fresh seabreeze of his personality blow upon her Strength
Strength was what she needed and he gave it to her in generous measure To come
into the same room with him or to meet him at the door was to take heart of
life And when he had gone she would return to her books with a keener zest and
fresh store of energy
She knew her Browning but it had never sunk into her that it was an awkward
thing to play with souls As her interest in Martin increased the remodelling
of his life became a passion with her
»There is Mr Butler« she said one afternoon when grammar and arithmetic
and poetry had been put aside »He had comparatively no advantages at first His
father had been a bank cashier but he lingered for years dying of consumption
in Arizona so that when he was dead Mr Butler Charles Butler he was called
found himself alone in the world His father had come from Australia you know
and so he had no relatives in California He went to work in a printingoffice
I have heard him tell of it many times and he got three dollars a week at
first His income today is at least thirty thousand a year How did he do it
He was honest and faithful and industrious and economical He denied himself
the enjoyments that most boys indulge in He made it a point to save so much
every week no matter what he had to do without in order to save it Of course
he was soon earning more than three dollars a week and as his wages increased
he saved more and more
He worked in the daytime and at night he went to night school He had his
eyes fixed always on the future Later on he went to night high school When he
was only seventeen he was earning excellent wages at setting type but he was
ambitious He wanted a career not a livelihood and he was content to make
immediate sacrifices for his ultimate gain He decided upon the law and he
entered fathers office as an office boy think of that and got only four
dollars a week But he had learned how to be economical and out of that four
dollars he went on saving money«
She paused for breath and to note how Martin was receiving it His face was
lighted up with interest in the youthful struggles of Mr Butler but there was
a frown upon his face as well
»Id say they was pretty hard lines for a young fellow« he remarked »Four
dollars a week How could he live on it You can bet he didnt have any frills
Why I pay five dollars a week for board now an theres nothin excitin about
it you can lay to that He must have lived like a dog The food he ate «
»He cooked for himself« she interrupted »on a little kerosene stove«
»The food he ate must have been worse than what a sailor gets on the
worstfeedin deepwater ships than which there aint much that can be possibly
worse«
»But think of him now« she cried enthusiastically »Think of what his
income affords him His early denials are paid for a thousandfold«
Martin looked at her sharply
»Theres one thing Ill bet you« he said »and it is that Mr Butler is
nothin gayhearted now in his fat days He fed himself like that for years an
years on a boys stomach an I bet his stomachs none too good now for it«
Her eyes dropped before his searching gaze
»Ill bet hes got dyspepsia right now« Martin challenged
»Yes he has« she confessed »but «
»An I bet« Martin dashed on »that hes solemn an serious as an old owl
an doesnt care a rap for a good time for all his thirty thousand a year An
Ill bet hes not particularly joyful at seein others have a good time Aint I
right«
She nodded her head in agreement and hastened to explain
»But he is not that type of man By nature he is sober and serious He
always was that«
»You can bet he was« Martin proclaimed »Three dollars a week an four
dollars a week an a young boy cookin for himself on an oilburner an layin
up money workin all day an studyin all night just workin an never
playin never havin a good time an never learnin how to have a good time
of course his thirty thousand came along too late«
His sympathetic imagination was flashing upon his inner sight all the
thousands of details of the boys existence and of his narrow spiritual
development into a thirtythousanddollarayear man With the swiftness and
widereaching of multitudinous thought Charles Butlers whole life was
telescoped upon his vision
»Do you know« he added »I feel sorry for Mr Butler He was too young to
know better but he robbed himself of life for the sake of thirty thousand a
year thats clean wasted upon him Why thirty thousand lump sum wouldnt buy
for him right now what ten cents he was layin up would have bought him when he
was a kid in the way of candy an peanuts or a seat in nigger heaven«
It was just such uniqueness of points of view that startled Ruth Not only
were they new to her and contrary to her own beliefs but she always felt in
them germs of truth that threatened to unseat or modify her own convictions Had
she been fourteen instead of twentyfour she might have been changed by them
but she was twentyfour conservative by nature and upbringing and already
crystallized into the cranny of life where she had been born and formed It was
true his bizarre judgments troubled her in the moments they were uttered but
she ascribed them to his novelty of type and strangeness of living and they
were soon forgotten Nevertheless while she disapproved of them the strength
of their utterance and the flashing of eyes and earnestness of face that
accompanied them always thrilled her and drew her toward him She would never
have guessed that this man who had come from beyond her horizon was in such
moments flashing on beyond her horizon with wider and deeper concepts Her own
limits were the limits of her horizon but limited minds can recognize
limitations only in others And so she felt that her outlook was very wide
indeed and that where his conflicted with hers marked his limitations and she
dreamed of helping him to see as she saw of widening his horizon until it was
identified with hers
»But I have not finished my story« she said »He worked so father says as
no other office boy he ever had Mr Butler was always eager to work He never
was late and he was usually at the office a few minutes before his regular
time And yet he saved his time Every spare moment was devoted to study He
studied bookkeeping and typewriting and he paid for lessons in shorthand by
dictating at night to a court reporter who needed practice He quickly became a
clerk and he made himself invaluable Father appreciated him and saw that he
was bound to rise It was on fathers suggestion that he went to law college He
became a lawyer and hardly was he back in the office when father took him in as
junior partner He is a great man He refused the United States Senate several
times and father says he could become a justice of the Supreme Court any time a
vacancy occurs if he wants to Such a life is an inspiration to all of us It
shows us that a man with will may rise superior to his environment«
»He is a great man« Martin said sincerely
But it seemed to him there was something in the recital that jarred upon his
sense of beauty and life He could not find an adequate motive in Mr Butlers
life of pinching and privation Had he done it for love of a woman or for
attainment of beauty Martin would have understood Gods own mad lover should
do anything for the kiss but not for thirty thousand dollars a year He was
dissatisfied with Mr Butlers career There was something paltry about it
after all Thirty thousand a year was all right but dyspepsia and inability to
be humanly happy robbed such princely income of all its value
Much of this he strove to express to Ruth and shocked her and made it clear
that more remodelling was necessary Hers was that common insularity of mind
that makes human creatures believe that their color creed and politics are
best and right and that other human creatures scattered over the world are less
fortunately placed than they It was the same insularity of mind that made the
ancient Jew thank God he was not born a woman and sent the modern missionary
godsubstituting to the ends of the earth and it made Ruth desire to shape this
man from other crannies of life into the likeness of the men who lived in her
particular cranny of life
Chapter IX
Back from sea Martin Eden came homing for California with a lovers desire His
store of money exhausted he had shipped before the mast on the treasurehunting
schooner and the Solomon Islands after eight months of failure to find
treasure had witnessed the breaking up of the expedition The men had been paid
off in Australia and Martin had immediately shipped on a deepwater vessel for
San Francisco Not alone had those eight months earned him enough money to stay
on land for many weeks but they had enabled him to do a great deal of studying
and reading
His was the students mind and behind his ability to learn was the
indomitability of his nature and his love for Ruth The grammar he had taken
along he went through again and again until his unjaded brain had mastered it
He noticed the bad grammar used by his shipmates and made a point of mentally
correcting and reconstructing their crudities of speech To his great joy he
discovered that his ear was becoming sensitive and that he was developing
grammatical nerves A double negative jarred him like a discord and often from
lack of practice it was from his own lips that the jar came His tongue refused
to learn new tricks in a day
After he had been through the grammar repeatedly he took up the dictionary
and added twenty words a day to his vocabulary He found that this was no light
task and at wheel or lookout he steadily went over and over his lengthening
list of pronunciations and definitions while he invariably memorized himself to
sleep Never did anything if I were and those things were phrases with many
variations that he repeated under his breath in order to accustom his tongue to
the language spoken by Ruth And and ing with the d and g pronounced
emphatically he went over thousands of times and to his surprise he noticed
that he was beginning to speak cleaner and more correct English than the
officers themselves and the gentlemanadventurers in the cabin who had financed
the expedition
The captain was a fishyeyed Norwegian who somehow had fallen into
possession of a complete Shakespeare which he never read and Martin had washed
his clothes for him and in return been permitted access to the precious volumes
For a time so steeped was he in the plays and in the many favorite passages
that impressed themselves almost without effort on his brain that all the world
seemed to shape itself into forms of Elizabethan tragedy or comedy and his very
thoughts were in blank verse It trained his ear and gave him a fine
appreciation for noble English withal it introduced into his mind much that was
archaic and obsolete
The eight months had been well spent and in addition to what he had
learned of right speaking and high thinking he had learned much of himself
Along with his humbleness because he knew so little there arose a conviction of
power He felt a sharp gradation between himself and his shipmates and was wise
enough to realize that the difference lay in potentiality rather than
achievement What he could do they could do but within him he felt a confused
ferment working that told him there was more in him than he had done He was
tortured by the exquisite beauty of the world and wished that Ruth were there
to share it with him He decided that he would describe to her many of the bits
of South Sea beauty The creative spirit in him flamed up at the thought and
urged that he recreate this beauty for a wider audience than Ruth And then in
splendor and glory came the great idea He would write He would be one of the
eyes through which the world saw one of the ears through which it heard one of
the hearts through which it felt He would write everything poetry and
prose fiction and description and plays like Shakespeare There was career and
the way to win to Ruth The men of literature were the worlds giants and he
conceived them to be far finer than the Mr Butlers who earned thirty thousand a
year and could be Supreme Court justices if they wanted to
Once the idea had germinated it mastered him and the return voyage to San
Francisco was like a dream He was drunken with unguessed power and felt that he
could do anything In the midst of the great and lonely sea he gained
perspective Clearly and for the first time he saw Ruth and her world It was
all visualized in his mind as a concrete thing which he could take up in his two
hands and turn around and about and examine There was much that was dim and
nebulous in that world but he saw it as a whole and not in detail and he saw
also the way to master it To write The thought was fire in him He would
begin as soon as he got back The first thing he would do would be to describe
the voyage of the treasurehunters He would sell it to some San Francisco
newspaper He would not tell Ruth anything about it and she would be surprised
and pleased when she saw his name in print While he wrote he could go on
studying There were twentyfour hours in each day He was invincible He knew
how to work and the citadels would go down before him He would not have to go
to sea again as a sailor and for the instant he caught a vision of a steam
yacht There were other writers who possessed steam yachts Of course he
cautioned himself it would be slow succeeding at first and for a time he would
be content to earn enough money by his writing to enable him to go on studying
And then after some time a very indeterminate time when he had learned
and prepared himself he would write the great things and his name would be on
all mens lips But greater than that infinitely greater and greatest of all
he would have proved himself worthy of Ruth Fame was all very well but it was
for Ruth that his splendid dream arose He was not a famemonger but merely one
of Gods mad lovers
Arrived in Oakland with his snug payday in his pocket he took up his old
room at Bernard Higginbothams and set to work He did not even let Ruth know he
was back He would go and see her when he finished the article on the
treasurehunters It was not so difficult to abstain from seeing her because of
the violent heat of creative fever that burned in him Besides the very article
he was writing would bring her nearer to him He did not know how long an
article he should write but he counted the words in a doublepage article in
the Sunday supplement of the San Francisco Examiner and guided himself by that
Three days at white heat completed his narrative but when he had copied it
carefully in a large scrawl that was easy to read he learned from a rhetoric
he picked up in the library that there were such things as paragraphs and
quotation marks He had never thought of such things before and he promptly set
to work writing the article over referring continually to the pages of the
rhetoric and learning more in a day about composition than the average schoolboy
in a year When he had copied the article a second time and rolled it up
carefully he read in a newspaper an item on hints to beginners and discovered
the iron law that manuscripts should never be rolled and that they should be
written on one side of the paper He had violated the law on both counts Also
he learned from the item that firstclass papers paid a minimum of ten dollars a
column So while he copied the manuscript a third time he consoled himself by
multiplying ten columns by ten dollars The product was always the same one
hundred dollars and he decided that that was better than seafaring If it
hadnt been for his blunders he would have finished the article in three days
One hundred dollars in three days It would have taken him three months and
longer on the sea to earn a similar amount A man was a fool to go to sea when
he could write he concluded though the money in itself meant nothing to him
Its value was in the liberty it would get him the presentable garments it would
buy him all of which would bring him nearer swiftly nearer to the slender
pale girl who had turned his life back upon itself and given him inspiration
He mailed the manuscript in a flat envelope and addressed it to the editor
of the San Francisco Examiner He had an idea that anything accepted by a paper
was published immediately and as he had sent the manuscript in on Friday he
expected it to come out on the following Sunday He conceived that it would be
fine to let that event apprise Ruth of his return Then Sunday afternoon he
would call and see her In the meantime he was occupied by another idea which
he prided himself upon as being a particularly sane careful and modest idea
He would write an adventure story for boys and sell it to The Youths Companion
He went to the free readingroom and looked through the files of The Youths
Companion Serial stories he found were usually published in that weekly in
five instalments of about three thousand words each He discovered several
serials that ran to seven instalments and decided to write one of that length
He had been on a whaling voyage in the Arctic once a voyage that was to
have been for three years and which had terminated in shipwreck at the end of
six months While his imagination was fanciful even fantastic at times he had
a basic love of reality that compelled him to write about the things he knew He
knew whaling and out of the real materials of his knowledge he proceeded to
manufacture the fictitious adventures of the two boys he intended to use as
joint heroes It was easy work he decided on Saturday evening He had completed
on that day the first instalment of three thousand words much to the amusement
of Jim and to the open derision of Mr Higginbotham who sneered throughout
mealtime at the litery person they had discovered in the family
Martin contented himself by picturing his brotherinlaws surprise on
Sunday morning when he opened his Examiner and saw the article on the
treasurehunters Early that morning he was out himself to the front door
nervously racing through the manysheeted newspaper He went through it a second
time very carefully then folded it up and left it where he had found it He
was glad he had not told any one about his article On second thought he
concluded that he had been wrong about the speed with which things found their
way into newspaper columns Besides there had not been any news value in his
article and most likely the editor would write to him about it first
After breakfast he went on with his serial The words flowed from his pen
though he broke off from the writing frequently to look up definitions in the
dictionary or to refer to the rhetoric He often read or reread a chapter at a
time during such pauses and he consoled himself that while he was not writing
the great things he felt to be in him he was learning composition at any rate
and training himself to shape up and express his thoughts He toiled on till
dark when he went out to the readingroom and explored magazines and weeklies
until the place closed at ten oclock This was his programme for a week Each
day he did three thousand words and each evening he puzzled his way through the
magazines taking note of the stories articles and poems that editors saw fit
to publish One thing was certain What these multitudinous writers did he could
do and only give him time and he would do what they could not do He was
cheered to read in Book News in a paragraph on the payment of magazine writers
not that Rudyard Kipling received a dollar per word but that the minimum rate
paid by firstclass magazines was two cents a word The Youths Companion was
certainly first class and at that rate the three thousand words he had written
that day would bring him sixty dollars two months wages on the sea
On Friday night he finished the serial twentyone thousand words long At
two cents a word he calculated that would bring him four hundred and twenty
dollars Not a bad weeks work It was more money than he had ever possessed at
one time He did not know how he could spend it all He had tapped a gold mine
Where this came from he could always get more He planned to buy some more
clothes to subscribe to many magazines and to buy dozens of reference books
that at present he was compelled to go to the library to consult And still
there was a large portion of the four hundred and twenty dollars unspent This
worried him until the thought came to him of hiring a servant for Gertrude and
of buying a bicycle for Marian
He mailed the bulky manuscript to The Youths Companion and on Saturday
afternoon after having planned an article on pearldiving he went to see Ruth
He had telephoned and she went herself to greet him at the door The old
familiar blaze of health rushed out from him and struck her like a blow It
seemed to enter into her body and course through her veins in a liquid glow and
to set her quivering with its imparted strength He flushed warmly as he took
her hand and looked into her blue eyes but the fresh bronze of eight months of
sun hid the flush though it did not protect the neck from the gnawing chafe of
the stiff collar She noted the red line of it with amusement which quickly
vanished as she glanced at his clothes They really fitted him it was his
first madetoorder suit and he seemed slimmer and better modelled In
addition his cloth cap had been replaced by a soft hat which she commanded him
to put on and then complimented him on his appearance She did not remember when
she had felt so happy This change in him was her handiwork and she was proud
of it and fired with ambition further to help him
But the most radical change of all and the one that pleased her most was
the change in his speech Not only did he speak more correctly but he spoke
more easily and there were many new words in his vocabulary When he grew
excited or enthusiastic however he dropped back into the old slurring and the
dropping of final consonants Also there was an awkward hesitancy at times as
he essayed the new words he had learned On the other hand along with his ease
of expression he displayed a lightness and facetiousness of thought that
delighted her It was his old spirit of humor and badinage that had made him a
favorite in his own class but which he had hitherto been unable to use in her
presence through lack of words and training He was just beginning to orientate
himself and to feel that he was not wholly an intruder But he was very
tentative fastidiously so letting Ruth set the pace of sprightliness and
fancy keeping up with her but never daring to go beyond her
He told her of what he had been doing and of his plan to write for a
livelihood and of going on with his studies But he was disappointed at her lack
of approval She did not think much of his plan
»You see« she said frankly »writing must be a trade like anything else
Not that I know anything about it of course I only bring common judgment to
bear You couldnt hope to be a blacksmith without spending three years at
learning the trade or is it five years Now writers are so much better paid
than blacksmiths that there must be ever so many more men who would like to
write who try to write«
»But then may not I be peculiarly constituted to write« he queried
secretly exulting at the language he had used his swift imagination throwing
the whole scene and atmosphere upon a vast screen along with a thousand other
scenes from his life scenes that were rough and raw gross and bestial
The whole composite vision was achieved with the speed of light producing
no pause in the conversation nor interrupting his calm train of thought On the
screen of his imagination he saw himself and this sweet and beautiful girl
facing each other and conversing in good English in a room of books and
paintings and tone and culture and all illuminated by a bright light of
steadfast brilliance while ranged about and fading away to the remote edges of
the screen were antithetical scenes each scene a picture and he the onlooker
free to look at will upon what he wished He saw these other scenes through
drifting vapors and swirls of sullen fog dissolving before shafts of red and
garish light He saw cowboys at the bar drinking fierce whiskey the air filled
with obscenity and ribald language and he saw himself with them drinking and
cursing with the wildest or sitting at table with them under smoking kerosene
lamps while the chips clicked and clattered and the cards were dealt around He
saw himself stripped to the waist with naked fists fighting his great fight
with Liverpool Red in the forecastle of the Susquehanna and he saw the bloody
deck of the John Rogers that gray morning of attempted mutiny the mate kicking
in deaththroes on the mainhatch the revolver in the old mans hand spitting
fire and smoke the men with passionwrenched faces of brutes screaming vile
blasphemies and falling about him and then he returned to the central scene
calm and clean in the steadfast light where Ruth sat and talked with him amid
books and paintings and he saw the grand piano upon which she would later play
to him and he heard the echoes of his own selected and correct words »But
then may I not be peculiarly constituted to write«
»But no matter how peculiarly constituted a man may be for blacksmithing«
she was laughing »I never heard of one becoming a blacksmith without first
serving his apprenticeship«
»What would you advise« he asked »And dont forget that I feel in me this
capacity to write I cant explain it I just know that it is in me«
»You must get a thorough education« was the answer »whether or not you
ultimately become a writer This education is indispensable for whatever career
you select and it must not be slipshod or sketchy You should go to high
school«
»Yes « he began but she interrupted with an afterthought
»Of course you could go on with your writing too«
»I would have to« he said grimly
»Why« She looked at him prettily puzzled for she did not quite like the
persistence with which he clung to his notion
»Because without writing there wouldnt be any high school I must live and
buy books and clothes you know«
»Id forgotten that« she laughed »Why werent you born with an income«
»Id rather have good health and imagination« he answered »I can make good
on the income but the other things have to be made good for « He almost said
»you« then amended his sentence to »have to be made good for one«
»Dont say make good« she cried sweetly petulant »Its slang and its
horrid«
He flushed and stammered »Thats right and I only wish youd correct me
every time«
»I Id like to« she said haltingly »You have so much in you that is good
that I want to see you perfect«
He was clay in her hands immediately as passionately desirous of being
moulded by her as she was desirous of shaping him into the image of her ideal of
man And when she pointed out the opportuneness of the time that the entrance
examinations to high school began on the following Monday he promptly
volunteered that he would take them
Then she played and sang to him while he gazed with hungry yearning at her
drinking in her loveliness and marvelling that there should not be a hundred
suitors listening there and longing for her as he listened and longed
Chapter X
He stopped to dinner that evening and much to Ruths satisfaction made a
favorable impression on her father They talked about the sea as a career a
subject which Martin had at his fingerends and Mr Morse remarked afterward
that he seemed a very clearheaded young man In his avoidance of slang and his
search after right words Martin was compelled to talk slowly which enabled him
to find the best thoughts that were in him He was more at ease than that first
night at dinner nearly a year before and his shyness and modesty even
commended him to Mrs Morse who was pleased at his manifest improvement
»He is the first man that ever drew passing notice from Ruth« she told her
husband »She has been so singularly backward where men are concerned that I
have been worried greatly«
Mr Morse looked at his wife curiously
»You mean to use this young sailor to wake her up« he questioned
»I mean that she is not to die an old maid if I can help it« was the
answer »If this young Eden can arouse her interest in mankind in general it
will be good thing«
»A very good thing« he commented »But suppose and we must suppose
sometimes my dear suppose he arouses her interest too particularly in him«
»Impossible« Mrs Morse laughed »She is three years older than he and
besides it is impossible Nothing will ever come of it Trust that to me«
And so Martins rôle was arranged for him while he led on by Arthur and
Norman was meditating an extravagance They were going out for a ride into the
hills Sunday morning on their wheels which did not interest Martin until he
learned that Ruth too rode a wheel and was going along He did not ride nor
own a wheel but if Ruth rode it was up to him to begin was his decision and
when he said good night he stopped in at a cyclery on his way home and spent
forty dollars for a wheel It was more than a months hardearned wages and it
reduced his stock of money amazingly but when he added the hundred dollars he
was to receive from the Examiner to the four hundred and twenty dollars that was
the least The Youths Companion could pay him he felt that he had reduced the
perplexity the unwonted amount of money had caused him Nor did he mind in the
course of learning to ride the wheel home the fact that he ruined his suit of
clothes He caught the tailor by telephone that night from Mr Higginbothams
store and ordered another suit Then he carried the wheel up the narrow stairway
that clung like a fireescape to the rear wall of the building and when he had
moved his bed out from the wall found there was just space enough in the small
room for himself and the wheel
Sunday he had intended to devote to studying for the high school
examination but the pearldiving article lured him away and he spent the day
in the whitehot fever of recreating the beauty and romance that burned in him
The fact that the Examiner of that morning had failed to publish his
treasurehunting article did not dash his spirits He was at too great a height
for that and having been deaf to a twicerepeated summons he went without the
heavy Sunday dinner with which Mr Higginbotham invariably graced his table To
Mr Higginbotham such a dinner was advertisement of his worldly achievement and
prosperity and he honored it by delivering platitudinous sermonettes upon
American institutions and the opportunity said institutions gave to any
hardworking man to rise the rise in his case which he pointed out
unfailingly being from a grocers clerk to the ownership of Higginbothams Cash
Store
Martin Eden looked with a sigh at his unfinished »Pearldiving« on Monday
morning and took the car down to Oakland to the high school And when days
later he applied for the results of his examinations he learned that he had
failed in everything save grammar
»Your grammar is excellent« Professor Hilton informed him staring at him
through heavy spectacles »but you know nothing positively nothing in the
other branches and your United States history is abominable there is no other
word for it abominable I should advise you «
Professor Hilton paused and glared at him unsympathetic and unimaginative
as one of his own testtubes He was professor of physics in the high school
possessor of a large family a meagre salary and a select fund of
parrotlearned knowledge
»Yes sir« Martin said humbly wishing somehow that the man at the desk in
the library was in Professor Hiltons place just then
»And I should advise you to go back to the grammar school for at least two
years Good day«
Martin was not deeply affected by his failure though he was surprised at
Ruths shocked expression when he told her Professor Hiltons advice Her
disappointment was so evident that he was sorry he had failed but chiefly so
for her sake
»You see I was right« she said »You know far more than any of the students
entering high school and yet you cant pass the examinations It is because
what education you have is fragmentary sketchy You need the discipline of
study such as only skilled teachers can give you You must be thoroughly
grounded Professor Hilton is right and if I were you Id go to night school
A year and a half of it might enable you to catch up that additional six months
Besides that would leave you your days in which to write or if you could not
make your living by your pen you would have your days in which to work in some
position«
But if my days are taken up with work and my nights with school when am I
going to see you was Martins first thought though he refrained from
uttering it Instead he said
»It seems so babyish for me to be going to night school But I wouldnt mind
that if I thought it would pay But I dont think it will pay I can do the work
quicker than they can teach me It would be a loss of time « he thought of her
and his desire to have her »and I cant afford the time I havent the time to
spare in fact«
»There is so much that is necessary« She looked at him gently and he felt
that he was a brute to oppose her »Physics and chemistry you cant do them
without laboratory study and youll find algebra and geometry almost hopeless
without instruction You need the skilled teachers the specialists in the art
of imparting knowledge«
He was silent for a minute casting about for the least vainglorious way in
which to express himself
»Please dont think Im bragging« he began »I dont intend it that way at
all But I have a feeling that I am what I may call a natural student I can
study by myself I take to it kindly like a duck to water You see yourself
what I did with grammar And Ive learned much of other things you would never
dream how much And Im only getting started Wait till I get « He hesitated
and assured himself of the pronunciation before he said »momentum Im getting
my first real feel of things now Im beginning to size up the situation «
»Please dont say size up« she interrupted
»To get a line on things« he hastily amended
»That doesnt mean anything in correct English« she objected
He floundered for a fresh start
»What Im driving at is that Im beginning to get the lay of the land«
Out of pity she forebore and he went on
»Knowledge seems to me like a chartroom Whenever I go into the library I
am impressed that way The part played by teachers is to teach the student the
contents of the chartroom in a systematic way The teachers are guides to the
chartroom thats all Its not something that they have in their own heads
They dont make it up dont create it Its all in the chartroom and they know
their way about in it and its their business to show the place to strangers
who might else get lost Now I dont get lost easily I have the bump of
location I usually know where Im at Whats wrong now«
»Dont say where Im at«
»Thats right« he said gratefully »where I am But where am I at I mean
where am I Oh yes in the chartroom Well some people «
»Persons« she corrected
»Some persons need guides most persons do but I think I can get along
without them Ive spent a lot of time in the chartroom now and Im on the
edge of knowing my way about what charts I want to refer to what coasts I want
to explore And from the way I line it up Ill explore a whole lot more quickly
by myself The speed of a fleet you know is the speed of the slowest ship and
the speed of the teachers is affected the same way They cant go any faster
than the ruck of their scholars and I can set a faster pace for myself than
they set for a whole schoolroom«
»He travels the fastest who travels alone« she quoted at him
But Id travel faster with you just the same was what he wanted to blurt
out as he caught a vision of a world without end of sunlit spaces and starry
voids through which he drifted with her his arm around her her pale gold hair
blowing about his face In the same instant he was aware of the pitiful
inadequacy of speech God If he could so frame words that she could see what he
then saw And he felt the stir in him like a throe of yearning pain of the
desire to paint these visions that flashed unsummoned on the mirror of his mind
Ah that was it He caught at the hem of the secret It was the very thing that
the great writers and masterpoets did That was why they were giants They knew
how to express what they thought and felt and saw Dogs asleep in the sun
often whined and barked but they were unable to tell what they saw that made
them whine and bark He had often wondered what it was And that was all he was
a dog asleep in the sun He saw noble and beautiful visions but he could only
whine and bark at Ruth But he would cease sleeping in the sun He would stand
up with open eyes and he would struggle and toil and learn until with eyes
unblinded and tongue untied he could share with her his visioned wealth Other
men had discovered the trick of expression of making words obedient servitors
and of making combinations of words mean more than the sum of their separate
meanings He was stirred profoundly by the passing glimpse at the secret and he
was again caught up in the vision of sunlit spaces and starry voids until it
came to him that it was very quiet and he saw Ruth regarding him with an amused
expression and a smile in her eyes
»I have had a great visioning« he said and at the sound of his words in
his own ears his heart gave a leap Where had those words come from They had
adequately expressed the pause his vision had put in the conversation It was a
miracle Never had he so loftily framed a lofty thought But never had he
attempted to frame lofty thoughts in words That was it That explained it He
had never tried But Swinburne had and Tennyson and Kipling and all the other
poets His mind flashed on to his »Pearldiving« He had never dared the big
things the spirit of the beauty that was a fire in him That article would be a
different thing when he was done with it He was appalled by the vastness of the
beauty that rightfully belonged in it and again his mind flashed and dared and
he demanded of himself why he could not chant that beauty in noble verse as the
great poets did And there was all the mysterious delight and spiritual wonder
of his love for Ruth Why could he not chant that too as the poets did They
had sung of love So would he By God
And in his frightened ears he heard his exclamation echoing Carried away
he had breathed it aloud The blood surged into his face wave upon wave
mastering the bronze of it till the blush of shame flaunted itself from
collarrim to the roots of his hair
»I I beg your pardon« he stammered »I was thinking«
»It sounded as if you were praying« she said bravely but she felt herself
inside to be withering and shrinking It was the first time she had heard an
oath from the lips of a man she knew and she was shocked not merely as a
matter of principle and training but shocked in spirit by this rough blast of
life in the garden of her sheltered maidenhood
But she forgave and with surprise at the ease of her forgiveness Somehow
it was not so difficult to forgive him anything He had not had a chance to be
as other men and he was trying so hard and succeeding too It never entered
her head that there could be any other reason for her being kindly disposed
toward him She was tenderly disposed toward him but she did not know it She
had no way of knowing it The placid poise of twentyfour years without a single
love affair did not fit her with a keen perception of her own feelings and she
who had never warmed to actual love was unaware that she was warming now
Chapter XI
Martin went back to his pearldiving article which would have been finished
sooner if it had not been broken in upon so frequently by his attempts to write
poetry His poems were love poems inspired by Ruth but they were never
completed Not in a day could he learn to chant in noble verse Rhyme and metre
and structure were serious enough in themselves, but there was over and beyond
them an intangible and evasive something that he caught in all great poetry
but which he could not catch and imprison in his own It was the elusive spirit
of poetry itself that he sensed and sought after but could not capture It
seemed a glow to him a warm and trailing vapor ever beyond his reaching
though sometimes he was rewarded by catching at shreds of it and weaving them
into phrases that echoed in his brain with haunting notes or drifted across his
vision in misty wafture of unseen beauty It was baffling He ached with desire
to express and could but gibber prosaically as everybody gibbered He read his
fragments aloud The metre marched along on perfect feet and the rhyme pounded
a longer and equally faultless rhythm but the glow and high exaltation that he
felt within were lacking He could not understand and time and again in
despair defeated and depressed he returned to his article Prose was certainly
an easier medium
Following the »Pearldiving« he wrote an article on the sea as a career
another on turtlecatching and a third on the northeast trades Then he tried
as an experiment a short story and before he broke his stride he had finished
six short stories and despatched them to various magazines He wrote
prolifically intensely from morning till night and late at night except when
he broke off to go to the readingroom draw books from the library or to call
on Ruth He was profoundly happy Life was pitched high He was in a fever that
never broke The joy of creation that is supposed to belong to the gods was his
All the life about him the odors of stale vegetables and soapsuds the
slatternly form of his sister and the jeering face of Mr Higginbotham was a
dream The real world was in his mind and the stories he wrote were so many
pieces of reality out of his mind
The days were too short There was so much he wanted to study He cut his
sleep down to five hours and found that he could get along upon it He tried
four hours and a half and regretfully came back to five He could joyfully have
spent all his waking hours upon any one of his pursuits It was with regret that
he ceased from writing to study that he ceased from study to go to the library
that he tore himself away from that chartroom of knowledge or from the
magazines in the readingroom that were filled with the secrets of writers who
succeeded in selling their wares It was like severing heartstrings when he
was with Ruth to stand up and go and he scorched through the dark streets so
as to get home to his books at the least possible expense of time And hardest
of all was it to shut up the algebra or physics put notebook and pencil aside
and close his tired eyes in sleep He hated the thought of ceasing to live even
for so short a time and his sole consolation was that the alarm clock was set
five hours ahead He would lose only five hours anyway and then the jangling
bell would jerk him out of unconsciousness and he would have before him another
glorious day of nineteen hours
In the meantime the weeks were passing his money was ebbing low and there
was no money coming in A month after he had mailed it the adventure serial for
boys was returned to him by The Youths Companion The rejection slip was so
tactfully worded that he felt kindly toward the editor But he did not feel so
kindly toward the editor of the San Francisco Examiner After waiting two whole
weeks Martin had written to him A week later he wrote again At the end of the
month he went over to San Francisco and personally called upon the editor But
he did not meet that exalted personage thanks to a Cerberus of an office boy
of tender years and red hair who guarded the portals At the end of the fifth
week the manuscript came back to him by mail without comment There was no
rejection slip no explanation nothing In the same way his other articles were
tied up with the other leading San Francisco papers When he recovered them he
sent them to the magazines in the East from which they were returned more
promptly accompanied always by the printed rejection slips
The short stories were returned in similar fashion He read them over and
over and liked them so much that he could not puzzle out the cause of their
rejection until one day he read in a newspaper that manuscripts should always
be typewritten That explained it Of course editors were so busy that they
could not afford the time and strain of reading handwriting Martin rented a
typewriter and spent a day mastering the machine Each day he typed what he
composed and he typed his earlier manuscripts as fast as they were returned
him He was surprised when the typed ones began to come back His jaw seemed to
become squarer his chin more aggressive and he bundled the manuscripts off to
new editors
The thought came to him that he was not a good judge of his own work He
tried it out on Gertrude He read his stories aloud to her Her eyes glistened
and she looked at him proudly as she said
»Aint it grand you writin those sort of things«
»Yes yes« he demanded impatiently »But the story how did you like it«
»Just grand« was the reply »Just grand an thrilling too I was all
worked up«
He could see that her mind was not clear The perplexity was strong in her
goodnatured face So he waited
»But say Mart« after a long pause »how did it end Did that young man
who spoke so highfalutin get her«
And after he had explained the end which he thought he had made
artistically obvious she would say
»Thats what I wanted to know Why didnt you write that way in the story«
One thing he learned after he had read her a number of stories namely
that she liked happy endings
»That story was perfectly grand« she announced straightening up from the
washtub with a tired sigh and wiping the sweat from her forehead with a red
steamy hand »but it makes me sad I want to cry There is too many sad things
in the world anyway It makes me happy to think about happy things Now if hed
married her and You dont mind Mart« she queried apprehensively »I just
happen to feel that way because Im tired I guess But the story was grand
just the same perfectly grand Where are you goin to sell it«
»Thats a horse of another color« he laughed
»But if you did sell it what do you think youd get for it«
»Oh a hundred dollars That would be the least the way prices go«
»My I do hope youll sell it«
»Easy money eh« Then he added proudly »I wrote it in two days Thats
fifty dollars a day«
He longed to read his stories to Ruth but did not dare He would wait till
some were published he decided then she would understand what he had been
working for In the meantime he toiled on Never had the spirit of adventure
lured him more strongly than on this amazing exploration of the realm of mind
He bought the textbooks on physics and chemistry and along with his algebra
worked out problems and demonstrations He took the laboratory proofs on faith
and his intense power of vision enabled him to see the reactions of chemicals
more understandingly than the average student saw them in the laboratory Martin
wandered on through the heavy pages overwhelmed by the clews he was getting to
the nature of things He had accepted the world as the world but now he was
comprehending the organization of it the play and interplay of force and
matter Spontaneous explanations of old matters were continually arising in his
mind Levers and purchases fascinated him and his mind roved backward to
handspikes and blocks and tackles at sea The theory of navigation which
enabled the ships to travel unerringly their courses over the pathless ocean
was made clear to him The mysteries of storm and rain and tide were revealed
and the reason for the existence of tradewinds made him wonder whether he had
written his article on the northeast trade too soon At any rate he knew he
could write it better now One afternoon he went out with Arthur to the
University of California and with bated breath and a feeling of religious awe
went through the laboratories saw demonstrations and listened to a physics
professor lecturing to his classes
But he did not neglect his writing A stream of short stories flowed from
his pen and he branched out into the easier forms of verse the kind he saw
printed in the magazines though he lost his head and wasted two weeks on a
tragedy in blank verse the swift rejection of which by half a dozen magazines
dumfounded him Then he discovered Henley and wrote a series of seapoems on the
model of »Hospital Sketches« They were simple poems of light and color and
romance and adventure »Sea Lyrics« he called them and he judged them to be
the best work he had yet done There were thirty and he completed them in a
month doing one a day after having done his regular days work on fiction
which days work was the equivalent to a weeks work of the average successful
writer The toil meant nothing to him It was not toil He was finding speech
and all the beauty and wonder that had been pent for years behind his
inarticulate lips was now pouring forth in a wild and virile flood
He showed the »Sea Lyrics« to no one not even to the editors He had become
distrustful of editors But it was not distrust that prevented him from
submitting the »Lyrics« They were so beautiful to him that he was impelled to
save them to share with Ruth in some glorious faroff time when he would dare
to read to her what he had written Against that time he kept them with him
reading them aloud going over them until he knew them by heart
He lived every moment of his waking hours and he lived in his sleep his
subjective mind rioting through his five hours of surcease and combining the
thoughts and events of the day into grotesque and impossible marvels In
reality he never rested and a weaker body or a less firmly poised brain would
have been prostrated in a general breakdown His late afternoon calls on Ruth
were rarer now for June was approaching when she would take her degree and
finish with the university Bachelor of Arts when he thought of her degree
it seemed she fled beyond him faster than he could pursue
One afternoon a week she gave to him and arriving late he usually stayed
for dinner and for music afterward Those were his redletter days The
atmosphere of the house in such contrast with that in which he lived and the
mere nearness to her sent him forth each time with a firmer grip on his resolve
to climb the heights In spite of the beauty in him and the aching desire to
create it was for her that he struggled He was a lover first and always All
other things he subordinated to love Greater than his adventure in the world of
thought was his loveadventure The world itself was not so amazing because of
the atoms and molecules that composed it according to the propulsions of
irresistible force what made it amazing was the fact that Ruth lived in it She
was the most amazing thing he had ever known or dreamed or guessed
But he was oppressed always by her remoteness She was so far from him and
he did not know how to approach her He had been a success with girls and women
in his own class but he had never loved any of them while he did love her and
besides she was not merely of another class His very love elevated her above
all classes She was a being apart so far apart that he did not know how to
draw near to her as a lover should draw near It was true as he acquired
knowledge and language that he was drawing nearer talking her speech
discovering ideas and delights in common but this did not satisfy his lovers
yearning His lovers imagination had made her holy too holy too
spiritualized to have any kinship with him in the flesh It was his own love
that thrust her from him and made her seem impossible for him Love itself
denied him the one thing that it desired
And then one day without warning the gulf between them was bridged for a
moment and thereafter though the gulf remained it was ever narrower They had
been eating cherries great luscious black cherries with a juice of the color
of dark wine And later as she read aloud to him from »The Princess« he
chanced to notice the stain of the cherries on her lips For the moment her
divinity was shattered She was clay after all mere clay subject to the
common law of clay as his clay was subject or anybodys clay Her lips were
flesh like his and cherries dyed them as cherries dyed his And if so with her
lips then was it so with all of her She was woman all woman just like any
woman It came upon him abruptly It was a revelation that stunned him It was
as if he had seen the sun fall out of the sky or had seen worshipped purity
polluted
Then he realized the significance of it and his heart began pounding and
challenging him to play the lover with this woman who was not a spirit from
other worlds but a mere woman with lips a cherry could stain He trembled at the
audacity of his thought but all his soul was singing and reason, in a
triumphant pæan assured him he was right Something of this change in him must
have reached her for she paused from her reading looked up at him and smiled
His eyes dropped from her blue eyes to her lips and the sight of the stain
maddened him His arms all but flashed out to her and around her in the way of
his old careless life She seemed to lean toward him to wait and all his will
fought to hold him back
»You are not following a word« she pouted
Then she laughed at him delighting in his confusion and as he looked into
her frank eyes and knew that she had divined nothing of what he felt he became
abashed He had indeed in thought dared too far Of all the women he had known
there was no woman who would not have guessed save her And she had not
guessed There was the difference She was different He was appalled by his own
grossness awed by her clear innocence and he gazed again at her across the
gulf The bridge had broken down
But still the incident had brought him nearer The memory of it persisted
and in the moments when he was most cast down he dwelt upon it eagerly The
gulf was never again so wide He had accomplished a distance vastly greater than
a bachelorship of arts or a dozen bachelorships She was pure it was true as
he had never dreamed of purity but cherries stained her lips She was subject
to the laws of the universe just as inexorably as he was She had to eat to
live and when she got her feet wet she caught cold But that was not the
point If she could feel hunger and thirst and heat and cold then could she
feel love and love for a man Well he was a man And why could he not be the
man »Its up to me to make good« he would murmur fervently »I will be the
man I will make myself the man I will make good«
Chapter XII
Early one evening struggling with a sonnet that twisted all awry the beauty and
thought that trailed in glow and vapor through his brain Martin was called to
the telephone
»Its a ladys voice a fine ladys« Mr Higginbotham who had called him
jeered
Martin went to the telephone in the corner of the room and felt a wave of
warmth rush through him as he heard Ruths voice In his battle with the sonnet
he had forgotten her existence, and at the sound of her voice his love for her
smote him like a sudden blow And such a voice delicate and sweet like a
strain of music heard far off and faint or better like a bell of silver a
perfect tone crystalpure No mere woman had a voice like that There was
something celestial about it and it came from other worlds He could scarcely
hear what it said so ravished was he though he controlled his face for he
knew that Mr Higginbothams ferret eyes were fixed upon him
It was not much that Ruth wanted to say merely that Norman had been going
to take her to a lecture that night but that he had a headache and she was so
disappointed and she had the tickets and that if he had no other engagement
would he be good enough to take her
Would he He fought to suppress the eagerness in his voice It was amazing
He had always seen her in her own house And he had never dared to ask her to go
anywhere with him Quite irrelevantly still at the telephone and talking with
her he felt an overpowering desire to die for her and visions of heroic
sacrifice shaped and dissolved in his whirling brain He loved her so much so
terribly so hopelessly In that moment of mad happiness that she should go out
with him go to a lecture with him with him Martin Eden she soared so far
above him that there seemed nothing else for him to do than die for her It was
the only fit way in which he could express the tremendous and lofty emotion he
felt for her It was the sublime abnegation of true love that comes to all
lovers and it came to him there at the telephone in a whirlwind of fire and
glory and to die for her he felt was to have lived and loved well And he was
only twentyone and he had never been in love before
His hand trembled as he hung up the receiver and he was weak from the organ
which had stirred him His eyes were shining like an angels and his face was
transfigured purged of all earthly dross and pure and holy
»Makin dates outside eh« his brotherinlaw sneered »You know what that
means Youll be in the police court yet«
But Martin could not come down from the height Not even the bestiality of
the allusion could bring him back to earth Anger and hurt were beneath him He
had seen a great vision and was as a god and he could feel only profound and
awful pity for this maggot of a man He did not look at him and though his eyes
passed over him he did not see him and as in a dream he passed out of the room
to dress It was not until he had reached his own room and was tying his necktie
that he became aware of a sound that lingered unpleasantly in his ears On
investigating this sound he identified it as the final snort of Bernard
Higginbotham which somehow had not penetrated to his brain before
As Ruths front door closed behind them and he came down the steps with her
he found himself greatly perturbed It was not unalloyed bliss taking her to
the lecture He did not know what he ought to do He had seen on the streets
with persons of her class that the women took the mens arms But then again
he had seen them when they didnt and he wondered if it was only in the evening
that arms were taken or only between husbands and wives and relatives
Just before he reached the sidewalk he remembered Minnie Minnie had always
been a stickler She had called him down the second time she walked out with
him because he had gone along on the inside and she had laid the law down to
him that a gentleman always walked on the outside when he was with a lady And
Minnie had made a practice of kicking his heels whenever they crossed from one
side of the street to the other to remind him to get over on the outside He
wondered where she had got that item of etiquette and whether it had filtered
down from above and was all right
It wouldnt do any harm to try it he decided by the time they had reached
the sidewalk and he swung behind Ruth and took up his station on the outside
Then the other problem presented itself Should he offer her his arm He had
never offered anybody his arm in his life The girls he had known never took the
fellows arms For the first several times they walked freely side by side and
after that it was arms around the waists and heads against the fellows
shoulders where the streets were unlighted But this was different She wasnt
that kind of a girl He must do something
He crooked the arm next to her crooked it very slightly and with secret
tentativeness not invitingly but just casually as though he was accustomed to
walk that way And then the wonderful thing happened He felt her hand upon his
arm Delicious thrills ran through him at the contact and for a few sweet
moments it seemed that he had left the solid earth and was flying with her
through the air But he was soon back again perturbed by a new complication
They were crossing the street This would put him on the inside He should be on
the outside Should he therefore drop her arm and change over And if he did so
would he have to repeat the manoeuvre the next time And the next There was
something wrong about it and he resolved not to caper about and play the fool
Yet he was not satisfied with his conclusion and when he found himself on the
inside he talked quickly and earnestly making a show of being carried away by
what he was saying so that in case he was wrong in not changing sides his
enthusiasm would seem the cause for his carelessness
As they crossed Broadway he came face to face with a new problem In the
blaze of the electric lights he saw Lizzie Connolly and her giggly friend Only
for an instant he hesitated then his hand went up and his hat came off He
could not be disloyal to his kind and it was to more than Lizzie Connolly that
his hat was lifted She nodded and looked at him boldly not with soft and
gentle eyes like Ruths but with eyes that were handsome and hard and that
swept on past him to Ruth and itemized her face and dress and station And he
was aware that Ruth looked too with quick eyes that were timid and mild as a
doves but which saw in a look that was a flutter on and past the
workingclass girl in her cheap finery and under the strange hat that all
workingclass girls were wearing just then
»What a pretty girl« Ruth said a moment later
Martin could have blessed her though he said
»I dont know I guess its all a matter of personal taste but she doesnt
strike me as being particularly pretty«
»Why there isnt one woman in ten thousand with features as regular as
hers They are splendid Her face is as clearcut as a cameo And her eyes are
beautiful«
»Do you think so« Martin queried absently for to him there was only one
beautiful woman in the world and she was beside him her hand upon his arm
»Do I think so If that girl had proper opportunity to dress Mr Eden and
if she were taught how to carry herself you would be fairly dazzled by her and
so would all men«
»She would have to be taught how to speak« he commented »or else most of
the men wouldnt understand her Im sure you couldnt understand a quarter of
what she said if she just spoke naturally«
»Nonsense You are as bad as Arthur when you try to make your point«
»You forget how I talked when you first met me I have learned a new
language since then Before that time I talked as that girl talks Now I can
manage to make myself understood sufficiently in your language to explain that
you do not know that other girls language And do you know why she carries
herself the way she does I think about such things now though I never used to
think about them and I am beginning to understand much«
»But why does she«
»She has worked long hours for years at machines When ones body is young
it is very pliable and hard work will mould it like putty according to the
nature of the work I can tell at a glance the trades of many workingmen I meet
on the street Look at me Why am I rolling all about the shop Because of the
years I put in on the sea If Id put in the same years cowpunching with my
body young and pliable I wouldnt be rolling now but Id be bowlegged And so
with that girl You noticed that her eyes were what I might call hard She has
never been sheltered She has had to take care of herself and a young girl
cant take care of herself and keep her eyes soft and gentle like like yours
for example.«
»I think you are right« Ruth said in a low voice »And it is too bad She
is such a pretty girl«
He looked at her and saw her eyes luminous with pity And then he remembered
that he loved her and was lost in amazement at his fortune that permitted him to
love her and to take her on his arm to a lecture
Who are you Martin Eden he demanded of himself in the lookingglass that
night when he got back to his room He gazed at himself long and curiously Who
are you What are you Where do you belong You belong by rights to girls like
Lizzie Connolly You belong with the legions of toil with all that is low and
vulgar and unbeautiful You belong with the oxen and the drudges in dirty
surroundings among smells and stenches There are the stale vegetables now
Those potatoes are rotting Smell them damn you smell them And yet you dare
to open the books to listen to beautiful music to learn to love beautiful
paintings to speak good English to think thoughts that none of your own kind
thinks to tear yourself away from the oxen and the Lizzie Connollys and to love
a pale spirit of a woman who is a million miles beyond you and who lives in the
stars Who are you and what are you damn you And are you going to make good
He shook his fist at himself in the glass and sat down on the edge of the
bed to dream for a space with wide eyes Then he got out notebook and algebra
and lost himself in quadratic equations while the hours slipped by and the
stars dimmed and the gray of dawn flooded against his window
Chapter XIII
It was the knot of wordy socialists and workingclass philosophers that held
forth in the City Hall Park on warm afternoons that was responsible for the
great discovery Once or twice in the month while riding through the park on
his way to the library Martin dismounted from his wheel and listened to the
arguments and each time he tore himself away reluctantly The tone of
discussion was much lower than at Mr Morses table The men were not grave and
dignified They lost their tempers easily and called one another names while
oaths and obscene allusions were frequent on their lips Once or twice he had
seen them come to blows And yet he knew not why there seemed something vital
about the stuff of these mens thoughts Their logomachy was far more
stimulating to his intellect than the reserved and quiet dogmatism of Mr Morse
These men who slaughtered English gesticulated like lunatics and fought one
another's ideas with primitive anger seemed somehow to be more alive than Mr
Morse and his crony Mr Butler
Martin had heard Herbert Spencer quoted several times in the park but one
afternoon a disciple of Spencers appeared a seedy tramp with a dirty coat
buttoned tightly at the throat to conceal the absence of a shirt Battle royal
was waged amid the smoking of many cigarettes and the expectoration of much
tobaccojuice wherein the tramp successfully held his own even when a
socialist workman sneered »There is no god but the Unknowable and Herbert
Spencer is his prophet« Martin was puzzled as to what the discussion was about
but when he rode on to the library he carried with him a newborn interest in
Herbert Spencer and because of the frequency with which the tramp had mentioned
»First Principles« Martin drew out that volume
So the great discovery began Once before he had tried Spencer and choosing
the »Principles of Psychology« to begin with he had failed as abjectly as he
had failed with Madam Blavatsky There had been no understanding the book and
he had returned it unread But this night after algebra and physics and an
attempt at a sonnet he got into bed and opened »First Principles« Morning
found him still reading It was impossible for him to sleep Nor did he write
that day He lay on the bed till his body grew tired when he tried the hard
floor reading on his back the book held in the air above him or changing from
side to side He slept that night and did his writing next morning and then
the book tempted him and he fell reading all afternoon oblivious to everything
and oblivious to the fact that that was the afternoon Ruth gave to him His
first consciousness of the immediate world about him was when Bernard
Higginbotham jerked open the door and demanded to know if he thought they were
running a restaurant
Martin Eden had been mastered by curiosity all his days He wanted to know
and it was this desire that had sent him adventuring over the world But he was
now learning from Spencer that he never had known and that he never could have
known had he continued his sailing and wandering forever He had merely skimmed
over the surface of things observing detached phenomena accumulating fragments
of facts making superficial little generalizations and all and everything
quite unrelated in a capricious and disorderly world of whim and chance The
mechanism of the flight of birds he had watched and reasoned about with
understanding but it had never entered his head to try to explain the process
whereby birds as organic flying mechanisms had been developed He had never
dreamed there was such a process. That birds should have come to be was
unguessed They always had been They just happened
And as it was with birds so had it been with everything His ignorant and
unprepared attempts at philosophy had been fruitless The mediæval metaphysics
of Kant had given him the key to nothing and had served the sole purpose of
making him doubt his own intellectual powers In similar manner his attempt to
study evolution had been confined to a hopelessly technical volume by Romanes
He had understood nothing and the only idea he had gathered was that evolution
was a dryasdust theory, of a lot of little men possessed of huge and
unintelligible vocabularies And now he learned that evolution was no mere
theory but an accepted process of development that scientists no longer
disagreed about it their only differences being over the method of evolution
And here was the man Spencer organizing all knowledge for him reducing
everything to unity elaborating ultimate realities and presenting to his
startled gaze a universe so concrete of realization that it was like the model
of a ship such as sailors make and put into glass bottles There was no caprice
no chance All was law It was in obedience to law that the bird flew and it
was in obedience to the same law that fermenting slime had writhed and squirmed
and put out legs and wings and become a bird
Martin had ascended from pitch to pitch of intellectual living and here he
was at a higher pitch than ever All the hidden things were laying their secrets
bare He was drunken with comprehension At night asleep he lived with the
gods in colossal nightmare and awake in the day he went around like a
somnambulist with absent stare gazing upon the world he had just discovered
At table he failed to hear the conversation about petty and ignoble things his
eager mind seeking out and following cause and effect in everything before him
In the meat on the platter he saw the shining sun and traced its energy back
through all its transformations to its source a hundred million miles away or
traced its energy ahead to the moving muscles in his arms that enabled him to
cut the meat and to the brain wherewith he willed the muscles to move to cut
the meat until with inward gaze he saw the same sun shining in his brain He
was entranced by illumination and did not hear the »Bughouse« whispered by
Jim nor see the anxiety on his sisters face nor notice the rotary motion of
Bernard Higginbothams finger whereby he imparted the suggestion of wheels
revolving in his brotherinlaws head
What in a way most profoundly impressed Martin was the correlation of
knowledge of all knowledge He had been curious to know things and whatever
he acquired he had filed away in separate memory compartments in his brain
Thus on the subject of sailing he had an immense store On the subject of woman
he had a fairly large store But these two subjects had been unrelated Between
the two memory compartments there had been no connection That in the fabric of
knowledge, there should be any connection whatever between a woman with
hysterics and a schooner carrying a weatherhelm or heaving to in a gale would
have struck him as ridiculous and impossible But Herbert Spencer had shown him
not only that it was not ridiculous but that it was impossible for there to be
no connection All things were related to all other things from the farthermost
star in the wastes of space to the myriads of atoms in the grain of sand under
ones foot This new concept was a perpetual amazement to Martin and he found
himself engaged continually in tracing the relationship between all things under
the sun and on the other side of the sun He drew up lists of the most
incongruous things and was unhappy until he succeeded in establishing kinship
between them all kinship between love poetry earthquake fire rattlesnakes
rainbows precious gems monstrosities sunsets the roaring of lions
illuminating gas cannibalism beauty murder lovers fulcrums and tobacco
Thus he unified the universe and held it up and looked at it or wandered
through its byways and alleys and jungles not as a terrified traveller in the
thick of mysteries seeking an unknown goal but observing and charting and
becoming familiar with all there was to know And the more he knew the more
passionately he admired the universe and life and his own life in the midst of
it all
»You fool« he cried at his image in the lookingglass »You wanted to
write and you tried to write and you had nothing in you to write about What
did you have in you some childish notions a few halfbaked sentiments a lot
of undigested beauty a great black mass of ignorance a heart filled to
bursting with love and an ambition as big as your love and as futile as your
ignorance And you wanted to write Why youre just on the edge of beginning to
get something in you to write about You wanted to create beauty but how could
you when you knew nothing about the nature of beauty You wanted to write about
life when you knew nothing of the essential characteristics of life You wanted
to write about the world and the scheme of existence when the world was a
Chinese puzzle to you and all that you could have written would have been about
what you did not know of the scheme of existence But cheer up Martin my boy
Youll write yet You know a little a very little and youre on the right road
now to know more Some day if youre lucky you may come pretty close to
knowing all that may be known Then you will write«
He brought his great discovery to Ruth sharing with her all his joy and
wonder in it But she did not seem to be so enthusiastic over it She tacitly
accepted it and in a way seemed aware of it from her own studies It did not
stir her deeply as it did him and he would have been surprised had he not
reasoned it out that it was not new and fresh to her as it was to him Arthur
and Norman he found believed in evolution and had read Spencer though it did
not seem to have made any vital impression upon them while the young fellow
with the glasses and the mop of hair Will Olney sneered disagreeably at
Spencer and repeated the epigram »There is no god but the Unknowable and
Herbert Spencer is his prophet«
But Martin forgave him the sneer for he had begun to discover that Olney
was not in love with Ruth Later he was dumfounded to learn from various little
happenings not only that Olney did not care for Ruth but that he had a positive
dislike for her Martin could not understand this It was a bit of phenomena
that he could not correlate with all the rest of the phenomena in the universe
But nevertheless he felt sorry for the young fellow because of the great lack in
his nature that prevented him from a proper appreciation of Ruths fineness and
beauty They rode out into the hills several Sundays on their wheels and Martin
had ample opportunity to observe the armed truce that existed between Ruth and
Olney The latter chummed with Norman throwing Arthur and Martin into company
with Ruth for which Martin was duly grateful
Those Sundays were great days for Martin greatest because he was with Ruth
and great also because they were putting him more on a par with the young men
of her class In spite of their long years of disciplined education he was
finding himself their intellectual equal and the hours spent with them in
conversation was so much practice for him in the use of the grammar he had
studied so hard He had abandoned the etiquette books falling back upon
observation to show him the right things to do Except when carried away by his
enthusiasm he was always on guard keenly watchful of their actions and
learning their little courtesies and refinements of conduct
The fact that Spencer was very little read was for some time a source of
surprise to Martin »Herbert Spencer« said the man at the desk in the library
»oh yes a great mind« But the man did not seem to know anything of the
content of that great mind One evening at dinner when Mr Butler was there
Martin turned the conversation upon Spencer Mr Morse bitterly arraigned the
English philosophers agnosticism but confessed that he had not read »First
Principles« while Mr Butler stated that he had no patience with Spencer had
never read a line of him and had managed to get along quite well without him
Doubts arose in Martins mind and had he been less strongly individual he would
have accepted the general opinion and given Herbert Spencer up As it was he
found Spencers explanation of things convincing and as he phrased it to
himself to give up Spencer would be equivalent to a navigator throwing the
compass and chronometer overboard So Martin went on into a thorough study of
evolution mastering more and more the subject himself and being convinced by
the corroborative testimony of a thousand independent writers The more he
studied the more vistas he caught of fields of knowledge yet unexplored and
the regret that days were only twentyfour hours long became a chronic complaint
with him
One day because the days were so short he decided to give up algebra and
geometry Trigonometry he had not even attempted Then he cut chemistry from his
studylist retaining only physics
»I am not a specialist« he said in defence to Ruth »Nor am I going to
try to be a specialist There are too many special fields for any one man in a
whole lifetime to master a tithe of them I must pursue general knowledge When
I need the work of specialists I shall refer to their books«
»But that is not like having the knowledge yourself« she protested
»But it is unnecessary to have it We profit from the work of the
specialists Thats what they are for When I came in I noticed the
chimneysweeps at work Theyre specialists and when they get done you will
enjoy clean chimneys without knowing anything about the construction of
chimneys«
»Thats farfetched I am afraid«
She looked at him curiously and he felt a reproach in her gaze and manner
But he was convinced of the rightness of his position
»All thinkers on general subjects the greatest minds in the world in fact
rely on the specialists Herbert Spencer did that He generalized upon the
findings of thousands of investigators He would have had to live a thousand
lives in order to do it all himself And so with Darwin He took advantage of
all that had been learned by the florists and cattlebreeders«
»Youre right Martin« Olney said »You know what youre after and Ruth
doesnt She doesnt know what she is after for herself even
Oh yes« Olney rushed on heading off her objection »I know you call it
general culture But it doesnt matter what you study if you want general
culture You can study French or you can study German or cut them both out and
study Esperanto youll get the culture tone just the same You can study Greek
or Latin too for the same purpose though it will never be any use to you It
will be culture though Why Ruth studied Saxon became clever in it that
was two years ago and all that she remembers of it now is Whan that sweet
Aprile with his schowers soote isnt that the way it goes
But its given you the culture tone just the same« he laughed again
heading her off »I know We were in the same classes«
»But you speak of culture as if it should be a means to something« Ruth
cried out Her eyes were flashing and in her cheeks were two spots of color
»Culture is the end in itself.«
»But that is not what Martin wants«
»How do you know«
»What do you want Martin« Olney demanded turning squarely upon him
Martin felt very uncomfortable and looked entreaty at Ruth
»Yes what do you want« Ruth asked »That will settle it«
»Yes of course I want culture« Martin faltered »I love beauty and
culture will give me a finer and keener appreciation of beauty«
She nodded her head and looked triumph
»Rot and you know it« was Olneys comment »Martins after career not
culture It just happens that culture in his case is incidental to career If
he wanted to be a chemist culture would be unnecessary Martin wants to write
but hes afraid to say so because it will put you in the wrong
And why does Martin want to write« he went on »Because he isnt rolling in
wealth Why do you fill your head with Saxon and general culture Because you
dont have to make your way in the world Your father sees to that He buys your
clothes for you and all the rest What rotten good is our education yours and
mine and Arthurs and Normans Were soaked in general culture and if our
daddies went broke today wed be falling down tomorrow on teachers
examinations The best job you could get Ruth would be a country school or
music teacher in a girls boardingschool«
»And pray what would you do« she asked
»Not a blessed thing I could earn a dollar and a half a day common labor
and I might get in as instructor in Hanleys cramming joint I say might mind
you and I might be chucked out at the end of the week for sheer inability«
Martin followed the discussion closely and while he was convinced that
Olney was right he resented the rather cavalier treatment he accorded Ruth A
new conception of love formed in his mind as he listened Reason had nothing to
do with love It mattered not whether the woman he loved reasoned correctly or
incorrectly Love was above reason If it just happened that she did not fully
appreciate his necessity for a career that did not make her a bit less lovable
She was all lovable and what she thought had nothing to do with her
lovableness
»Whats that« he replied to a question from Olney that broke in upon his
train of thought
»I was saying that I hoped you wouldnt be fool enough to tackle Latin«
»But Latin is more than culture« Ruth broke in »It is equipment«
»Well are you going to tackle it« Olney persisted
Martin was sore beset He could see that Ruth was hanging eagerly upon his
answer
»I am afraid I wont have time« he said finally »Id like to but I wont
have time«
»You see Martins not seeking culture« Olney exulted »Hes trying to get
somewhere to do something«
»Oh but its mental training Its mind discipline Its what makes
disciplined minds« Ruth looked expectantly at Martin as if waiting for him to
change his judgment »You know the football players have to train before the
big game And that is what Latin does for the thinker It trains«
»Rot and bosh Thats what they told us when we were kids But there is one
thing they didnt tell us then They let us find it out for ourselves
afterwards« Olney paused for effect then added »And what they didnt tell us
was that every gentleman should have studied Latin but that no gentleman should
know Latin«
»Now thats unfair« Ruth cried »I knew you were turning the conversation
just in order to get off something«
»Its clever all right« was the retort »but its fair too The only men
who know their Latin are the apothecaries the lawyers and the Latin
professors And if Martin wants to be one of them I miss my guess But whats
all that got to do with Herbert Spencer anyway Martins just discovered
Spencer and hes wild over him Why Because Spencer is taking him somewhere
Spencer couldnt take me anywhere nor you We havent got anywhere to go
Youll get married some day and Ill have nothing to do but keep track of the
lawyers and business agents who will take care of the money my fathers going to
leave me«
Olney got up to go but turned at the door and delivered a parting shot
»You leave Martin alone Ruth He knows whats best for himself Look at
what hes done already He makes me sick sometimes sick and ashamed of myself
He knows more now about the world and life and mans place and all the rest
than Arthur or Norman or I or you too for that matter and in spite of all
our Latin and French and Saxon and culture«
»But Ruth is my teacher« Martin answered chivalrously »She is responsible
for what little I have learned«
»Rats« Olney looked at Ruth and his expression was malicious »I suppose
youll be telling me next that you read Spencer on her recommendation only you
didnt And she doesnt know anything more about Darwin and evolution than I do
about King Solomons mines Whats that jawbreaker definition about something or
other of Spencers that you sprang on us the other day that indefinite
incoherent homogeneity thing Spring it on her and see if she understands a
word of it That isnt culture you see Well tra la and if you tackle Latin
Martin I wont have any respect for you«
And all the while interested in the discussion Martin had been aware of an
irk in it as well It was about studies and lessons dealing with the rudiments
of knowledge, and the schoolboyish tone of it conflicted with the big things
that were stirring in him with the grip upon life that was even then crooking
his fingers like eagles talons with the cosmic thrills that made him ache and
with the inchoate consciousness of mastery of it all He likened himself to a
poet wrecked on the shores of a strange land filled with power of beauty
stumbling and stammering and vainly trying to sing in the rough barbaric tongue
of his brethren in the new land And so with him He was alive painfully alive
to the great universal things and yet he was compelled to potter and grope
among schoolboy topics and debate whether or not he should study Latin
»What in hell has Latin to do with it« he demanded before his mirror that
night »I wish dead people would stay dead Why should I and the beauty in me be
ruled by the dead Beauty is alive and everlasting Languages come and go They
are the dust of the dead«
And his next thought was that he had been phrasing his ideas very well and
he went to bed wondering why he could not talk in similar fashion when he was
with Ruth He was only a schoolboy with a schoolboys tongue when he was in
her presence
»Give me time« he said aloud »Only give me time«
Time Time Time was his unending plaint
Chapter XIV
It was not because of Olney but in spite of Ruth and his love for Ruth that
he finally decided not to take up Latin His money meant time There was so much
that was more important than Latin so many studies that clamored with imperious
voices And he must write He must earn money He had had no acceptances
Twoscore of manuscripts were travelling the endless round of the magazines How
did the others do it He spent long hours in the free readingroom going over
what others had written studying their work eagerly and critically comparing
it with his own and wondering wondering about the secret trick they had
discovered which enabled them to sell their work
He was amazed at the immense amount of printed stuff that was dead No
light no life no color was shot through it There was no breath of life in
it and yet it sold at two cents a word twenty dollars a thousand the
newspaper clipping had said so He was puzzled by countless short stories
written lightly and cleverly he confessed but without vitality or reality Life
was so strange and wonderful filled with an immensity of problems of dreams
and of heroic toils and yet these stories dealt only with the commonplaces of
life He felt the stress and strain of life its fevers and sweats and wild
insurgences surely this was the stuff to write about He wanted to glorify the
leaders of forlorn hopes the mad lovers the giants that fought under stress
and strain amid terror and tragedy making life crackle with the strength of
their endeavor And yet the magazine short stories seemed intent on glorifying
the Mr Butlers the sordid dollarchasers and the commonplace little love
affairs of commonplace little men and women Was it because the editors of the
magazines were commonplace he demanded Or were they afraid of life these
writers and editors and readers
But his chief trouble was that he did not know any editors or writers And
not merely did he not know any writers but he did not know anybody who had ever
attempted to write There was nobody to tell him to hint to him to give him
the least word of advice He began to doubt that editors were real men They
seemed cogs in a machine That was what it was a machine He poured his soul
into stories articles and poems and intrusted them to the machine He folded
them just so put the proper stamps inside the long envelope along with the
manuscript sealed the envelope put more stamps outside and dropped it into
the mailbox It travelled across the continent and after a certain lapse of
time the postman returned him the manuscript in another long envelope on the
outside of which were the stamps he had enclosed There was no human editor at
the other end but a mere cunning arrangement of cogs that changed the
manuscript from one envelope to another and stuck on the stamps It was like the
slot machines wherein one dropped pennies and with a metallic whirl of
machinery had delivered to him a stick of chewinggum or a tablet of chocolate
It depended upon which slot one dropped the penny in whether he got chocolate
or gum And so with the editorial machine One slot brought checks and the other
brought rejection slips So far he had found only the latter slot
It was the rejection slips that completed the horrible machinelikeness of
the process. These slips were printed in stereotyped forms and he had received
hundreds of them as many as a dozen or more on each of his earlier
manuscripts If he had received one line one personal line along with one
rejection of all his rejections he would have been cheered But not one editor
had given that proof of existence. And he could conclude only that there were no
warm human men at the other end only mere cogs well oiled and running
beautifully in the machine
He was a good fighter wholesouled and stubborn and he would have been
content to continue feeding the machine for years but he was bleeding to death
and not years but weeks would determine the fight Each week his board bill
brought him nearer destruction while the postage on forty manuscripts bled him
almost as severely He no longer bought books and he economized in petty ways
and sought to delay the inevitable end though he did not know how to economize
and brought the end nearer by a week when he gave his sister Marian five dollars
for a dress
He struggled in the dark without advice without encouragement and in the
teeth of discouragement Even Gertrude was beginning to look askance At first
she had tolerated with sisterly fondness what she conceived to be his
foolishness but now out of sisterly solicitude she grew anxious To her it
seemed that his foolishness was becoming a madness Martin knew this and
suffered more keenly from it than from the open and nagging contempt of Bernard
Higginbotham Martin had faith in himself but he was alone in this faith Not
even Ruth had faith She had wanted him to devote himself to study and though
she had not openly disapproved of his writing she had never approved
He had never offered to show her his work A fastidious delicacy had
prevented him Besides she had been studying heavily at the university and he
felt averse to robbing her of her time But when she had taken her degree she
asked him herself to let her see something of what he had been doing Martin was
elated and diffident Here was a judge She was a bachelor of arts She had
studied literature under skilled instructors Perhaps the editors were capable
judges too But she would be different from them She would not hand him a
stereotyped rejection slip nor would she inform him that lack of preference for
his work did not necessarily imply lack of merit in his work She would talk a
warm human being in her quick bright way and most important of all she
would catch glimpses of the real Martin Eden In his work she would discern what
his heart and soul were like and she would come to understand something a
little something of the stuff of his dreams and the strength of his power
Martin gathered together a number of carbon copies of his short stories
hesitated a moment then added his »Sea Lyrics« They mounted their wheels on a
late June afternoon and rode for the hills It was the second time he had been
out with her alone and as they rode along through the balmy warmth just
chilled by the seabreeze to refreshing coolness he was profoundly impressed by
the fact that it was a very beautiful and wellordered world and that it was
good to be alive and to love They left their wheels by the roadside and climbed
to the brown top of an open knoll where the sunburnt grass breathed a harvest
breath of dry sweetness and content
»Its work is done« Martin said as they seated themselves she upon his
coat and he sprawling close to the warm earth He sniffed the sweetness of the
tawny grass which entered his brain and set his thoughts whirling on from the
particular to the universal. »It has achieved its reason for existence« he went
on patting the dry grass affectionately »It quickened with ambition under the
dreary downpour of last winter fought the violent early spring flowered and
lured the insects and the bees scattered its seeds squared itself with its
duty and the world and «
»Why do you always look at things with such dreadfully practical eyes« she
interrupted
»Because Ive been studying evolution I guess Its only recently that I
got my eyesight if the truth were told«
»But it seems to me you lose sight of beauty by being so practical that you
destroy beauty like the boys who catch butterflies and rub the down off their
beautiful wings«
He shook his head
»Beauty has significance but I never knew its significance before I just
accepted beauty as something meaningless as something that was just beautiful
without rhyme or reason I did not know anything about beauty But now I know
or rather am just beginning to know This grass is more beautiful to me now
that I know why it is grass and all the hidden chemistry of sun and rain and
earth that makes it become grass Why there is romance in the lifehistory of
any grass yes and adventure too The very thought of it stirs me When I
think of the play of force and matter and all the tremendous struggle of it I
feel as if I could write an epic on the grass«
»How well you talk« she said absently and he noted that she was looking at
him in a searching way
He was all confusion and embarrassment on the instant the blood flushing
red on his neck and brow
»I hope I am learning to talk« he stammered »There seems to be so much in
me I want to say But it is all so big I cant find ways to say what is really
in me Sometimes it seems to me that all the world all life everything had
taken up residence inside of me and was clamoring for me to be the spokesman I
feel oh I cant describe it I feel the bigness of it but when I speak I
babble like a little child It is a great task to transmute feeling and
sensation into speech written or spoken that will in turn in him who reads
or listens transmute itself back into the selfsame feeling and sensation It is
a lordly task See I bury my face in the grass and the breath I draw in
through my nostrils sets me quivering with a thousand thoughts and fancies It
is a breath of the universe I have breathed I know song and laughter and
success and pain and struggle and death and I see visions that arise in my
brain somehow out of the scent of the grass and I would like to tell them to
you to the world But how can I My tongue is tied I have tried by the spoken
word just now to describe to you the effect on me of the scent of the grass
But I have not succeeded I have no more than hinted in awkward speech My words
seem gibberish to me And yet I am stifled with desire to tell Oh « he threw
up his hands with a despairing gesture »it is impossible It is not
understandable It is incommunicable«
»But you do talk well« she insisted »Just think how you have improved in
the short time I have known you Mr Butler is a noted public speaker He is
always asked by the State Committee to go out on stump during campaign Yet you
talked just as well as he the other night at dinner Only he was more
controlled You get too excited but you will get over that with practice Why
you would make a good public speaker You can go far if you want to You are
masterly You can lead men I am sure and there is no reason why you should not
succeed at anything you set your hand to just as you have succeeded with
grammar You would make a good lawyer You should shine in politics There is
nothing to prevent you from making as great a success as Mr Butler has made
And minus the dyspepsia« she added with a smile
They talked on she in her gently persistent way returning always to the
need of thorough grounding in education and to the advantages of Latin as part
of the foundation for any career She drew her ideal of the successful man and
it was largely in her fathers image with a few unmistakable lines and touches
of color from the image of Mr Butler He listened eagerly with receptive ears
lying on his back and looking up and joying in each movement of her lips as she
talked But his brain was not receptive There was nothing alluring in the
pictures she drew and he was aware of a dull pain of disappointment and of a
sharper ache of love for her In all she said there was no mention of his
writing and the manuscripts he had brought to read lay neglected on the ground
At last in a pause he glanced at the sun measured its height above the
horizon and suggested his manuscripts by picking them up
»I had forgotten« she said quickly »And I am so anxious to hear«
He read to her a story one that he flattered himself was among his very
best He called it The Wine of Life and the wine of it that had stolen into
his brain when he wrote it stole into his brain now as he read it There was a
certain magic in the original conception and he had adorned it with more magic
of phrase and touch All the old fire and passion with which he had written it
were reborn in him and he was swayed and swept away so that he was blind and
deaf to the faults of it But it was not so with Ruth Her trained ear detected
the weaknesses and exaggerations the overemphasis of the tyro and she was
instantly aware each time the sentencerhythm tripped and faltered She scarcely
noted the rhythm otherwise except when it became too pompous at which moments
she was disagreeably impressed with its amateurishness That was her final
judgment on the story as a whole amateurish though she did not tell him so
Instead when he had done she pointed out the minor flaws and said that she
liked the story
But he was disappointed Her criticism was just He acknowledged that but
he had a feeling that he was not sharing his work with her for the purpose of
schoolroom correction The details did not matter They could take care of
themselves He could mend them he could learn to mend them Out of life he had
captured something big and attempted to imprison it in the story It was the big
thing out of life he had read to her not sentencestructure and semicolons He
wanted her to feel with him this big thing that was his that he had seen with
his own eyes grappled with his own brain and placed there on the page with his
own hands in printed words Well he had failed was his secret decision
Perhaps the editors were right He had felt the big thing but he had failed to
transmute it He concealed his disappointment and joined so easily with her in
her criticism that she did not realize that deep down in him was running a
strong undercurrent of disagreement
»This next thing Ive called The Pot« he said unfolding the manuscript
»It has been refused by four or five magazines now but still I think it is
good In fact I dont know what to think of it except that Ive caught
something there Maybe it wont affect you as it does me Its a short thing
only two thousand words«
»How dreadful« she cried when he had finished »It is horrible
unutterably horrible«
He noted her pale face her eyes wide and tense and her clenched hands
with secret satisfaction He had succeeded He had communicated the stuff of
fancy and feeling from out of his brain It had struck home No matter whether
she liked it or not it had gripped her and mastered her made her sit there and
listen and forget details
»It is life« he said »and life is not always beautiful And yet perhaps
because I am strangely made I find something beautiful there It seems to me
that the beauty is tenfold enhanced because it is there «
»But why couldnt the poor woman « she broke in disconnectedly Then she
left the revolt of her thought unexpressed to cry out »Oh It is degrading It
is not nice It is nasty«
For the moment it seemed to him that his heart stood still Nasty He had
never dreamed it He had not meant it The whole sketch stood before him in
letters of fire and in such blaze of illumination he sought vainly for
nastiness Then his heart began to beat again He was not guilty
»Why didnt you select a nice subject« she was saying »We know there are
nasty things in the world but that is no reason «
She talked on in her indignant strain but he was not following her He was
smiling to himself as he looked up into her virginal face so innocent so
penetratingly innocent that its purity seemed always to enter into him driving
out of him all dross and bathing him in some ethereal effulgence that was as
cool and soft and velvety as starshine We know there are nasty things in the
world He cuddled to him the notion of her knowing and chuckled over it as a
love joke The next moment in a flashing vision of multitudinous detail he
sighted the whole sea of lifes nastiness that he had known and voyaged over and
through and he forgave her for not understanding the story It was through no
fault of hers that she could not understand He thanked God that she had been
born and sheltered to such innocence But he knew life its foulness as well as
its fairness its greatness in spite of the slime that infested it and by God
he was going to have his say on it to the world Saints in heaven how could
they be anything but fair and pure No praise to them But saints in slime ah
that was the everlasting wonder That was what made life worth while To see
moral grandeur rising out of cesspools of iniquity to rise himself and first
glimpse beauty faint and far through muddripping eyes to see out of
weakness and frailty and viciousness and all abysmal brutishness arising
strength and truth and high spiritual endowment
He caught a stray sequence of sentences she was uttering
»The tone of it all is low And there is so much that is high Take In
Memoriam«
He was impelled to suggest »Locksley Hall« and would have done so had not
his vision gripped him again and left him staring at her the female of his
kind who out of the primordial ferment creeping and crawling up the vast
ladder of life for a thousand thousand centuries had emerged on the topmost
rung having become one Ruth pure and fair and divine and with power to make
him know love and to aspire toward purity and to desire to taste divinity
him Martin Eden who too had come up in some amazing fashion from out of the
ruck and the mire and the countless mistakes and abortions of unending creation
There was the romance and the wonder and the glory There was the stuff to
write if he could only find speech Saints in heaven They were only saints
and could not help themselves But he was a man
»You have strength« he could hear her saying »but it is untutored
strength«
»Like a bull in a china shop« he suggested and won a smile
»And you must develop discrimination You must consult taste and fineness
and tone«
»I dare too much« he muttered
She smiled approbation and settled herself to listen to another story
»I dont know what youll make of this« he said apologetically »Its a
funny thing Im afraid I got beyond my depth in it but my intentions were
good Dont bother about the little features of it Just see if you catch the
feel of the big thing in it It is big and it is true though the chance is
large that I have failed to make it intelligible«
He read and as he read he watched her At last he had reached her he
thought She sat without movement her eyes steadfast upon him scarcely
breathing caught up and out of herself he thought by the witchery of the
thing he had created He had entitled the story »Adventure« and it was the
apotheosis of adventure not of the adventure of the storybooks but of real
adventure the savage taskmaster awful of punishment and awful of reward
faithless and whimsical demanding terrible patience and heartbreaking days and
nights of toil offering the blazing sunlight glory or dark death at the end of
thirst and famine or of the long drag and monstrous delirium of rotting fever
through blood and sweat and stinging insects leading up by long chains of petty
and ignoble contacts to royal culminations and lordly achievements
It was this all of it and more that he had put into his story and it was
this he believed that warmed her as she sat and listened Her eyes were wide
color was in her pale cheeks and before he finished it seemed to him that she
was almost panting Truly she was warmed but she was warmed not by the story
but by him She did not think much of the story it was Martins intensity of
power the old excess of strength that seemed to pour from his body and on and
over her The paradox of it was that it was the story itself that was freighted
with his power that was the channel for the time being through which his
strength poured out to her She was aware only of the strength and not of the
medium and when she seemed most carried away by what he had written in reality
she had been carried away by something quite foreign to it by a thought
terrible and perilous that had formed itself unsummoned in her brain She had
caught herself wondering what marriage was like and the becoming conscious of
the waywardness and ardor of the thought had terrified her It was unmaidenly
It was not like her She had never been tormented by womanhood and she had
lived in a dreamland of Tennysonian poesy dense even to the full significance
of that delicate masters delicate allusions to the grossnesses that intrude
upon the relations of queens and knights She had been asleep always and now
life was thundering imperatively at all her doors Mentally she was in a panic
to shoot the bolts and drop the bars into place while wanton instincts urged
her to throw wide her portals and bid the deliciously strange visitor to enter
in
Martin waited with satisfaction for her verdict He had no doubt of what it
would be and he was astounded when he heard her say
»It is beautiful«
»It is beautiful« she repeated with emphasis after a pause
Of course it was beautiful but there was something more than mere beauty in
it something more stingingly splendid which had made beauty its handmaiden He
sprawled silently on the ground watching the grisly form of a great doubt
rising before him He had failed He was inarticulate He had seen one of the
greatest things in the world and he had not expressed it
»What did you think of the « He hesitated abashed at his first attempt to
use a strange word »Of the motif« he asked
»It was confused« she answered »That is my only criticism in the large
way I followed the story but there seemed so much else It is too wordy You
clog the action by introducing so much extraneous material«
»That was the major motif« he hurriedly explained »the big underrunning
motif the cosmic and universal thing I tried to make it keep time with the
story itself which was only superficial after all I was on the right scent
but I guess I did it badly I did not succeed in suggesting what I was driving
at But Ill learn in time«
She did not follow him She was a bachelor of arts but he had gone beyond
her limitations This she did not comprehend attributing her incomprehension to
his incoherence
»You were too voluble« she said »But it was beautiful in places«
He heard her voice as from far off for he was debating whether he would
read her the »Sea Lyrics« He lay in dull despair while she watched him
searchingly pondering again upon unsummoned and wayward thoughts of marriage
»You want to be famous« she asked abruptly
»Yes a little bit« he confessed »That is part of the adventure It is not
the being famous but the process of becoming so that counts And after all to
be famous would be for me only a means to something else I want to be famous
very much for that matter and for that reason«
»For your sake« he wanted to add and might have added had she proved
enthusiastic over what he had read to her
But she was too busy in her mind carving out a career for him that would at
least be possible to ask what the ultimate something was which he had hinted
at There was no career for him in literature Of that she was convinced He had
proved it today with his amateurish and sophomoric productions He could talk
well but he was incapable of expressing himself in a literary way She compared
Tennyson and Browning and her favorite prose masters with him and to his
hopeless discredit Yet she did not tell him her whole mind Her strange
interest in him led her to temporize His desire to write was after all a
little weakness which he would grow out of in time Then he would devote himself
to the more serious affairs of life And he would succeed too She knew that
He was so strong that he could not fail if only he would drop writing
»I wish you would show me all you write Mr Eden« she said
He flushed with pleasure She was interested that much was sure And at
least she had not given him a rejection slip She had called certain portions of
his work beautiful and that was the first encouragement he had ever received
from any one
»I will« he said passionately »And I promise you Miss Morse that I will
make good I have come far I know that and I have far to go and I will cover
it if I have to do it on my hands and knees« He held up a bunch of manuscript
»Here are the Sea Lyrics When you get home Ill turn them over to you to read
at your leisure And you must be sure to tell me just what you think of them
What I need you know above all things is criticism And do please be frank
with me«
»I will be perfectly frank« she promised with an uneasy conviction that
she had not been frank with him and with a doubt if she could be quite frank
with him the next time
Chapter XV
»The first battle fought and finished« Martin said to the lookingglass ten
days later »But there will be a second battle and a third battle and battles
to the end of time unless «
He had not finished the sentence but looked about the mean little room and
let his eyes dwell sadly upon a heap of returned manuscripts still in their
long envelopes which lay in a corner on the floor He had no stamps with which
to continue them on their travels and for a week they had been piling up More
of them would come in on the morrow and on the next day and the next till
they were all in And he would be unable to start them out again He was a
months rent behind on the typewriter which he could not pay having barely
enough for the weeks board which was due and for the employment office fees
He sat down and regarded the table thoughtfully There were ink stains upon
it and he suddenly discovered that he was fond of it
»Dear old table« he said »Ive spent some happy hours with you and youve
been a pretty good friend when all is said and done You never turned me down
never passed me out a rewardofunmerit rejection slip never complained about
working overtime«
He dropped his arms upon the table and buried his face in them His throat
was aching and he wanted to cry It reminded him of his first fight when he
was six years old when he punched away with the tears running down his cheeks
while the other boy two years his elder had beaten and pounded him into
exhaustion He saw the ring of boys howling like barbarians as he went down at
last writhing in the throes of nausea the blood streaming from his nose and
the tears from his bruised eyes
»Poor little shaver« he murmured »And youre just as badly licked now
Youre beaten to a pulp Youre down and out«
But the vision of that first fight still lingered under his eyelids and as
he watched he saw it dissolve and reshape into the series of fights which had
followed Six months later CheeseFace that was the boy had whipped him again
But he had blacked CheeseFaces eye that time That was going some He saw them
all fight after fight himself always whipped and CheeseFace exulting over
him But he had never run away He felt strengthened by the memory of that He
had always stayed and taken his medicine CheeseFace had been a little fiend at
fighting and had never once shown mercy to him But he had stayed He had
stayed with it
Next he saw a narrow alley between ramshackle frame buildings The end of
the alley was blocked by a onestory brick building out of which issued the
rhythmic thunder of the presses running off the first edition of the Enquirer
He was eleven and CheeseFace was thirteen and they both carried the Enquirer
That was why they were there waiting for their papers And of course
CheeseFace had picked on him again and there was another fight that was
indeterminate because at quarter to four the door of the pressroom was thrown
open and the gang of boys crowded in to fold their papers
»Ill lick you tomorrow« he heard CheeseFace promise and he heard his
own voice piping and trembling with unshed tears agreeing to be there on the
morrow
And he had come there the next day hurrying from school to be there first
and beating CheeseFace by two minutes The other boys said he was all right
and gave him advice pointing out his faults as a scrapper and promising him
victory if he carried out their instructions The same boys gave CheeseFace
advice too How they had enjoyed the fight He paused in his recollections long
enough to envy them the spectacle he and CheeseFace had put up Then the fight
was on and it went on without rounds for thirty minutes until the pressroom
door was opened
He watched the youthful apparition of himself day after day hurrying from
school to the Enquirer alley He could not walk very fast He was stiff and lame
from the incessant fighting His forearms were black and blue from wrist to
elbow what of the countless blows he had warded off and here and there the
tortured flesh was beginning to fester His head and arms and shoulders ached
the small of his back ached he ached all over and his brain was heavy and
dazed He did not play at school Nor did he study Even to sit still all day at
his desk as he did was a torment It seemed centuries since he had begun the
round of daily fights and time stretched away into a nightmare and infinite
future of daily fights Why couldnt CheeseFace be licked he often thought
that would put him Martin out of his misery It never entered his head to
cease fighting to allow CheeseFace to whip him
And so he dragged himself to the Enquirer alley sick in body and soul but
learning the long patience to confront his eternal enemy CheeseFace who was
just as sick as he and just a bit willing to quit if it were not for the gang
of newsboys that looked on and made pride painful and necessary One afternoon
after twenty minutes of desperate efforts to annihilate each other according to
set rules that did not permit kicking striking below the belt nor hitting when
one was down CheeseFace panting for breath and reeling offered to call it
quits And Martin head on arms thrilled at the picture he caught of himself
at that moment in the afternoon of long ago when he reeled and panted and
choked with the blood that ran into his mouth and down his throat from his cut
lips when he tottered toward CheeseFace spitting out a mouthful of blood so
that he could speak crying out that he would never quit though CheeseFace
could give in if he wanted to And CheeseFace did not give in and the fight
went on
The next day and the next days without end witnessed the afternoon fight
When he put up his arms each day to begin they pained exquisitely and the
first few blows struck and received racked his soul after that things grew
numb and he fought on blindly seeing as in a dream dancing and wavering the
large features and burning animallike eyes of CheeseFace He concentrated
upon that face all else about him was a whirling void There was nothing else
in the world but that face and he would never know rest blessed rest until he
had beaten that face into a pulp with his bleeding knuckles or until the
bleeding knuckles that somehow belonged to that face had beaten him into a pulp
And then one way or the other he would have rest But to quit for him
Martin to quit that was impossible
Came the day when he dragged himself into the Enquirer alley and there was
no CheeseFace Nor did CheeseFace come The boys congratulated him and told
him that he had licked CheeseFace But Martin was not satisfied He had not
licked CheeseFace nor had CheeseFace licked him The problem had not been
solved It was not until afterward that they learned that CheeseFaces father
had died suddenly that very day
Martin skipped on through the years to the night in the nigger heaven at the
Auditorium He was seventeen and just back from sea A row started Somebody was
bullying somebody and Martin interfered to be confronted by CheeseFaces
blazing eyes
»Ill fix you after de show« his ancient enemy hissed
Martin nodded The niggerheaven bouncer was making his way toward the
disturbance
»Ill meet you outside after the last act« Martin whispered the while his
face showed undivided interest in the buckandwing dancing on the stage
The bouncer glared and went away
»Got a gang« he asked CheeseFace at the end of the act
»Sure«
»Then I got to get one« Martin announced
Between the acts he mustered his following three fellows he knew from the
nail works a railroad fireman and half a dozen of the Boo Gang along with as
many more from the dread EighteenandMarket Gang
When the theatre let out the two gangs strung along inconspicuously on
opposite sides of the street When they came to a quiet corner they united and
held a council of war
»Eighth Street Bridge is the place« said a redheaded fellow belonging to
CheeseFaces gang »You kin fight in the middle under the electric light an
whichever way the bulls come in we kin sneak the other way«
»Thats agreeable to me« Martin said after consulting with the leaders of
his own gang
The Eighth Street Bridge crossing an arm of San Antonio Estuary was the
length of three city blocks In the middle of the bridge and at each end were
electric lights No policeman could pass those endlights unseen It was the
safe place for the battle that revived itself under Martins eyelids He saw the
two gangs aggressive and sullen rigidly keeping apart from each other and
backing their respective champions and he saw himself and CheeseFace
stripping A short distance away lookouts were set their task being to watch
the lighted ends of the bridge A member of the Boo Gang held Martins coat and
shirt and cap ready to race with them into safety in case the police
interfered Martin watched himself go into the centre facing CheeseFace and
he heard himself say as he held up his hand warningly
»They aint no handshakin in this Understand They aint nothin but
scrap No throwin up the sponge This is a grudgefight an its to a finish
Understand Somebodys goin to get licked«
CheeseFace wanted to demur Martin could see that but CheeseFaces
old perilous pride was touched before the two gangs
»Aw come on« he replied »Wots the good of chewin de rag about it Im
wit cheh to de finish«
Then they fell upon each other like young bulls in all the glory of youth
with naked fists with hatred with desire to hurt to maim to destroy All the
painful thousand years gains of man in his upward climb through creation were
lost Only the electric light remained a milestone on the path of the great
human adventure Martin and CheeseFace were two savages of the stone age of
the squatting place and the tree refuge They sank lower and lower into the
muddy abyss back into the dregs of the raw beginnings of life striving blindly
and chemically as atoms strive as the stardust of the heavens strives
colliding recoiling and colliding again and eternally again
»God We are animals Brutebeasts« Martin muttered aloud as he watched
the progress of the fight It was to him with his splendid power of vision
like gazing into a kinetoscope He was both onlooker and participant His long
months of culture and refinement shuddered at the sight then the present was
blotted out of his consciousness and the ghosts of the past possessed him and
he was Martin Eden just returned from sea and fighting CheeseFace on the
Eighth Street Bridge He suffered and toiled and sweated and bled and exulted
when his naked knuckles smashed home
They were twin whirlwinds of hatred revolving about each other monstrously
The time passed and the two hostile gangs became very quiet They had never
witnessed such intensity of ferocity and they were awed by it The two fighters
were greater brutes than they The first splendid velvet edge of youth and
condition wore off and they fought more cautiously and deliberately There had
been no advantage gained either way »Its anybodys fight« Martin heard some
one saying Then he followed up a feint right and left was fiercely countered
and felt his cheek laid open to the bone No bare knuckle had done that He
heard mutters of amazement at the ghastly damage wrought and was drenched with
his own blood But he gave no sign He became immensely wary for he was wise
with knowledge of the low cunning and foul vileness of his kind He watched and
waited until he feigned a wild rush which he stopped midway for he had seen
the glint of metal
»Hold up yer hand« he screamed »Thems brass knuckles an you hit me with
em«
Both gangs surged forward growling and snarling In a second there would be
a freeforall fight and he would be robbed of his vengeance He was beside
himself
»You guys keep out« he screamed hoarsely »Understand Say dye
understand«
They shrank away from him They were brutes but he was the archbrute a
thing of terror that towered over them and dominated them
»This is my scrap an they aint goin to be no buttin in Gimme them
knuckles«
CheeseFace sobered and a bit frightened surrendered the foul weapon
»You passed em to him you redhead sneakin in behind the push there«
Martin went on as he tossed the knuckles into the water »I seen you an I was
wonderin what you was up to If you try anything like that again Ill beat
cheh to death Understand«
They fought on through exhaustion and beyond to exhaustion immeasurable
and inconceivable until the crowd of brutes its bloodlust sated terrified by
what it saw begged them impartially to cease And CheeseFace ready to drop
and die or to stay on his legs and die a grisly monster out of whose features
all likeness to CheeseFace had been beaten wavered and hesitated but Martin
sprang in and smashed him again and again
Next after a seeming century or so with CheeseFace weakening fast in a
mixup of blows there was a loud snap and Martins right arm dropped to his
side It was a broken bone Everybody heard it and knew and CheeseFace knew
rushing like a tiger in the others extremity and raining blow on blow Martins
gang surged forward to interfere Dazed by the rapid succession of blows Martin
warned them back with vile and earnest curses sobbed out and groaned in ultimate
desolation and despair
He punched on with his left hand only and as he punched doggedly only
halfconscious as from a remote distance he heard murmurs of fear in the gangs
and one who said with shaking voice »This aint a scrap fellows Its murder
an we ought to stop it«
But no one stopped it and he was glad punching on wearily and endlessly
with his one arm battering away at a bloody something before him that was not a
face but a horror an oscillating hideous gibbering nameless thing that
persisted before his wavering vision and would not go away And he punched on
and on slower and slower as the last shreds of vitality oozed from him
through centuries and æons and enormous lapses of time until in a dim way he
became aware that the nameless thing was sinking slowly sinking down to the
rough boardplanking of the bridge And the next moment he was standing over it
staggering and swaying on shaky legs clutching at the air for support and
saying in a voice he did not recognize
»Dye want any more Say dye want any more«
He was still saying it over and over demanding entreating threatening
to know if it wanted any more when he felt the fellows of his gang laying
hands on him patting him on the back and trying to put his coat on him And
then came a sudden rush of blackness and oblivion
The tin alarmclock on the table ticked on but Martin Eden his face buried
on his arms did not hear it He heard nothing He did not think So absolutely
had he relived life that he had fainted just as he fainted years before on the
Eighth Street Bridge For a full minute the blackness and the blankness endured
Then like one from the dead he sprang upright eyes flaming sweat pouring
down his face shouting
»I licked you CheeseFace It took me eleven years but I licked you«
His knees were trembling under him he felt faint and he staggered back to
the bed sinking down and sitting on the edge of it He was still in the clutch
of the past He looked about the room perplexed alarmed wondering where he
was until he caught sight of the pile of manuscripts in the corner Then the
wheels of memory slipped ahead through four years of time and he was aware of
the present of the books he had opened and the universe he had won from their
pages of his dreams and ambitions and of his love for a pale wraith of a girl
sensitive and sheltered and ethereal who would die of horror did she witness
but one moment of what he had just lived through one moment of all the muck of
life through which he had waded
He arose to his feet and confronted himself in the lookingglass
»And so you arise from the mud Martin Eden« he said solemnly »And you
cleanse your eyes in a great brightness and thrust your shoulders among the
stars doing what all life has done letting the ape and tiger die and wresting
highest heritage from all powers that be«
He looked more closely at himself and laughed
»A bit of hysteria and melodrama eh« he queried »Well never mind You
licked CheeseFace and youll lick the editors if it takes twice eleven years
to do it in You cant stop here Youve got to go on Its to a finish you
know«
Chapter XVI
The alarmclock went off jerking Martin out of sleep with a suddenness that
would have given headache to one with less splendid constitution Though he
slept soundly he awoke instantly like a cat and he awoke eagerly glad that
the five hours of unconsciousness were gone He hated the oblivion of sleep
There was too much to do too much of life to live He grudged every moment of
life sleep robbed him of and before the clock had ceased its clattering he was
head and ears in the washbasin and thrilling to the cold bite of the water
But he did not follow his regular programme There was no unfinished story
waiting his hand no new story demanding articulation He had studied late and
it was nearly time for breakfast He tried to read a chapter in Fiske but his
brain was restless and he closed the book Today witnessed the beginning of the
new battle wherein for some time there would be no writing He was aware of a
sadness akin to that with which one leaves home and family He looked at the
manuscripts in the corner That was it He was going away from them his
pitiful dishonored children that were welcome nowhere He went over and began
to rummage among them reading snatches here and there his favorite portions
»The Pot« he honored with reading aloud as he did »Adventure« »Joy« his
latestborn completed the day before and tossed into the corner for lack of
stamps won his keenest approbation
»I cant understand« he murmured »Or maybe its the editors who cant
understand Theres nothing wrong with that They publish worse every month
Everything they publish is worse nearly everything anyway«
After breakfast he put the typewriter in its case and carried it down into
Oakland
»I owe a month on it« he told the clerk in the store »But you tell the
manager Im going to work and that Ill be in in a month or so and straighten
up«
He crossed on the ferry to San Francisco and made his way to an employment
office »Any kind of work no trade« he told the agent and was interrupted by
a newcomer dressed rather foppishly as some workingmen dress who have
instincts for finer things The agent shook his head despondently
»Nothin doin eh« said the other »Well I got to get somebody today«
He turned and stared at Martin and Martin staring back noted the puffed
and discolored face handsome and weak and knew that he had been making a night
of it
»Lookin for a job« the other queried »What can you do«
»Hard labor sailorizing run a typewriter no shorthand can sit on a
horse willing to do anything and tackle anything« was the answer
The other nodded
»Sounds good to me My names Dawson Joe Dawson an Im tryin to scare up
a laundryman«
»Too much for me« Martin caught an amusing glimpse of himself ironing
fluffy white things that women wear But he had taken a liking to the other and
he added »I might do the plain washing I learned that much at sea«
Joe Dawson thought visibly for a moment
»Look here lets get together an frame it up Willin to listen«
Martin nodded
»This is a small laundry up country belongs to Shelly Hot Springs
hotel you know Two men do the work boss and assistant Im the boss You
dont work for me but you work under me Think youd be willin to learn«
Martin paused to think The prospect was alluring A few months of it and
he would have time to himself for study He could work hard and study hard
»Good grub an a room to yourself« Joe said
That settled it A room to himself where he could burn the midnight oil
unmolested
»But work like hell« the other added
Martin caressed his swelling shouldermuscles significantly »That came from
hard work«
»Then lets get to it« Joe held his hand to his head for a moment »Gee
but its a stemwinder Can hardly see I went down the line last night
everything everything Heres the frameup The wages for two is a hundred and
board Ive ben drawin down sixty the second man forty But he knew the biz
Youre green If I break you in Ill be doing plenty of your work at first
Suppose you begin at thirty an work up to the forty Ill play fair Just as
soon as you can do your share you get the forty«
»Ill go you« Martin announced stretching out his hand which the other
shook »Any advance for railroad ticket and extras«
»I blew it in« was Joes sad answer with another reach at his aching head
»All I got is a return ticket«
»And Im broke when I pay my board«
»Jump it« Joe advised
»Cant Owe it to my sister«
Joe whistled a long perplexed whistle and racked his brains to little
purpose
»Ive got the price of the drinks« he said desperately »Come on an mebbe
well cook up something«
Martin declined
»Waterwagon«
This time Martin nodded and Joe lamented »Wish I was
But I somehow just cant« he said in extenuation »After Ive ben workin
like hell all week I just got to booze up If I didnt Id cut my throat or
burn up the premises But Im glad youre on the wagon Stay with it«
Martin knew of the enormous gulf between him and this man the gulf the
books had made but he found no difficulty in crossing back over that gulf He
had lived all his life in the workingclass world and the camaraderie of labor
was second nature with him He solved the difficulty of transportation that was
too much for the others aching head He would send his trunk up to Shelly Hot
Springs on Joes ticket As for himself there was his wheel It was seventy
miles and he could ride it on Sunday and be ready for work Monday morning In
the meantime he would go home and pack up There was no one to say goodby to
Ruth and her whole family were spending the long summer in the Sierras at Lake
Tahoe
He arrived at Shelly Hot Springs tired and dusty on Sunday night Joe
greeted him exuberantly With a wet towel bound about his aching brow he had
been at work all day
»Part of last weeks washin mounted up me bein away to get you« he
explained »Your box arrived all right Its in your room But its a hell of a
thing to call a trunk An whats in it Gold bricks«
Joe sat on the bed while Martin unpacked The box was a packingcase for
breakfast food and Mr Higginbotham had charged him half a dollar for it Two
rope handles nailed on by Martin had technically transformed it into a trunk
eligible for the baggagecar Joe watched with bulging eyes a few shirts and
several changes of underclothes come out of the box followed by books and more
books
»Books clean to the bottom« he asked
Martin nodded and went on arranging the books on a kitchen table which
served in the room in place of a washstand
»Gee« Joe exploded then waited in silence for the deduction to arise in
his brain At last it came
»Say you dont care for the girls much« he queried
»No« was the answer »I used to chase a lot before I tackled the books But
since then theres no time«
»And there wont be any time here All you can do is work an sleep«
Martin thought of his five hours sleep a night and smiled The room was
situated over the laundry and was in the same building with the engine that
pumped water made electricity and ran the laundry machinery The engineer who
occupied the adjoining room dropped in to meet the new hand and helped Martin
rig up an electric bulb on an extension wire so that it travelled along a
stretched cord from over the table to the bed
The next morning at quarterpast six Martin was routed out for a
quartertoseven breakfast There happened to be a bathtub for the servants in
the laundry building and he electrified Joe by taking a cold bath
»Gee but youre a hummer« Joe announced as they sat down to breakfast in
a corner of the hotel kitchen
With them was the engineer the gardener and the assistant gardener and
two or three men from the stable They ate hurriedly and gloomily with but
little conversation and as Martin ate and listened he realized how far he had
travelled from their status Their small mental caliber was depressing to him
and he was anxious to get away from them So he bolted his breakfast a sickly
sloppy affair as rapidly as they and heaved a sigh of relief when he passed
out through the kitchen door
It was a perfectly appointed small steam laundry wherein the most modern
machinery did everything that was possible for machinery to do Martin after a
few instructions sorted the great heaps of soiled clothes while Joe started
the masher and made up fresh supplies of softsoap compounded of biting
chemicals that compelled him to swathe his mouth and nostrils and eyes in
bathtowels till he resembled a mummy Finished the sorting Martin lent a hand
in wringing the clothes This was done by dumping them into a spinning
receptacle that went at a rate of a few thousand revolutions a minute tearing
the water from the clothes by centrifugal force Then Martin began to alternate
between the dryer and the wringer between times shaking out socks and
stockings By the afternoon one feeding and one stacking up they were running
socks and stockings through the mangle while the irons were heating Then it was
hot irons and underclothes till six oclock at which time Joe shook his head
dubiously
»Way behind« he said »Got to work after supper«
And after supper they worked until ten oclock under the blazing electric
lights until the last piece of underclothing was ironed and folded away in the
distributing room It was a hot California night and though the windows were
thrown wide the room with its redhot ironingstove was a furnace Martin and
Joe down to undershirts bare armed sweated and panted for air
»Like trimming cargo in the tropics« Martin said when they went upstairs
»Youll do« Joe answered »You take hold like a good fellow If you keep up
the pace youll be on thirty dollars only one month The second month youll be
gettin your forty But dont tell me you never ironed before I know better«
»Never ironed a rag in my life honestly until today« Martin protested
He was surprised at his weariness when he got into his room forgetful of
the fact that he had been on his feet and working without let up for fourteen
hours He set the alarm at six and measured back five hours to one oclock He
could read until then Slipping off his shoes to ease his swollen feet he sat
down at the table with his books He opened Fiske where he had left off two
days before and began to read But he found trouble with the first paragraph
and began to read it through a second time Then he awoke in pain from his
stiffened muscles and chilled by the mountain wind that had begun to blow in
through the window He looked at the clock It marked two He had been asleep
four hours He pulled off his clothes and crawled into bed where he was asleep
the moment after his head touched the pillow
Tuesday was a day of similar unremitting toil The speed with which Joe
worked won Martins admiration Joe was a dozen of demons for work He was keyed
up to concert pitch and there was never a moment in the long day when he was
not fighting for moments He concentrated himself upon his work and upon how to
save time pointing out to Martin where he did in five motions what could be
done in three or in three motions what could be done in two Elimination of
waste motion Martin phrased it as he watched and patterned after He was a good
workman himself quick and deft and it had always been a point of pride with
him that no man should do any of his work for him or outwork him As a result
he concentrated with a similar singleness of purpose greedily snapping up the
hints and suggestions thrown out by his working mate He rubbed out collars and
cuffs rubbing the starch out from between the double thicknesses of linen so
that there would be no blisters when it came to the ironing and doing it at a
pace that elicited Joes praise
There was never an interval when something was not at hand to be done Joe
waited for nothing waited on nothing and went on the jump from task to task
They starched two hundred white shirts with a single gathering movement seizing
a shirt so that the wristbands neckband yoke and bosom protruded beyond the
circling right hand At the same moment the left hand held up the body of the
shirt so that it would not enter the starch and at the same moment the right
hand dipped into the starch starch so hot that in order to wring it out
their hands had to be thrust and thrust continually into a bucket of cold
water And that night they worked till halfpast ten dipping fancy starch all
the frilled and airy delicate wear of ladies
»Me for the tropics and no clothes« Martin laughed
»And me out of a job« Joe answered seriously »I dont know nothin but
laundrying«
»And you know it well«
»I ought to Began in the Contra Costa in Oakland when I was eleven shakin
out for the mangle That was eighteen years ago an Ive never done a tap of
anything else But this job is the fiercest I ever had Ought to be one more man
on it at least We work tomorrow night Always run the mangle Wednesday nights
collars an cuffs«
Martin set his alarm drew up to the table and opened Fiske He did not
finish the first paragraph The lines blurred and ran together and his head
nodded He walked up and down batting his head savagely with his fists but he
could not conquer the numbness of sleep He propped the book before him and
propped his eyelids with his fingers and fell asleep with his eyes wide open
Then he surrendered and scarcely conscious of what he did got off his clothes
and into bed He slept seven hours of heavy animallike sleep and awoke by the
alarm feeling that he had not had enough
»Doin much readin« Joe asked
Martin shook his head
»Never mind We got to run the mangle tonight but Thursday well knock off
at six Thatll give you a chance«
Martin washed woollens that day by hand in a large barrel with strong
softsoap by means of a hub from a wagon wheel mounted on a plungerpole that
was attached to a springpole overhead
»My invention« Joe said proudly »Beats a washboard an your knuckles
and besides it saves at least fifteen minutes in the week an fifteen minutes
aint to be sneezed at in this shebang«
Running the collars and cuffs through the mangle was also Joes idea That
night while they toiled on under the electric lights he explained it
»Something no laundry ever does except this one An I got to do it if Im
goin to get done Saturday afternoon at three oclock But I know how an
thats the difference Got to have right heat right pressure and run em
through three times Look at that« He held a cuff aloft »Couldnt do it better
by hand or on a tiler«
Thursday Joe was in a rage A bundle of extra fancy starch had come in
»Im goin to quit« he announced »I wont stand for it Im goin to quit
it cold Whats the good of me workin like a slave all week asavin minutes
an them acomin an ringin in fancystarch extras on me This is a free
country an Im goin to tell that fat Dutchman what I think of him An I
wont tell m in French Plain United States is good enough for me Him
aringin in fancy starch extras
We got to work tonight« he said the next moment reversing his judgment
and surrendering to fate
And Martin did no reading that night He had seen no daily paper all week
and strangely to him felt no desire to see one He was not interested in the
news He was too tired and jaded to be interested in anything though he planned
to leave Saturday afternoon if they finished at three and ride on his wheel to
Oakland It was seventy miles and the same distance back on Sunday afternoon
would leave him anything but rested for the second weeks work It would have
been easier to go on the train but the round trip was two dollars and a half
and he was intent on saving money
Chapter XVII
Martin learned to do many things In the course of the first week in one
afternoon he and Joe accounted for the two hundred white shirts Joe ran the
tiler a machine wherein a hot iron was hooked on a steel string which furnished
the pressure By this means he ironed the yoke wristbands and neckband
setting the latter at right angles to the shirt and put the glossy finish on
the bosom As fast as he finished them he flung the shirts on a rack between
him and Martin who caught them up and backed them This task consisted of
ironing all the unstarched portions of the shirts
It was exhausting work carried on hour after hour at top speed Out on
the broad verandas of the hotel men and women in cool white sipped iced
drinks and kept their circulation down But in the laundry the air was sizzling
The huge stove roared red hot and white hot while the irons moving over the
damp cloth sent up clouds of steam The heat of these irons was different from
that used by housewives An iron that stood the ordinary test of a wet finger
was too cold for Joe and Martin and such test was useless They went wholly by
holding the irons close to their cheeks gauging the heat by some secret mental
process that Martin admired but could not understand When the fresh irons
proved too hot they hooked them on iron rods and dipped them into cold water
This again required a precise and subtle judgment A fraction of a second too
long in the water and the fine and silken edge of the proper heat was lost and
Martin found time to marvel at the accuracy he developed an automatic
accuracy founded upon criteria that were machinelike and unerring
But there was little time in which to marvel All Martins consciousness was
concentrated in the work Ceaselessly active head and hand an intelligent
machine all that constituted him a man was devoted to furnishing that
intelligence There was no room in his brain for the universe and its mighty
problems All the broad and spacious corridors of his mind were closed and
hermetically sealed The echoing chamber of his soul was a narrow room a
conning tower whence were directed his arm and shoulder muscles his ten nimble
fingers and the swiftmoving iron along its steaming path in broad sweeping
strokes just so many strokes and no more just so far with each stroke and not
a fraction of an inch farther rushing along interminable sleeves sides backs
and tails and tossing the finished shirts without rumpling upon the receiving
frame And even as his hurrying soul tossed it was reaching for another shirt
This went on hour after hour while outside all the world swooned under the
overhead California sun But there was no swooning in that superheated room The
cool guests on the verandas needed clean linen
The sweat poured from Martin He drank enormous quantities of water but so
great was the heat of the day and of his exertions that the water sluiced
through the interstices of his flesh and out at all his pores Always at sea
except at rare intervals the work he performed had given him ample opportunity
to commune with himself The master of the ship had been lord of Martins time
but here the manager of the hotel was lord of Martins thoughts as well He had
no thoughts save for the nerveracking bodydestroying toil Outside of that it
was impossible to think He did not know that he loved Ruth She did not even
exist for his driven soul had no time to remember her It was only when he
crawled to bed at night or to breakfast in the morning that she asserted
herself to him in fleeting memories
»This is hell aint it« Joe remarked once
Martin nodded but felt a rasp of irritation The statement had been obvious
and unnecessary They did not talk while they worked Conversation threw them
out of their stride as it did this time compelling Martin to miss a stroke of
his iron and to make two extra motions before he caught his stride again
On Friday morning the washer ran Twice a week they had to put through hotel
linen the sheets pillowslips spreads tablecloths and napkins This
finished they buckled down to fancy starch It was slow work fastidious and
delicate and Martin did not learn it so readily Besides he could not take
chances Mistakes were disastrous
»See that« Joe said holding up a filmy corsetcover that he could have
crumpled from view in one hand »Scorch that an its twenty dollars out of your
wages«
So Martin did not scorch that and eased down on his muscular tension
though nervous tension rose higher than ever and he listened sympathetically to
the others blasphemies as he toiled and suffered over the beautiful things that
women wear when they do not have to do their own laundrying Fancy starch was
Martins nightmare and it was Joes too It was fancy starch that robbed them
of their hardwon minutes They toiled at it all day At seven in the evening
they broke off to run the hotel linen through the mangle At ten oclock while
the hotel guests slept the two laundrymen sweated on at fancy starch till
midnight till one till two At halfpast two they knocked off
Saturday morning it was fancy starch and odds and ends and at three in the
afternoon the weeks work was done
»You aint agoin to ride them seventy miles into Oakland on top of this«
Joe demanded as they sat on the stairs and took a triumphant smoke
»Got to« was the answer
»What are you goin for a girl«
»No to save two and a half on the railroad ticket I want to renew some
books at the library«
»Why dont you send em down an up by express Thatll cost only a quarter
each way«
Martin considered it
»An take a rest tomorrow« the other urged »You need it I know I do Im
plumb tuckered out«
He looked it Indomitable never resting fighting for seconds and minutes
all week circumventing delays and crushing down obstacles a fount of
resistless energy a highdriven human motor a demon for work now that he had
accomplished the weeks task he was in a state of collapse He was worn and
haggard and his handsome face drooped in lean exhaustion He puffed his
cigarette spiritlessly and his voice was peculiarly dead and monotonous All
the snap and fire had gone out of him His triumph seemed a sorry one
»An next week we got to do it all over again« he said sadly »An whats
the good of it all hey Sometimes I wish I was a hobo They dont work an
they get their livin Gee I wish I had a glass of beer but I cant get up the
gumption to go down to the village an get it Youll stay over an send your
books down by express or else youre a damn fool«
»But what can I do here all day Sunday« Martin asked
»Rest You dont know how tired you are Why Im that tired Sunday I cant
even read the papers I was sick once typhoid In the hospital two months an
a half Didnt do a tap of work all that time It was beautiful
It was beautiful« he repeated dreamily a minute later
Martin took a bath after which he found that the head laundryman had
disappeared Most likely he had gone for the glass of beer Martin decided but
the halfmile walk down to the village to find out seemed a long journey to him
He lay on his bed with his shoes off trying to make up his mind He did not
reach out for a book He was too tired to feel sleepy and he lay scarcely
thinking in a semistupor of weariness until it was time for supper Joe did
not appear for that function and when Martin heard the gardener remark that
most likely he was ripping the slats off the bar Martin understood He went to
bed immediately afterward and in the morning decided that he was greatly
rested Joe being still absent Martin procured a Sunday paper and lay down in a
shady nook under the trees The morning passed he knew not how He did not
sleep nobody disturbed him and he did not finish the paper He came back to it
in the afternoon after dinner and fell asleep over it
So passed Sunday and Monday morning he was hard at work sorting clothes
while Joe a towel bound tightly around his head with groans and blasphemies
was running the washer and mixing softsoap
»I simply cant help it« he explained »I got to drink when Saturday night
comes around«
Another week passed a great battle that continued under the electric lights
each night and that culminated on Saturday afternoon at three oclock when Joe
tasted his moment of wilted triumph and then drifted down to the village to
forget Martins Sunday was the same as before He slept in the shade of the
trees toiled aimlessly through the newspaper and spent long hours lying on his
back doing nothing thinking nothing He was too dazed to think though he was
aware that he did not like himself He was selfrepelled as though he had
undergone some degradation or was intrinsically foul All that was godlike in
him was blotted out The spur of ambition was blunted he had no vitality with
which to feel the prod of it He was dead His soul seemed dead He was a beast
a workbeast He saw no beauty in the sunshine sifting down through the green
leaves nor did the azure vault of the sky whisper as of old and hint of cosmic
vastness and secrets trembling to disclosure Life was intolerably dull and
stupid and its taste was bad in his mouth A black screen was drawn across his
mirror of inner vision and fancy lay in a darkened sickroom where entered no
ray of light He envied Joe down in the village rampant tearing the slats off
the bar his brain gnawing with maggots exulting in maudlin ways over maudlin
things fantastically and gloriously drunk and forgetful of Monday morning and
the week of deadening toil to come
A third week went by and Martin loathed himself and loathed life He was
oppressed by a sense of failure There was reason for the editors refusing his
stuff He could see that clearly now and laugh at himself and the dreams he had
dreamed Ruth returned his »Sea Lyrics« by mail He read her letter
apathetically She did her best to say how much she liked them and that they
were beautiful But she could not lie and she could not disguise the truth from
herself She knew they were failures and he read her disapproval in every
perfunctory and unenthusiastic line of her letter And she was right He was
firmly convinced of it as he read the poems over Beauty and wonder had departed
from him and as he read the poems he caught himself puzzling as to what he had
had in mind when he wrote them His audacities of phrase struck him as
grotesque his felicities of expression were monstrosities and everything was
absurd unreal and impossible He would have burned the »Sea Lyrics« on the
spot had his will been strong enough to set them aflame There was the
engineroom but the exertion of carrying them to the furnace was not worth
while All his exertion was used in washing other persons clothes He did not
have any left for private affairs
He resolved that when Sunday came he would pull himself together and answer
Ruths letter But Saturday afternoon after work was finished and he had taken
a bath the desire to forget overpowered him »I guess Ill go down and see how
Joes getting on« was the way he put it to himself and in the same moment he
knew that he lied But he did not have the energy to consider the lie If he had
had the energy he would have refused to consider the lie because he wanted to
forget He started for the village slowly and casually increasing his pace in
spite of himself as he neared the saloon
»I thought you was on the waterwagon« was Joes greeting
Martin did not deign to offer excuses but called for whiskey filling his
own glass brimming before he passed the bottle
»Dont take all night about it« he said roughly
The other was dawdling with the bottle and Martin refused to wait for him
tossing the glass off in a gulp and refilling it
»Now I can wait for you« he said grimly »but hurry up«
Joe hurried and they drank together
»The work did it eh« Joe queried
Martin refused to discuss the matter
»Its fair hell I know« the other went on »but I kind of hate to see you
come off the wagon Mart Well heres how«
Martin drank on silently biting out his orders and invitations and awing
the barkeeper an effeminate country youngster with watery blue eyes and hair
parted in the middle
»Its something scandalous the way they work us poor devils« Joe was
remarking »If I didnt bowl up Id break loose an burn down the shebang My
bowlin up is all that saves em I can tell you that«
But Martin made no answer A few more drinks and in his brain he felt the
maggots of intoxication beginning to crawl Ah it was living the first breath
of life he had breathed in three weeks His dreams came back to him Fancy came
out of the darkened room and lured him on a thing of flaming brightness His
mirror of vision was silverclear a flashing dazzling palimpsest of imagery
Wonder and beauty walked with him hand in hand and all power was his He tried
to tell it to Joe but Joe had visions of his own infallible schemes whereby he
would escape the slavery of laundrywork and become himself the owner of a great
steam laundry
»I tell yeh Mart they wont be no kids workin in my laundry not on yer
life An they wont be no workin a livin soul after six P M You hear me
talk Theyll be machinery enough an hands enough to do it all in decent
workin hours an Mart shelp me Ill make yeh superintendent of the shebang
the whole of it all of it Now heres the scheme I get on the waterwagon
an save my money for two years save an then «
But Martin turned away leaving him to tell it to the barkeeper until that
worthy was called away to furnish drinks to two farmers who coming in accepted
Martins invitation Martin dispensed royal largess inviting everybody up
farmhands a stableman and the gardeners assistant from the hotel the
barkeeper and the furtive hobo who slid in like a shadow and like a shadow
hovered at the end of the bar
Chapter XVIII
Monday morning Joe groaned over the first truck load of clothes to the washer
»I say« he began
»Dont talk to me« Martin snarled
»Im sorry Joe« he said at noon when they knocked off for dinner
Tears came into the others eyes
»Thats all right old man« he said »Were in hell an we cant help
ourselves An you know I kind of like you a whole lot Thats what made it
hurt I cottoned to you from the first«
Martin shook his hand
»Lets quit« Joe suggested »Lets chuck it an go hoboin I aint never
tried it but it must be dead easy An nothin to do Just think of it nothin
to do I was sick once typhoid in the hospital an it was beautiful I wish
Id get sick again«
The week dragged on The hotel was full and extra fancy starch poured in
upon them They performed prodigies of valor They fought late each night under
the electric lights bolted their meals and even got in a half hours work
before breakfast Martin no longer took his cold baths Every moment was drive
drive drive and Joe was the masterful shepherd of moments herding them
carefully never losing one counting them over like a miser counting gold
working on in a frenzy toilmad a feverish machine aided ably by that other
machine that thought of itself as once having been one Martin Eden a man
But it was only at rare moments that Martin was able to think The house of
thought was closed its windows boarded up and he was its shadowy caretaker He
was a shadow Joe was right They were both shadows and this was the unending
limbo of toil Or was it a dream Sometimes in the steaming sizzling heat as
he swung the heavy irons back and forth over the white garments it came to him
that it was a dream In a short while or maybe after a thousand years or so he
would awake in his little room with the inkstained table and take up his
writing where he had left off the day before Or maybe that was a dream too
and the awakening would be the changing of the watches when he would drop down
out of his bunk in the lurching forecastle and go up on deck under the tropic
stars and take the wheel and feel the cool tradewind blowing through his flesh
Came Saturday and its hollow victory at three oclock
»Guess Ill go down an get a glass of beer« Joe said in the queer
monotonous tones that marked his weekend collapse
Martin seemed suddenly to wake up He opened the kit bag and oiled his
wheel putting graphite on the chain and adjusting the bearings Joe was halfway
down to the saloon when Martin passed by bending low over the handlebars his
legs driving the ninetysix gear with rhythmic strength his face set for
seventy miles of road and grade and dust He slept in Oakland that night and on
Sunday covered the seventy miles back And on Monday morning weary he began
the new weeks work but he had kept sober
A fifth week passed and a sixth during which he lived and toiled as a
machine with just a spark of something more in him just a glimmering bit of
soul that compelled him at each weekend to scorch off the hundred and forty
miles But this was not rest It was supermachinelike and it helped to crush
out the glimmering bit of soul that was all that was left him from former life
At the end of the seventh week without intending it too weak to resist he
drifted down to the village with Joe and drowned life and found life until
Monday morning
Again at the weekends he ground out the one hundred and forty miles
obliterating the numbness of too great exertion by the numbness of still greater
exertion At the end of three months he went down a third time to the village
with Joe He forgot and lived again and living he saw in clear
illumination the beast he was making of himself not by the drink but by the
work The drink was an effect not a cause It followed inevitably upon the
work as the night follows upon the day Not by becoming a toilbeast could he
win to the heights was the message the whiskey whispered to him and he nodded
approbation The whiskey was wise It told secrets on itself
He called for paper and pencil and for drinks all around and while they
drank his very good health he clung to the bar and scribbled
»A telegram Joe« he said »Read it«
Joe read it with a drunken quizzical leer But what he read seemed to sober
him He looked at the other reproachfully tears oozing into his eyes and down
his cheeks
»You aint goin back on me Mart« he queried hopelessly
Martin nodded and called one of the loungers to him to take the message to
the telegraph office
»Hold on« Joe muttered thickly »Lemme think«
He held on to the bar his legs wobbling under him Martins arm around him
and supporting him while he thought
»Make that two laundrymen« he said abruptly »Here lemme fix it«
»What are you quitting for« Martin demanded
»Same reason as you«
»But Im going to sea You cant do that«
»Nope« was the answer »but I can hobo all right all right«
Martin looked at him searchingly for a moment then cried
»By God I think youre right Better a hobo than a beast of toil Why man
youll live And thats more than you ever did before«
»I was in hospital once« Joe corrected »It was beautiful Typhoid did I
tell you«
While Martin changed the telegram to two laundrymen Joe went on
»I never wanted to drink when I was in hospital Funny aint it But when
Ive ben workin like a slave all week I just got to bowl up Ever noticed that
cooks drink like hell an bakers too Its the work Theyve sure got to
Here lemme pay half of that telegram«
»Ill shake you for it« Martin offered
»Come on everybody drink« Joe called as they rattled the dice and rolled
them out on the damp bar
Monday morning Joe was wild with anticipation He did not mind his aching
head nor did he take interest in his work Whole herds of moments stole away
and were lost while their careless shepherd gazed out of the window at the
sunshine and the trees
»Just look at it« he cried »An its all mine Its free I can lie down
under them trees an sleep for a thousan years if I want to Aw come on Mart
lets chuck it Whats the good of waitin another moment Thats the land of
nothin to do out there an I got a ticket for it an it aint no return
ticket bgosh«
A few minutes later filling the truck with soiled clothes for the washer
Joe spied the hotel managers shirt He knew its mark and with a sudden
glorious consciousness of freedom he threw it on the floor and stamped on it
»I wish you was in it you pigheaded Dutchman« he shouted »In it an
right there where Ive got you Take that an that an that damn you Hold me
back somebody Hold me back«
Martin laughed and held him to his work On Tuesday night the new laundrymen
arrived and the rest of the week was spent breaking them into the routine Joe
sat around and explained his system but he did no more work
»Not a tap« he announced »Not a tap They can fire me if they want to but
if they do Ill quit No more work in mine thank you kindly Me for the
freight cars an the shade under the trees Go to it you slaves Thats right
Slave an sweat Slave an sweat An when youre dead youll rot the same as
me an whats it matter how you live eh Tell me that whats it matter in
the long run«
On Saturday they drew their pay and came to the parting of the ways
»They aint no use in me askin you to change your mind an hit the road
with me« Joe asked hopelessly
Martin shook his head He was standing by his wheel ready to start They
shook hands and Joe held on to his for a moment as he said
»Im goin to see you again Mart before you an me die Thats straight
dope I feel it in my bones Goodby Mart an be good I like you like hell
you know«
He stood a forlorn figure in the middle of the road watching until Martin
turned a bend and was gone from sight
»Hes a good Indian that boy« he muttered »A good Indian«
Then he plodded down the road himself to the watertank where half a dozen
empties lay on a sidetrack waiting for the up freight
Chapter XIX
Ruth and her family were home again and Martin returned to Oakland saw much
of her Having gained her degree she was doing no more studying and he having
worked all vitality out of his mind and body was doing no writing This gave
them time for each other that they had never had before and their intimacy
ripened fast
At first Martin had done nothing but rest He had slept a great deal and
spent long hours musing and thinking and doing nothing He was like one
recovering from some terrible bout of hardship The first signs of reawakening
came when he discovered more than languid interest in the daily paper Then he
began to read again light novels and poetry and after several days more he
was head over heels in his longneglected Fiske His splendid body and health
made new vitality and he possessed all the resiliency and rebound of youth
Ruth showed her disappointment plainly when he announced that he was going
to sea for another voyage as soon as he was well rested
»Why do you want to do that« she asked
»Money« was the answer »Ill have to lay in a supply for my next attack on
the editors Money is the sinews of war in my case money and patience«
»But if all you wanted was money why didnt you stay in the laundry«
»Because the laundry was making a beast of me Too much work of that sort
drives to drink«
She stared at him with horror in her eyes
»Do you mean « she quavered
It would have been easy for him to get out of it but his natural impulse
was for frankness and he remembered his old resolve to be frank no matter what
happened
»Yes« he answered »Just that Several times«
She shivered and drew away from him
»No man that I have ever known did that ever did that«
»Then they never worked in the laundry at Shelly Hot Springs« he laughed
bitterly »Toil is a good thing It is necessary for human health so all the
preachers say and Heaven knows Ive never been afraid of it But there is such
a thing as too much of a good thing and the laundry up there is one of them
And thats why Im going to sea one more voyage It will be my last I think
for when I come back I shall break into the magazines I am certain of it«
She was silent unsympathetic and he watched her moodily realizing how
impossible it was for her to understand what he had been through
»Some day I shall write it up The Degradation of Toil or the Psychology of
Drink in the Workingclass or something like that for a title«
Never since the first meeting had they seemed so far apart as that day
His confession told in frankness with the spirit of revolt behind had
repelled her But she was more shocked by the repulsion itself than by the cause
of it It pointed out to her how near she had drawn to him and once accepted
it paved the way for greater intimacy Pity too was aroused and innocent
idealistic thoughts of reform She would save this raw young man who had come so
far She would save him from the curse of his early environment and she would
save him from himself in spite of himself And all this affected her as a very
noble state of consciousness; nor did she dream that behind it and underlying it
were the jealousy and desire of love
They rode on their wheels much in the delightful fall weather and out in
the hills they read poetry aloud now one and now the other noble uplifting
poetry that turned ones thoughts to higher things Renunciation sacrifice
patience industry and high endeavor were the principles she thus indirectly
preached such abstractions being objectified in her mind by her father and
Mr Butler and by Andrew Carnegie who from a poor immigrant boy had arisen to
be the bookgiver of the world
All of which was appreciated and enjoyed by Martin He followed her mental
processes more clearly now and her soul was no longer the sealed wonder it had
been He was on terms of intellectual equality with her But the points of
disagreement did not affect his love His love was more ardent than ever for he
loved her for what she was and even her physical frailty was an added charm in
his eyes He read of sickly Elizabeth Barrett who for years had not placed her
feet upon the ground until that day of flame when she eloped with Browning and
stood upright upon the earth under the open sky and what Browning had done
for her Martin decided he could do for Ruth But first she must love him The
rest would be easy He would give her strength and health And he caught
glimpses of their life in the years to come wherein against a background of
work and comfort and general wellbeing he saw himself and Ruth reading and
discussing poetry she propped amid a multitude of cushions on the ground while
she read aloud to him This was the key to the life they would live And always
he saw that particular picture Sometimes it was she who leaned against him
while he read one arm about her her head upon his shoulder Sometimes they
pored together over the printed pages of beauty Then too she loved nature
and with generous imagination he changed the scene of their reading sometimes
they read in closedin valleys with precipitous walls or in high mountain
meadows and again down by the gray sanddunes with a wreath of billows at
their feet or afar on some volcanic tropic isle where waterfalls descended and
became mist reaching the sea in vapor veils that swayed and shivered to every
vagrant wisp of wind But always in the foreground lords of beauty and
eternally reading and sharing lay he and Ruth and always in the background
that was beyond the background of nature, dim and hazy were work and success
and money earned that made them free of the world and all its treasures
»I should recommend my little girl to be careful« her mother warned her one
day
»I know what you mean But it is impossible He is not «
Ruth was blushing but it was the blush of maidenhood called upon for the
first time to discuss the sacred things of life with a mother held equally
sacred
»Your kind« Her mother finished the sentence for her
Ruth nodded
»I did not want to say it but he is not He is rough brutal strong too
strong He has not «
She hesitated and could not go on It was a new experience talking over
such matters with her mother And again her mother completed her thought for
her
»He has not lived a clean life is what you wanted to say«
Again Ruth nodded and again a blush mantled her face
»It is just that« she said »It has not been his fault but he has played
much with «
»With pitch«
»Yes with pitch And he frightens me Sometimes I am positively in terror
of him when he talks in that free and easy way of the things he has done as
if they did not matter They do matter dont they«
They sat with their arms twined around each other and in the pause her
mother patted her hand and waited for her to go on
»But I am interested in him dreadfully« she continued »In a way he is my
protégé Then too he is my first boy friend but not exactly friend rather
protégé and friend combined Sometimes too when he frightens me it seems that
he is a bulldog I have taken for a plaything like some of the frat girls and
he is tugging hard and showing his teeth and threatening to break loose«
Again her mother waited
»He interests me I suppose like the bulldog And there is much good in
him too but there is much in him that I would not like in in the other way
You see I have been thinking He swears he smokes he drinks he has fought
with his fists he has told me so and he likes it he says so He is all that
a man should not be a man I would want for my « her voice sank very low
»husband Then he is too strong My prince must be tall and slender and dark
a graceful bewitching prince No there is no danger of my falling in love with
Martin Eden It would be the worst fate that could befall me«
»But it is not that that I spoke about« her mother equivocated »Have you
thought about him He is so ineligible in every way you know and suppose he
should come to love you«
»But he does already« she cried
»It was to be expected« Mrs Morse said gently »How could it be otherwise
with any one who knew you«
»Olney hates me« she exclaimed passionately »And I hate Olney I feel
always like a cat when he is around I feel that I must be nasty to him and
even when I dont happen to feel that way why hes nasty to me anyway But I
am happy with Martin Eden No one ever loved me before no man I mean in that
way And it is sweet to be loved that way You know what I mean mother dear
It is sweet to feel that you are really and truly a woman« She buried her face
in her mothers lap sobbing »You think I am dreadful I know but I am honest
and I tell you just how I feel«
Mrs Morse was strangely sad and happy Her childdaughter who was a
bachelor of arts was gone but in her place was a womandaughter The
experiment had succeeded The strange void in Ruths nature had been filled and
filled without danger or penalty This rough sailorfellow had been the
instrument and though Ruth did not love him he had made her conscious of her
womanhood
»His hand trembles« Ruth was confessing her face for shames sake still
buried »It is most amusing and ridiculous but I feel sorry for him too And
when his hands are too trembly and his eyes too shiny why I lecture him about
his life and the wrong way he is going about it to mend it But he worships me
I know His eyes and his hands do not lie And it makes me feel grownup the
thought of it the very thought of it and I feel that I am possessed of
something that is by rights my own that makes me like the other girls and
and young women And then too I knew that I was not like them before and I
knew that it worried you You thought you did not let me know that dear worry of
yours but I did and I wanted to to make good as Martin Eden says«
It was a holy hour for mother and daughter and their eyes were wet as they
talked on in the twilight Ruth all white innocence and frankness her mother
sympathetic receptive yet calmly explaining and guiding
»He is four years younger than you« she said »He has no place in the
world He has neither position nor salary He is impractical Loving you he
should in the name of common sense be doing something that would give him the
right to marry instead of paltering around with those stories of his and with
childish dreams Martin Eden I am afraid will never grow up He does not take
to responsibility and a mans work in the world like your father did or like
all our friends Mr Butler for one Martin Eden I am afraid will never be a
moneyearner And this world is so ordered that money is necessary to happiness
oh no not these swollen fortunes but enough of money to permit of common
comfort and decency He he has never spoken«
»He has not breathed a word He has not attempted to but if he did I would
not let him because you see I do not love him«
»I am glad of that I should not care to see my daughter my one daughter
who is so clean and pure love a man like him There are noble men in the world
who are clean and true and manly Wait for them You will find one some day and
you will love him and be loved by him and you will be happy with him as your
father and I have been happy with each other And there is one thing you must
always carry in mind «
»Yes mother«
Mrs Morses voice was low and sweet as she said »And that is the
children«
»I have thought about them« Ruth confessed remembering the wanton
thoughts that had vexed her in the past her face again red with maiden shame
that she should be telling such things
»And it is that the children that makes Mr Eden impossible« Mrs Morse
went on incisively »Their heritage must be clean and he is I am afraid not
clean Your father has told me of sailors lives and and you understand«
Ruth pressed her mothers hand in assent feeling that she really did
understand though her conception was of something vague remote and terrible
that was beyond the scope of imagination
»You know I do nothing without telling you« she began » Only sometimes
you must ask me like this time I wanted to tell you but I did not know how
It is false modesty I know it is that but you can make it easy for me
Sometimes like this time you must ask me you must give me a chance
Why mother you are a woman too« she cried exultantly as they stood up
catching her mothers hands and standing erect facing her in the twilight
conscious of a strangely sweet equality between them »I should never have
thought of you in that way if we had not had this talk I had to learn that I
was a woman to know that you were one too«
»We are women together« her mother said drawing her to her and kissing
her »We are women together« she repeated as they went out of the room their
arms around each others waists their hearts swelling with a new sense of
companionship
»Our little girl has become a woman« Mrs Morse said proudly to her husband
an hour later
»That means« he said after a long look at his wife »that means she is in
love«
»No but that she is loved« was the smiling rejoinder »The experiment has
succeeded She is awakened at last«
»Then well have to get rid of him« Mr Morse spoke briskly in
matterof-fact, businesslike tones
But his wife shook her head »It will not be necessary Ruth says he is
going to sea in a few days When he comes back she will not be here We will
send her to Aunt Claras And besides a year in the East with the change in
climate people ideas, and everything is just the thing she needs«
Chapter XX
The desire to write was stirring in Martin once more Stories and poems were
springing into spontaneous creation in his brain and he made notes of them
against the future time when he would give them expression But he did not
write This was his little vacation he had resolved to devote it to rest and
love and in both matters he prospered He was soon spilling over with vitality
and each day he saw Ruth at the moment of meeting she experienced the old
shock of his strength and health
»Be careful« her mother warned her once again »I am afraid you are seeing
too much of Martin Eden«
But Ruth laughed from security She was sure of herself and in a few days
he would be off to sea Then by the time he returned she would be away on her
visit East There was a magic however in the strength and health of Martin
He too had been told of her contemplated Eastern trip and he felt the need
for haste Yet he did not know how to make love to a girl like Ruth Then too
he was handicapped by the possession of a great fund of experience with girls
and women who had been absolutely different from her They had known about love
and life and flirtation while she knew nothing about such things Her
prodigious innocence appalled him freezing on his lips all ardors of speech
and convincing him in spite of himself of his own unworthiness Also he was
handicapped in another way He had himself never been in love before He had
liked women in that turgid past of his and been fascinated by some of them but
he had not known what it was to love them He had whistled in a masterful
careless way and they had come to him They had been diversions incidents
part of the game men play but a small part at most And now and for the first
time he was a suppliant tender and timid and doubting He did not know the way
of love nor its speech while he was frightened at his loved ones clear
innocence
In the course of getting acquainted with a varied world whirling on through
the ever changing phases of it he had learned a rule of conduct which was to
the effect that when one played a strange game he should let the other fellow
play first This had stood him in good stead a thousand times and trained him as
an observer as well He knew how to watch the thing that was strange and to
wait for a weakness for a place of entrance to divulge itself. It was like
sparring for an opening in fistfighting And when such an opening came he knew
by long experience to play for it and to play hard
So he waited with Ruth and watched desiring to speak his love but not
daring He was afraid of shocking her and he was not sure of himself Had he
but known it he was following the right course with her Love came into the
world before articulate speech and in its own early youth it had learned ways
and means that it had never forgotten It was in this old primitive way that
Martin wooed Ruth He did not know he was doing it at first though later he
divined it The touch of his hand on hers was vastly more potent than any word
he could utter the impact of his strength on her imagination was more alluring
than the printed poems and spoken passions of a thousand generations of lovers
Whatever his tongue could express would have appealed in part to her judgment
but the touch of hand the fleeting contact made its way directly to her
instinct Her judgment was as young as she but her instincts were as old as the
race and older They had been young when love was young and they were wiser
than convention and opinion and all the newborn things So her judgment did not
act There was no call upon it and she did not realize the strength of the
appeal Martin made from moment to moment to her lovenature That he loved her
on the other hand was as clear as day and she consciously delighted in
beholding his lovemanifestations the glowing eyes with their tender lights
the trembling hands and the never failing swarthy flush that flooded darkly
under his sunburn She even went farther in a timid way inciting him but doing
it so delicately that he never suspected and doing it halfconsciously so that
she scarcely suspected herself She thrilled with these proofs of her power that
proclaimed her a woman and she took an Evelike delight in tormenting him and
playing upon him
Tonguetied by inexperience and by excess of ardor wooing unwittingly and
awkwardly Martin continued his approach by contact The touch of his hand was
pleasant to her and something deliciously more than pleasant Martin did not
know it but he did know that it was not distasteful to her Not that they
touched hands often save at meeting and parting but that in handling the
bicycles in strapping on the books of verse they carried into the hills and in
conning the pages of books side by side there were opportunities for hand to
stray against hand And there were opportunities too for her hair to brush his
cheek and for shoulder to touch shoulder as they leaned together over the
beauty of the books She smiled to herself at vagrant impulses which arose from
nowhere and suggested that she rumple his hair while he desired greatly when
they tired of reading to rest his head in her lap and dream with closed eyes
about the future that was to be theirs On Sunday picnics at Shellmound Park and
Schuetzen Park in the past he had rested his head on many laps and usually
he had slept soundly and selfishly while the girls shaded his face from the sun
and looked down and loved him and wondered at his lordly carelessness of their
love To rest his head in a girls lap had been the easiest thing in the world
until now and now he found Ruths lap inaccessible and impossible Yet it was
right here in his reticence that the strength of his wooing lay It was
because of this reticence that he never alarmed her Herself fastidious and
timid she never awakened to the perilous trend of their intercourse Subtly and
unaware she grew toward him and closer to him while he sensing the growing
closeness longed to dare but was afraid
Once he dared one afternoon when he found her in the darkened living room
with a blinding headache
»Nothing can do it any good« she had answered his inquiries »And besides
I dont take headache powders Doctor Hall wont permit me«
»I can cure it I think and without drugs« was Martins answer »I am not
sure of course but Id like to try Its simply massage I learned the trick
first from the Japanese They are a race of masseurs you know Then I learned
it all over again with variations from the Hawaiians They call it lomilomi It
can accomplish most of the things drugs accomplish and a few things that drugs
cant«
Scarcely had his hands touched her head when she sighed deeply
»That is so good« she said
She spoke once again half an hour later when she asked »Arent you
tired«
The question was perfunctory and she knew what the answer would be Then
she lost herself in drowsy contemplation of the soothing balm of his strength
Life poured from the ends of his fingers driving the pain before it or so it
seemed to her until with the easement of pain she fell asleep and he stole
away
She called him up by telephone that evening to thank him
»I slept until dinner« she said »You cured me completely Mr Eden and I
dont know how to thank you«
He was warm and bungling of speech and very happy as he replied to her
and there was dancing in his mind throughout the telephone conversation the
memory of Browning and of sickly Elizabeth Barrett What had been done could be
done again and he Martin Eden could do it and would do it for Ruth Morse He
went back to his room and to the volume of Spencers »Sociology« lying open on
the bed But he could not read Love tormented him and overrode his will so
that despite all determination he found himself at the little inkstained
table The sonnet he composed that night was the first of a lovecycle of fifty
sonnets which was completed within two months He had the »Lovesonnets from the
Portuguese« in mind as he wrote and he wrote under the best conditions for
great work at a climacteric of living in the throes of his own sweet
lovemadness
The many hours he was not with Ruth he devoted to the »Lovecycle« to
reading at home or to the public readingrooms where he got more closely in
touch with the magazines of the day and the nature of their policy and content
The hours he spent with Ruth were maddening alike in promise and in
inconclusiveness It was a week after he cured her headache that a moonlight
sail on Lake Merritt was proposed by Norman and seconded by Arthur and Olney
Martin was the only one capable of handling a boat and he was pressed into
service Ruth sat near him in the stern while the three young fellows lounged
amidships deep in a wordy wrangle over frat affairs
The moon had not yet risen and Ruth gazing into the starry vault of the
sky and exchanging no speech with Martin experienced a sudden feeling of
loneliness She glanced at him A puff of wind was heeling the boat over till
the deck was awash and he one hand on tiller and the other on mainsheet was
luffing slightly at the same time peering ahead to make out the nearlying
north shore He was unaware of her gaze and she watched him intently
speculating fancifully about the strange warp of soul that led him a young man
with signal powers to fritter away his time on the writing of stories and poems
foredoomed to mediocrity and failure
Her eyes wandered along the strong throat dimly seen in the starlight and
over the firmpoised head and the old desire to lay her hands upon his neck
came back to her The strength she abhorred attracted her Her feeling of
loneliness became more pronounced and she felt tired Her position on the
heeling boat irked her and she remembered the headache he had cured and the
soothing rest that resided in him He was sitting beside her quite beside her
and the boat seemed to tilt her toward him Then arose in her the impulse to
lean against him to rest herself against his strength a vague halfformed
impulse which even as she considered it mastered her and made her lean toward
him Or was it the heeling of the boat She did not know She never knew She
knew only that she was leaning against him and that the easement and soothing
rest were very good Perhaps it had been the boats fault but she made no
effort to retrieve it She leaned lightly against his shoulder but she leaned
and she continued to lean when he shifted his position to make it more
comfortable for her
It was a madness but she refused to consider the madness She was no longer
herself but a woman with a womans clinging need and though she leaned ever so
lightly the need seemed satisfied She was no longer tired Martin did not
speak Had he the spell would have been broken But his reticence of love
prolonged it He was dazed and dizzy He could not understand what was
happening It was too wonderful to be anything but a delirium He conquered a
mad desire to let go sheet and tiller and to clasp her in his arms His
intuition told him it was the wrong thing to do and he was glad that sheet and
tiller kept his hands occupied and fended off temptation But he luffed the boat
less delicately spilling the wind shamelessly from the sail so as to prolong
the tack to the north shore The shore would compel him to go about and the
contact would be broken He sailed with skill stopping way on the boat without
exciting the notice of the wranglers and mentally forgiving his hardest voyages
in that they had made this marvellous night possible giving him mastery over
sea and boat and wind so that he could sail with her beside him her dear weight
against him on his shoulder
When the first light of the rising moon touched the sail illuminating the
boat with pearly radiance Ruth moved away from him And even as she moved she
felt him move away The impulse to avoid detection was mutual The episode was
tacitly and secretly intimate She sat apart from him with burning cheeks while
the full force of it came home to her She had been guilty of something she
would not have her brothers see nor Olney see Why had she done it She had
never done anything like it in her life and yet she had been moonlightsailing
with young men before She had never desired to do anything like it She was
overcome with shame and with the mystery of her own burgeoning womanhood She
stole a glance at Martin who was busy putting the boat about on the other tack
and she could have hated him for having made her do an immodest and shameful
thing And he of all men Perhaps her mother was right and she was seeing too
much of him It would never happen again she resolved and she would see less
of him in the future She entertained a wild idea of explaining to him the first
time they were alone together of lying to him of mentioning casually the
attack of faintness that had overpowered her just before the moon came up Then
she remembered how they had drawn mutually away before the revealing moon and
she knew he would know it for a lie
In the days that swiftly followed she was no longer herself but a strange
puzzling creature wilful over judgment and scornful of self-analysis refusing
to peer into the future or to think about herself and whither she was drifting
She was in a fever of tingling mystery alternately frightened and charmed and
in constant bewilderment She had one idea firmly fixed however which insured
her security She would not let Martin speak his love As long as she did this
all would be well In a few days he would be off to sea And even if he did
speak all would be well It could not be otherwise for she did not love him
Of course it would be a painful half hour for him and an embarrassing half
hour for her because it would be her first proposal She thrilled deliciously
at the thought She was really a woman with a man ripe to ask for her in
marriage It was a lure to all that was fundamental in her sex The fabric of
her life of all that constituted her quivered and grew tremulous The thought
fluttered in her mind like a flameattracted moth She went so far as to imagine
Martin proposing herself putting the words into his mouth and she rehearsed
her refusal tempering it with kindness and exhorting him to true and noble
manhood And especially he must stop smoking cigarettes She would make a point
of that But no she must not let him speak at all She could stop him and she
had told her mother that she would All flushed and burning she regretfully
dismissed the conjured situation Her first proposal would have to be deferred
to a more propitious time and a more eligible suitor
Chapter XXI
Came a beautiful fall day warm and languid palpitant with the hush of the
changing season a California Indian summer day with hazy sun and wandering
wisps of breeze that did not stir the slumber of the air Filmy purple mists
that were not vapors but fabrics woven of color hid in the recesses of the
hills San Francisco lay like a blur of smoke upon her heights The intervening
bay was a dull sheen of molten metal whereon sailing craft lay motionless or
drifted with the lazy tide Far Tamalpais barely seen in the silver haze
bulked hugely by the Golden Gate the latter a pale gold pathway under the
westering sun Beyond the Pacific dim and vast was raising on its skyline
tumbled cloudmasses that swept landward giving warning of the first blustering
breath of winter
The erasure of summer was at hand Yet summer lingered fading and fainting
among her hills deepening the purple of her valleys spinning a shroud of haze
from waning powers and sated raptures dying with the calm content of having
lived and lived well And among the hills on their favorite knoll Martin and
Ruth sat side by side their heads bent over the same pages he reading aloud
from the lovesonnets of the woman who had loved Browning as it is given to few
men to be loved
But the reading languished The spell of passing beauty all about them was
too strong The golden year was dying as it had lived a beautiful and
unrepentant voluptuary and reminiscent rapture and content freighted heavily
the air It entered into them dreamy and languorous weakening the fibres of
resolution suffusing the face of morality or of judgment with haze and purple
mist Martin felt tender and melting and from time to time warm glows passed
over him His head was very near to hers and when wandering phantoms of breeze
stirred her hair so that it touched his face the printed pages swam before his
eyes
»I dont believe you know a word of what you are reading« she said once
when he had lost his place
He looked at her with burning eyes and was on the verge of becoming
awkward when a retort came to his lips
»I dont believe you know either What was the last sonnet about«
»I dont know« she laughed frankly »Ive already forgotten Dont let us
read any more The day is too beautiful«
»It will be our last in the hills for some time« he announced gravely
»Theres a storm gathering out there on the searim«
The book slipped from his hands to the ground and they sat idly and
silently gazing out over the dreamy bay with eyes that dreamed and did not see
Ruth glanced sidewise at his neck She did not lean toward him She was drawn by
some force outside of herself and stronger than gravitation strong as destiny
It was only an inch to lean and it was accomplished without volition on her
part Her shoulder touched his as lightly as a butterfly touches a flower and
just as lightly was the counterpressure She felt his shoulder press hers and
a tremor run through him Then was the time for her to draw back But she had
become an automaton Her actions had passed beyond the control of her will she
never thought of control or will in the delicious madness that was upon her His
arm began to steal behind her and around her She waited its slow progress in a
torment of delight She waited she knew not for what panting with dry
burning lips a leaping pulse and a fever of expectancy in all her blood The
girdling arm lifted higher and drew her toward him drew her slowly and
caressingly She could wait no longer With a tired sigh and with an impulsive
movement all her own unpremeditated spasmodic she rested her head upon his
breast His head bent over swiftly and as his lips approached hers flew to
meet them
This must be love she thought in the one rational moment that was
vouchsafed her If it was not love it was too shameful It could be nothing
else than love She loved the man whose arms were around her and whose lips were
pressed to hers She pressed more tightly to him with a snuggling movement of
her body And a moment later tearing herself half out of his embrace suddenly
and exultantly she reached up and placed both hands upon Martin Edens sunburnt
neck So exquisite was the pang of love and desire fulfilled that she uttered a
low moan relaxed her hands and lay halfswooning in his arms
Not a word had been spoken and not a word was spoken for a long time Twice
he bent and kissed her and each time her lips met his shyly and her body made
its happy nestling movement She clung to him unable to release herself and
he sat half supporting her in his arms as he gazed with unseeing eyes at the
blur of the great city across the bay For once there were no visions in his
brain Only colors and lights and glows pulsed there warm as the day and warm
as his love He bent over her She was speaking
»When did you love me« she whispered
»From the first the very first the first moment I laid eyes on you I was
mad for love of you then and in all the time that has passed since then I have
only grown the madder I am maddest now dear I am almost a lunatic my head
is so turned with joy«
»I am glad I am a woman Martin dear« she said after a long sigh
He crushed her in his arms again and again and then asked
»And you When did you first know«
»Oh I knew it all the time almost from the first«
»And I have been as blind as a bat« he cried a ring of vexation in his
voice »I never dreamed it until just now when I when I kissed you«
»I didnt mean that« She drew herself partly away and looked at him »I
meant I knew you loved me almost from the first«
»And you« he demanded
»It came to me suddenly« She was speaking very slowly her eyes warm and
fluttery and melting a soft flush on her cheeks that did not go away »I never
knew until just now when you put your arms around me And I never expected to
marry you Martin not until just now How did you make me love you«
»I dont know« he laughed »unless just by loving you for I loved you hard
enough to melt the heart of a stone much less the heart of the living
breathing woman you are«
»This is so different from what I thought love would be« she announced
irrelevantly
»What did you think it would be like«
»I didnt think it would be like this« She was looking into his eyes at the
moment but her own dropped as she continued »You see I didnt know what this
was like«
He offered to draw her toward him again but it was no more than a tentative
muscular movement of the girdling arm for he feared that he might be greedy
Then he felt her body yielding and once again she was close in his arms and
lips were pressed on lips
»What will my people say« she queried with sudden apprehension in one of
the pauses
»I dont know We can find out very easily any time we are so minded«
»But if mamma objects I am sure I am afraid to tell her«
»Let me tell her« he volunteered valiantly »I think your mother does not
like me but I can win her around A fellow who can win you can win anything
And if we dont «
»Yes«
»Why well have each other But theres no danger of not winning your
mother to our marriage She loves you too well«
»I should not like to break her heart« Ruth said pensively
He felt like assuring her that mothers hearts were not so easily broken
but instead he said »And love is the greatest thing in the world«
»Do you know Martin you sometimes frighten me I am frightened now when I
think of you and of what you have been You must be very very good to me
Remember after all that I am only a child I never loved before«
»Nor I We are both children together And we are fortunate above most for
we have found our first love in each other«
»But that is impossible« she cried withdrawing herself from his arms with
a swift passionate movement »Impossible for you You have been a sailor and
sailors I have heard are are «
Her voice faltered and died away
»Are addicted to having a wife in every port« he suggested »Is that what
you mean«
»Yes« she answered in a low voice
»But that is not love« He spoke authoritatively »I have been in many
ports but I never knew a passing touch of love until I saw you that first
night Do you know when I said good night and went away I was almost
arrested«
»Arrested«
»Yes The policeman thought I was drunk and I was too with love for
you«
»But you said we were children and I said it was impossible for you and
we have strayed away from the point«
»I said that I never loved anybody but you« he replied »You are my first
my very first«
»And yet you have been a sailor« she objected
»But that doesnt prevent me from loving you the first«
»And there have been women other women oh«
And to Martin Edens supreme surprise she burst into a storm of tears that
took more kisses than one and many caresses to drive away And all the while
there was running through his head Kiplings line »And the Colonels lady and
Judy OGrady are sisters under their skins« It was true he decided though the
novels he had read had led him to believe otherwise His idea for which the
novels were responsible had been that only formal proposals obtained in the
upper classes It was all right enough down whence he had come for youths and
maidens to win each other by contact but for the exalted personages up above on
the heights to make love in similar fashion had seemed unthinkable Yet the
novels were wrong Here was a proof of it The same pressures and caresses
unaccompanied by speech that were efficacious with the girls of the
workingclass were equally efficacious with the girls above the workingclass
They were all of the same flesh after all sisters under their skins and he
might have known as much himself had he remembered his Spencer As he held Ruth
in his arms and soothed her he took great consolation in the thought that the
Colonels lady and Judy OGrady were pretty much alike under their skins It
brought Ruth closer to him made her possible Her dear flesh was as anybodys
flesh as his flesh There was no bar to their marriage Class difference was
the only difference and class was extrinsic It could be shaken off A slave
he had read had risen to the Roman purple That being so then he could rise to
Ruth Under her purity and saintliness and culture and ethereal beauty of
soul she was in things fundamentally human just like Lizzie Connolly and all
Lizzie Connollys All that was possible of them was possible of her She could
love and hate maybe have hysterics and she could certainly be jealous as she
was jealous now uttering her last sobs in his arms
»Besides I am older than you« she remarked suddenly opening her eyes and
looking up at him »three years older«
»Hush you are only a child and I am forty years older than you in
experience,« was his answer
In truth they were children together so far as love was concerned and
they were as naïve and immature in the expression of their love as a pair of
children and this despite the fact that she was crammed with a university
education and that his head was full of scientific philosophy and the hard facts
of life
They sat on through the passing glory of the day talking as lovers are
prone to talk marvelling at the wonder of love and at destiny that had flung
them so strangely together and dogmatically believing that they loved to a
degree never attained by lovers before And they returned insistently again and
again to a rehearsal of their first impressions of each other and to hopeless
attempts to analyze just precisely what they felt for each other and how much
there was of it
The cloudmasses on the western horizon received the descending sun and the
circle of the sky turned to rose while the zenith glowed with the same warm
color The rosy light was all about them flooding over them as she sang
»Goodby Sweet Day« She sang softly leaning in the cradle of his arm her
hands in his their hearts in each others hands
Chapter XXII
Mrs Morse did not require a mothers intuition to read the advertisement in
Ruths face when she returned home The flush that would not leave the cheeks
told the simple story and more eloquently did the eyes large and bright
reflecting an unmistakable inward glory
»What has happened« Mrs Morse asked having bided her time till Ruth had
gone to bed
»You know« Ruth queried with trembling lips
For reply her mothers arm went around her and a hand was softly caressing
her hair
»He did not speak« she blurted out »I did not intend that it should
happen and I would never have let him speak only he didnt speak«
»But if he did not speak then nothing could have happened could it«
»But it did just the same«
»In the name of goodness child what are you babbling about« Mrs Morse
was bewildered »I dont think I know what happened after all What did
happen«
Ruth looked at her mother in surprise
»I thought you knew Why were engaged Martin and I«
Mrs Morse laughed with incredulous vexation
»No he didnt speak« Ruth explained »He just loved me that was all I
was as surprised as you are He didnt say a word He just put his arm around
me And and I was not myself And he kissed me and I kissed him I couldnt
help it I just had to And then I knew I loved him«
She paused waiting with expectancy the benediction of her mothers kiss
but Mrs Morse was coldly silent
»It is a dreadful accident I know« Ruth recommenced with a sinking voice
»And I dont know how you will ever forgive me But I couldnt help it I did
not dream that I loved him until that moment And you must tell father for me«
»Would it not be better not to tell your father Let me see Martin Eden and
talk with him and explain He will understand and release you«
»No no« Ruth cried starting up »I do not want to be released I love
him and love is very sweet I am going to marry him of course if you will
let me«
»We have other plans for you Ruth dear your father and I oh no no no
man picked out for you or anything like that Our plans go no farther than your
marrying some man in your own station in life a good and honorable gentleman
whom you will select yourself when you love him«
»But I love Martin already« was the plaintive protest
»We would not influence your choice in any way but you are our daughter
and we could not bear to see you make a marriage such as this He has nothing
but roughness and coarseness to offer you in exchange for all that is refined
and delicate in you He is no match for you in any way He could not support
you We have no foolish ideas about wealth but comfort is another matter and
our daughter should at least marry a man who can give her that and not a
penniless adventurer a sailor a cowboy a smuggler and Heaven knows what
else who in addition to everything is harebrained and irresponsible«
Ruth was silent Every word she recognized as true
»He wastes his time over his writing trying to accomplish what geniuses and
rare men with college educations sometimes accomplish A man thinking of
marriage should be preparing for marriage But not he As I have said and I
know you agree with me he is irresponsible And why should he not be It is the
way of sailors He has never learned to be economical or temperate The
spendthrift years have marked him It is not his fault of course but that does
not alter his nature And have you thought of the years of licentiousness he
inevitably has lived Have you thought of that daughter You know what marriage
means«
Ruth shuddered and clung close to her mother
»I have thought« Ruth waited a long time for the thought to frame itself
»And it is terrible It sickens me to think of it I told you it was a dreadful
accident my loving him but I cant help myself Could you help loving father
Then it is the same with me There is something in me in him I never knew it
was there until today but it is there and it makes me love him I never
thought to love him but you see I do« she concluded a certain faint triumph
in her voice
They talked long and to little purpose in conclusion agreeing to wait an
indeterminate time without doing anything
The same conclusion was reached a little later that night between Mrs
Morse and her husband after she had made due confession of the miscarriage of
her plans
»It could hardly have come otherwise« was Mr Morses judgment »This
sailorfellow has been the only man she was in touch with Sooner or later she
was going to awaken anyway and she did awaken and lo here was this
sailorfellow the only accessible man at the moment and of course she promptly
loved him or thought she did which amounts to the same thing«
Mrs Morse took it upon herself to work slowly and indirectly upon Ruth
rather than to combat her There would be plenty of time for this for Martin
was not in position to marry
»Let her see all she wants of him« was Mr Morses advice »The more she
knows him the less shell love him I wager And give her plenty of contrast
Make a point of having young people at the house Young women and young men all
sorts of young men clever men men who have done something or who are doing
things men of her own class gentlemen She can gauge him by them They will
show him up for what he is And after all he is a mere boy of twentyone Ruth
is no more than a child It is calf love with the pair of them and they will
grow out of it«
So the matter rested Within the family it was accepted that Ruth and Martin
were engaged but no announcement was made The family did not think it would
ever be necessary Also it was tacitly understood that it was to be a long
engagement They did not ask Martin to go to work nor to cease writing They
did not intend to encourage him to mend himself And he aided and abetted them
in their unfriendly designs for going to work was farthest from his thoughts
»I wonder if youll like what I have done« he said to Ruth several days
later »Ive decided that boarding with my sister is too expensive and I am
going to board myself Ive rented a little room out in North Oakland retired
neighborhood and all the rest you know and Ive bought an oilburner on which
to cook«
Ruth was overjoyed The oilburner especially pleased her
»That was the way Mr Butler began his start« she said
Martin frowned inwardly at the citation of that worthy gentleman and went
on »I put stamps on all my manuscripts and started them off to the editors
again Then today I moved in and tomorrow I start to work«
»A position« she cried betraying the gladness of her surprise in all her
body nestling closer to him pressing his hand smiling »And you never told
me What is it«
He shook his head
»I meant that I was going to work at my writing« Her face fell and he went
on hastily »Dont misjudge me I am not going in this time with any iridescent
ideas. It is to be a cold prosaic matterof-fact business proposition It is
better than going to sea again and I shall earn more money than any position in
Oakland can bring an unskilled man
You see this vacation I have taken has given me perspective I havent been
working the life out of my body and I havent been writing at least not for
publication All Ive done has been to love you and to think Ive read some
too but it has been part of my thinking and I have read principally magazines
I have generalized about myself and the world my place in it and my chance to
win to a place that will be fit for you Also Ive been reading Spencers
Philosophy of Style and found out a lot of what was the matter with me or my
writing rather and for that matter with most of the writing that is published
every month in the magazines
But the upshot of it all of my thinking and reading and loving is that I
am going to move to Grub Street I shall leave masterpieces alone and do
hackwork jokes paragraphs feature articles humorous verse and society
verse all the rot for which there seems so much demand Then there are the
newspaper syndicates and the newspaper shortstory syndicates and the
syndicates for the Sunday supplements I can go ahead and hammer out the stuff
they want and earn the equivalent of a good salary by it There are
freelances you know who earn as much as four or five hundred a month I dont
care to become as they but Ill earn a good living and have plenty of time to
myself which I wouldnt have in any position
Then Ill have my spare time for study and for real work In between the
grind Ill try my hand at masterpieces and Ill study and prepare myself for
the writing of masterpieces Why I am amazed at the distance I have come
already When I first tried to write I had nothing to write about except a few
paltry experiences which I neither understood nor appreciated But I had no
thoughts I really didnt I didnt even have the words with which to think My
experiences were so many meaningless pictures But as I began to add to my
knowledge and to my vocabulary I saw something more in my experiences than
mere pictures I retained the pictures and I found their interpretation That
was when I began to do good work when I wrote »Adventure« »Joy« »The Pot«
»The Wine of Life« »The Jostling Street« the »Lovecycle« and the »Sea
Lyrics« I shall write more like them and better but I shall do it in my spare
time My feet are on the solid earth now Hackwork and income first
masterpieces afterward Just to show you I wrote half a dozen jokes last night
for the comic weeklies and just as I was going to bed the thought struck me to
try my hand at a triolet a humorous one and inside an hour I had written
four They ought to be worth a dollar apiece Four dollars right there for a few
afterthoughts on the way to bed
Of course its all valueless just so much dull and sordid plodding but it
is no more dull and sordid than keeping books at sixty dollars a month adding
up endless columns of meaningless figures until one dies And furthermore the
hackwork keeps me in touch with things literary and gives me time to try bigger
things«
»But what good are these bigger things these masterpieces« Ruth demanded
»You cant sell them«
»Oh yes I can« he began but she interrupted
»All those you named and which you say yourself are good you have not
sold any of them We cant get married on masterpieces that wont sell«
»Then well get married on triolets that will sell« he asserted stoutly
putting his arm around her and drawing a very unresponsive sweetheart toward
him
»Listen to this« he went on in attempted gayety »Its not art but its a
dollar
He came in
When I was out
To borrow some tin
Was why he came in
And he went without
So I was in
And he was out«
The merry lilt with which he had invested the jingle was at variance with the
dejection that came into his face as he finished He had drawn no smile from
Ruth She was looking at him in an earnest and troubled way
»It may be a dollar« she said »but it is a jesters dollar the fee of a
clown Dont you see Martin the whole thing is lowering I want the man I love
and honor to be something finer and higher than a perpetrator of jokes and
doggerel«
»You want him to be like say Mr Butler« he suggested
»I know you dont like Mr Butler« she began
»Mr Butlers all right« he interrupted »Its only his indigestion I find
fault with But to save me I cant see any difference between writing jokes or
comic verse and running a typewriter taking dictation or keeping sets of
books It is all a means to an end Your theory is for me to begin with keeping
books in order to become a successful lawyer or man of business Mine is to
begin with hackwork and develop into an able author«
»There is a difference« she insisted
»What is it«
»Why your good work what you yourself call good you cant sell You have
tried you know that but the editors wont buy it«
»Give me time dear« he pleaded »The hackwork is only makeshift and I
dont take it seriously Give me two years I shall succeed in that time and
the editors will be glad to buy my good work I know what I am saying I have
faith in myself I know what I have in me I know what literature is now I
know the average rot that is poured out by a lot of little men and I know that
at the end of two years I shall be on the highroad to success As for business
I shall never succeed at it I am not in sympathy with it It strikes me as
dull and stupid and mercenary and tricky Anyway I am not adapted for it Id
never get beyond a clerkship and how could you and I be happy on the paltry
earnings of a clerk I want the best of everything in the world for you and the
only time when I wont want it will be when there is something better And Im
going to get it going to get all of it The income of a successful author makes
Mr Butler look cheap A bestseller will earn anywhere between fifty and a
hundred thousand dollars sometimes more and sometimes less but as a rule
pretty close to those figures«
She remained silent her disappointment was apparent
»Well« he asked
»I had hoped and planned otherwise I had thought and I still think that
the best thing for you would be to study shorthand you already know
typewriting and go into fathers office You have a good mind and I am
confident you would succeed as a lawyer«
Chapter XXIII
That Ruth had little faith in his power as a writer did not alter her nor
diminish her in Martins eyes In the breathing spell of the vacation he had
taken he had spent many hours in selfanalysis and thereby learned much of
himself He had discovered that he loved beauty more than fame and that what
desire he had for fame was largely for Ruths sake It was for this reason that
his desire for fame was strong He wanted to be great in the worlds eyes to
make good as he expressed it in order that the woman he loved should be proud
of him and deem him worthy
As for himself he loved beauty passionately and the joy of serving her was
to him sufficient wage And more than beauty he loved Ruth He considered love
the finest thing in the world It was love that had worked the revolution in
him changing him from an uncouth sailor to a student and an artist therefore
to him the finest and greatest of the three greater than learning and
artistry was love Already he had discovered that his brain went beyond Ruths
just as it went beyond the brains of her brothers or the brain of her father
In spite of every advantage of university training and in the face of her
bachelorship of arts his power of intellect overshadowed hers and his year or
so of self-study and equipment gave him a mastery of the affairs of the world
and art and life that she could never hope to possess
All this he realized but it did not affect his love for her nor her love
for him Love was too fine and noble and he was too loyal a lover for him to
besmirch love with criticism What did love have to do with Ruths divergent
views on art right conduct the French Revolution or equal suffrage They were
mental processes but love was beyond reason it was superrational He could not
belittle love He worshipped it Love lay on the mountaintops beyond the
valleyland of reason. It was a sublimated condition of existence the topmost
peak of living and it came rarely Thanks to the school of scientific
philosophers he favored he knew the biological significance of love but by a
refined process of the same scientific reasoning he reached the conclusion that
the human organism achieved its highest purpose in love that love must not be
questioned but must be accepted as the highest guerdon of life Thus he
considered the lover blessed over all creatures and it was a delight to him to
think of Gods own mad lover rising above the things of earth above wealth and
judgment public opinion and applause rising above life itself and dying on a
kiss
Much of this Martin had already reasoned out and some of it he reasoned out
later In the meantime he worked taking no recreation except when he went to
see Ruth and living like a Spartan He paid two dollars and a half a month rent
for the small room he got from his Portuguese landlady Maria Silva a virago
and a widow hard working and harsher tempered rearing her large brood of
children somehow and drowning her sorrow and fatigue at irregular intervals in
a gallon of the thin sour wine that she bought from the corner grocery and
saloon for fifteen cents From detesting her and her foul tongue at first
Martin grew to admire her as he observed the brave fight she made There were
but four rooms in the little house three when Martins was subtracted One of
these the parlor gay with an ingrain carpet and dolorous with a funeral card
and a deathpicture of one of her numerous departed babes was kept strictly for
company The blinds were always down and her barefooted tribe was never
permitted to enter the sacred precinct save on state occasions She cooked and
all ate in the kitchen where she likewise washed starched and ironed clothes
on all days of the week except Sunday for her income came largely from taking
in washing from her more prosperous neighbors Remained the bedroom small as
the one occupied by Martin into which she and her seven little ones crowded and
slept It was an everlasting miracle to Martin how it was accomplished and from
her side of the thin partition he heard nightly every detail of the going to
bed the squalls and squabbles the soft chattering and the sleepy twittering
noises as of birds Another source of income to Maria were her cows two of
them which she milked night and morning and which gained a surreptitious
livelihood from vacant lots and the grass that grew on either side the public
sidewalks attended always by one or more of her ragged boys whose watchful
guardianship consisted chiefly in keeping their eyes out for the poundmen
In his own small room Martin lived slept studied wrote and kept house
Before the one window looking out on the tiny front porch was the kitchen
table that served as desk library and typewriting stand The bed against the
rear wall occupied twothirds of the total space of the room The table was
flanked on one side by a gaudy bureau manufactured for profit and not for
service the thin veneer of which was shed day by day This bureau stood in the
corner and in the opposite corner on the tables other flank was the kitchen
the oilstove on a drygoods box inside of which were dishes and cooking
utensils a shelf on the wall for provisions and a bucket of water on the
floor Martin had to carry his water from the kitchen sink there being no tap
in his room On days when there was much steam to his cooking the harvest of
veneer from the bureau was unusually generous Over the bed hoisted by a tackle
to the ceiling was his bicycle At first he had tried to keep it in the
basement but the tribe of Silva loosening the bearings and puncturing the
tires had driven him out Next he attempted the tiny front porch until a
howling southeaster drenched the wheel a nightlong Then he had retreated with
it to his room and slung it aloft
A small closet contained his clothes and the books he had accumulated and
for which there was no room on the table or under the table Hand in hand with
reading he had developed the habit of making notes and so copiously did he
make them that there would have been no existence for him in the confined
quarters had he not rigged several clotheslines across the room on which the
notes were hung Even so he was crowded until navigating the room was a
difficult task He could not open the door without first closing the closet
door and vice versa It was impossible for him anywhere to traverse the room in
a straight line To go from the door to the head of the bed was a zigzag course
that he was never quite able to accomplish in the dark without collisions
Having settled the difficulty of the conflicting doors he had to steer sharply
to the right to avoid the kitchen Next he sheered to the left to escape the
foot of the bed but this sheer if too generous brought him against the corner
of the table With a sudden twitch and lurch he terminated the sheer and bore
off to the right along a sort of canal one bank of which was the bed the other
the table When the one chair in the room was at its usual place before the
table the canal was unnavigable When the chair was not in use it reposed on
top of the bed though sometimes he sat on the chair when cooking reading a
book while the water boiled and even becoming skilful enough to manage a
paragraph or two while steak was frying Also so small was the little corner
that constituted the kitchen he was able sitting down to reach anything he
needed In fact it was expedient to cook sitting down standing up he was too
often in his own way
In conjunction with a perfect stomach that could digest anything he
possessed knowledge of the various foods that were at the same time nutritious
and cheap Peasoup was a common article in his diet as well as potatoes and
beans the latter large and brown and cooked in Mexican style Rice cooked as
American housewives never cook it and can never learn to cook it appeared on
Martins table at least once a day Dried fruits were less expensive than fresh
and he had usually a pot of them cooked and ready at hand for they took the
place of butter on his bread Occasionally he graced his table with a piece of
roundsteak or with a soupbone Coffee without cream or milk he had twice a
day in the evening substituting tea but both coffee and tea were excellently
cooked
There was need for him to be economical His vacation had consumed nearly
all he had earned in the laundry and he was so far from his market that weeks
must elapse before he could hope for the first returns from his hackwork
Except at such times as he saw Ruth or dropped in to see his sister Gertrude
he lived a recluse in each day accomplishing at least three days labor of
ordinary men He slept a scant five hours and only one with a constitution of
iron could have held himself down as Martin did day after day to nineteen
consecutive hours of toil He never lost a moment On the lookingglass were
lists of definitions and pronunciations when shaving or dressing or combing
his hair he conned these lists over Similar lists were on the wall over the
oilstove and they were similarly conned while he was engaged in cooking or in
washing the dishes New lists continually displaced the old ones Every strange
or partly familiar word encountered in his reading was immediately jotted down
and later when a sufficient number had been accumulated were typed and pinned
to the wall or lookingglass He even carried them in his pockets and reviewed
them at odd moments on the street or while waiting in butcher shop or grocery
to be served
He went farther in the matter Reading the works of men who had arrived he
noted every result achieved by them and worked out the tricks by which they had
been achieved the tricks of narrative of exposition of style the points of
view the contrasts the epigrams and of all these he made lists for study He
did not ape He sought principles He drew up lists of effective and fetching
mannerisms till out of many such culled from many writers he was able to
induce the general principle of mannerism and thus equipped to cast about for
new and original ones of his own and to weigh and measure and appraise them
properly In similar manner he collected lists of strong phrases the phrases of
living language phrases that bit like acid and scorched like flame or that
glowed and were mellow and luscious in the midst of the arid desert of common
speech He sought always for the principle that lay behind and beneath He
wanted to know how the thing was done after that he could do it for himself He
was not content with the fair face of beauty He dissected beauty in his crowded
little bedroom laboratory where cooking smells alternated with the outer bedlam
of the Silva tribe and having dissected and learned the anatomy of beauty he
was nearer being able to create beauty itself
He was so made that he could work only with understanding He could not work
blindly in the dark ignorant of what he was producing and trusting to chance
and the star of his genius that the effect produced should be right and fine He
had no patience with chance effects He wanted to know why and how His was
deliberate creative genius and before he began a story or poem the thing
itself was already alive in his brain with the end in sight and the means of
realizing that end in his conscious possession Otherwise the effort was doomed
to failure On the other hand he appreciated the chance effects in words and
phrases that came lightly and easily into his brain and that later stood all
tests of beauty and power and developed tremendous and incommunicable
connotations Before such he bowed down and marvelled knowing that they were
beyond the deliberate creation of any man And no matter how much he dissected
beauty in search of the principles that underlie beauty and make beauty
possible he was aware always of the innermost mystery of beauty to which he
did not penetrate and to which no man had ever penetrated He knew full well
from his Spencer that man can never attain ultimate knowledge of anything and
that the mystery of beauty was no less than that of life nay more that the
fibres of beauty and life were intertwisted and that he himself was but a bit
of the same nonunderstandable fabric twisted of sunshine and stardust and
wonder
In fact it was when filled with these thoughts that he wrote his essay
entitled »Stardust« in which he had his fling not at the principles of
criticism but at the principal critics It was brilliant deep philosophical
and deliciously touched with laughter Also it was promptly rejected by the
magazines as often as it was submitted But having cleared his mind of it he
went serenely on his way It was a habit he developed of incubating and
maturing his thought upon a subject and of then rushing into the typewriter
with it That it did not see print was a matter of small moment with him The
writing of it was the culminating act of a long mental process the drawing
together of scattered threads of thought and the final generalizing upon all the
data with which his mind was burdened To write such an article was the
conscious effort by which he freed his mind and made it ready for fresh material
and problems It was in a way akin to that common habit of men and women
troubled by real or fancied grievances who periodically and volubly break their
longsuffering silence and have their say till the last word is said
Chapter XXIV
The weeks passed Martin ran out of money and publishers checks were far away
as ever All his important manuscripts had come back and been started out again
and his hackwork fared no better His little kitchen was no longer graced with
a variety of foods Caught in the pinch with a part sack of rice and a few
pounds of dried apricots rice and apricots was his menu three times a day for
five days handrunning Then he started to realize on his credit The Portuguese
grocer to whom he had hitherto paid cash called a halt when Martins bill
reached the magnificent total of three dollars and eightyfive cents
»For you see« said the grocer »you no catcha da work I losa da mon«
And Martin could reply nothing There was no way of explaining It was not
true business principle to allow credit to a strongbodied young fellow of the
workingclass who was too lazy to work
»You catcha da job I let you have mora da grub« the grocer assured Martin
»No job no grub Thata da business« And then to show that it was purely
business foresight and not prejudice »Hava da drink on da house good friends
justa da same«
So Martin drank in his easy way to show that he was good friends with the
house and then went supperless to bed
The fruit store where Martin had bought his vegetables was run by an
American whose business principles were so weak that he let Martin run a bill of
five dollars before stopping his credit The baker stopped at two dollars and
the butcher at four dollars Martin added his debts and found that he was
possessed of a total credit in all the world of fourteen dollars and eightyfive
cents He was up with his typewriter rent but he estimated that he could get
two months credit on that which would be eight dollars When that occurred he
would have exhausted all possible credit
The last purchase from the fruit store had been a sack of potatoes and for
a week he had potatoes and nothing but potatoes three times a day An
occasional dinner at Ruths helped to keep strength in his body though he found
it tantalizing enough to refuse further helping when his appetite was raging at
sight of so much food spread before it Now and again though afflicted with
secret shame he dropped in at his sisters at mealtime and ate as much as he
dared more than he dared at the Morse table
Day by day he worked on and day by day the postman delivered to him
rejected manuscripts He had no money for stamps so the manuscripts accumulated
in a heap under the table Came a day when for forty hours he had not tasted
food He could not hope for a meal at Ruths for she was away to San Rafael on
a two weeks visit and for very shames sake he could not go to his sisters
To cap misfortune the postman in his afternoon round brought him five
returned manuscripts Then it was that Martin wore his overcoat down into
Oakland and came back without it but with five dollars tinkling in his pocket
He paid a dollar each on account to the four tradesmen and in his kitchen fried
steak and onions made coffee and stewed a large pot of prunes And having
dined he sat down at his tabledesk and completed before midnight an essay
which he entitled »The Dignity of Usury« Having typed it out he flung it under
the table for there had been nothing left from the five dollars with which to
buy stamps
Later on he pawned his watch and still later his wheel reducing the amount
available for food by putting stamps on all his manuscripts and sending them
out He was disappointed with his hackwork Nobody cared to buy He compared it
with what he found in the newspapers weeklies and cheap magazines and decided
that his was better far better than the average yet it would not sell Then
he discovered that most of the newspapers printed a great deal of what was
called plate stuff and he got the address of the association that furnished it
His own work that he sent in was returned along with a stereotyped slip
informing him that the staff supplied all the copy that was needed
In one of the great juvenile periodicals he noted whole columns of incident
and anecdote Here was a chance His paragraphs were returned and though he
tried repeatedly he never succeeded in placing one Later on when it no longer
mattered he learned that the associate editors and subeditors augmented their
salaries by supplying those paragraphs themselves The comic weeklies returned
his jokes and humorous verse and the light society verse he wrote for the large
magazines found no abidingplace Then there was the newspaper storiette He
knew that he could write better ones than were published Managing to obtain the
addresses of two newspaper syndicates he deluged them with storiettes When he
had written twenty and failed to place one of them he ceased And yet from day
to day he read storiettes in the dailies and weeklies scores and scores of
storiettes not one of which would compare with his In his despondency he
concluded that he had no judgment whatever that he was hypnotized by what he
wrote and that he was a self-deluded pretender
The inhuman editorial machine ran smoothly as ever He folded the stamps in
with his manuscript dropped it into the letterbox and from three weeks to a
month afterward the postman came up the steps and handed him the manuscript
Surely there were no live warm editors at the other end It was all wheels and
cogs and oilcups a clever mechanism operated by automatons He reached stages
of despair wherein he doubted if editors existed at all He had never received a
sign of the existence of one and from absence of judgment in rejecting all he
wrote it seemed plausible that editors were myths manufactured and maintained
by office boys typesetters and pressmen
The hours he spent with Ruth were the only happy ones he had and they were
not all happy He was afflicted always with a gnawing restlessness more
tantalizing than in the old days before he possessed her love for now that he
did possess her love the possession of her was far away as ever He had asked
for two years time was flying and he was achieving nothing Again he was
always conscious of the fact that she did not approve what he was doing She did
not say so directly Yet indirectly she let him understand it as clearly and
definitely as she could have spoken it It was not resentment with her but
disapproval though less sweetnatured women might have resented where she was
no more than disappointed Her disappointment lay in that this man she had taken
to mould refused to be moulded To a certain extent she had found his clay
plastic then it had developed stubbornness declining to be shaped in the image
of her father or of Mr Butler
What was great and strong in him she missed or worse yet misunderstood
This man whose clay was so plastic that he could live in any number of
pigeonholes of human existence she thought wilful and most obstinate because
she could not shape him to live in her pigeonhole which was the only one she
knew She could not follow the flights of his mind and when his brain got
beyond her she deemed him erratic Nobody elses brain ever got beyond her She
could always follow her father and mother her brothers and Olney wherefore
when she could not follow Martin she believed the fault lay with him It was
the old tragedy of insularity trying to serve as mentor to the universal.
»You worship at the shrine of the established« he told her once in a
discussion they had over Praps and Vanderwater »I grant that as authorities to
quote they are most excellent the two foremost literary critics in the United
States Every school teacher in the land looks up to Vanderwater as the Dean of
American criticism Yet I read his stuff and it seems to me the perfection of
the felicitous expression of the inane Why he is no more than a ponderous
bromide thanks to Gelett Burgess And Praps is no better His Hemlock Mosses
for instance is beautifully written Not a comma is out of place and the tone
ah is lofty so lofty He is the bestpaid critic in the United States
Though Heaven forbid hes not a critic at all They do criticism better in
England
But the point is they sound the popular note and they sound it so
beautifully and morally and contentedly Their reviews remind me of a British
Sunday They are the popular mouthpieces They back up your professors of
English and your professors of English back them up And there isnt an
original idea in any of their skulls They know only the established in fact
they are the established They are weak minded and the established impresses
itself upon them as easily as the name of the brewery is impressed on a beer
bottle And their function is to catch all the young fellows attending the
university to drive out of their minds any glimmering originality that may
chance to be there and to put upon them the stamp of the established«
»I think I am nearer the truth« she replied »when I stand by the
established than you are raging around like an iconoclastic South Sea
Islander«
»It was the missionary who did the image breaking« he laughed »And
unfortunately all the missionaries are off among the heathen so there are none
left at home to break those old images Mr Vanderwater and Mr Praps«
»And the college professors as well« she added
He shook his head emphatically »No the science professors should live
Theyre really great But it would be a good deed to break the heads of
ninetenths of the English professors little microscopicminded parrots«
Which was rather severe on the professors but which to Ruth was blasphemy
She could not help but measure the professors neat scholarly in fitting
clothes speaking in wellmodulated voices breathing of culture and refinement
with this almost indescribable young fellow whom somehow she loved whose
clothes never would fit him whose heavy muscles told of damning toil who grew
excited when he talked substituting abuse for calm statement and passionate
utterance for cool selfpossession They at least earned good salaries and were
yes she compelled herself to face it were gentlemen while he could not
earn a penny and he was not as they
She did not weigh Martins words nor judge his argument by them Her
conclusion that his argument was wrong was reached unconsciously it is true
by a comparison of externals They the professors were right in their literary
judgments because they were successes Martins literary judgments were wrong
because he could not sell his wares To use his own phrase they made good and
he did not make good And besides it did not seem reasonable that he should be
right he who had stood so short a time before in that same living room
blushing and awkward acknowledging his introduction looking fearfully about
him at the bricabrac his swinging shoulders threatened to break asking how
long since Swinburne died and boastfully announcing that he had read
»Excelsior« and the »Psalm of Life«
Unwittingly Ruth herself proved his point that she worshipped the
established Martin followed the processes of her thoughts but forbore to go
farther He did not love her for what she thought of Praps and Vanderwater and
English professors and he was coming to realize with increasing conviction
that he possessed brainareas and stretches of knowledge which she could never
comprehend nor know existed
In music she thought him unreasonable and in the matter of opera not only
unreasonable but wilfully perverse
»How did you like it« she asked him one night on the way home from the
opera
It was a night when he had taken her at the expense of a months rigid
economizing on food After vainly waiting for him to speak about it herself
still tremulous and stirred by what she had just seen and heard she had asked
the question
»I liked the overture« was his answer »It was splendid«
»Yes but the opera itself«
»That was splendid too that is the orchestra was though Id have enjoyed
it more if those jumpingjacks had kept quiet or gone off the stage«
Ruth was aghast
»You dont mean Tetralani or Barillo« she queried
»All of them the whole kit and crew«
»But they are great artists« she protested
»They spoiled the music just the same with their antics and unrealities«
»But dont you like Barillos voice« Ruth asked »He is next to Caruso
they say«
»Of course I liked him and I liked Tetralani even better Her voice is
exquisite or at least I think so«
»But but « Ruth stammered »I dont know what you mean then You admire
their voices yet say they spoiled the music«
»Precisely that Id give anything to hear them in concert and Id give
even a bit more not to hear them when the orchestra is playing Im afraid I am
a hopeless realist Great singers are not great actors To hear Barillo sing a
love passage with the voice of an angel and to hear Tetralani reply like
another angel and to hear it all accompanied by a perfect orgy of glowing and
colorful music is ravishing most ravishing I do not admit it I assert it
But the whole effect is spoiled when I look at them at Tetralani five feet
ten in her stocking feet and weighing a hundred and ninety pounds and at
Barillo a scant five feet four greasyfeatured with the chest of a squat
undersized blacksmith and at the pair of them attitudinizing clasping their
breasts flinging their arms in the air like demented creatures in an asylum
and when I am expected to accept all this as the faithful illusion of a
lovescene between a slender and beautiful princess and a handsome romantic
young prince why I cant accept it thats all Its rot its absurd its
unreal Thats whats the matter with it Its not real Dont tell me that
anybody in this world ever made love that way Why if Id made love to you in
such fashion youd have boxed my ears«
»But you misunderstand« Ruth protested »Every form of art has its
limitations« She was busy recalling a lecture she had heard at the university
on the conventions of the arts »In painting there are only two dimensions to
the canvas yet you accept the illusion of three dimensions which the art of a
painter enables him to throw into the canvas In writing again the author must
be omnipotent You accept as perfectly legitimate the authors account of the
secret thoughts of the heroine and yet all the time you know that the heroine
was alone when thinking these thoughts and that neither the author nor any one
else was capable of hearing them And so with the stage with sculpture with
opera with every art form Certain irreconcilable things must be accepted«
»Yes I understood that« Martin answered »All the arts have their
conventions« Ruth was surprised at his use of the word It was as if he had
studied at the university himself instead of being illequipped from browsing
at haphazard through the books in the library »But even the conventions must
be real Trees painted on flat cardboard and stuck up on each side of the
stage we accept as a forest It is a real enough convention But on the other
hand we would not accept a sea scene as a forest We cant do it It violates
our senses. Nor would you or rather should you accept the ravings and
writhings and agonized contortions of those two lunatics tonight as a
convincing portrayal of love«
»But you dont hold yourself superior to all the judges of music« she
protested
»No no not for a moment I merely maintain my right as an individual I
have just been telling you what I think in order to explain why the elephantine
gambols of Madame Tetralani spoil the orchestra for me The worlds judges of
music may all be right But I am I and I wont subordinate my taste to the
unanimous judgment of mankind If I dont like a thing I dont like it thats
all and there is no reason under the sun why I should ape a liking for it just
because the majority of my fellowcreatures like it or make believe they like
it I cant follow the fashions in the things I like or dislike«
»But music you know is a matter of training« Ruth argued »and opera is
even more a matter of training May it not be «
»That I am not trained in opera« he dashed in
She nodded
»The very thing« he agreed »And I consider I am fortunate in not having
been caught when I was young If I had I could have wept sentimental tears
tonight and the clownish antics of that precious pair would have but enhanced
the beauty of their voices and the beauty of the accompanying orchestra You are
right Its mostly a matter of training And I am too old now I must have the
real or nothing An illusion that wont convince is a palpable lie and thats
what grand opera is to me when little Barillo throws a fit clutches mighty
Tetralani in his arms also in a fit and tells her how passionately he adores
her«
Again Ruth measured his thoughts by comparison of externals and in
accordance with her belief in the established Who was he that he should be
right and all the cultured world wrong His words and thoughts made no
impression upon her She was too firmly entrenched in the established to have
any sympathy with revolutionary ideas She had always been used to music and
she had enjoyed opera ever since she was a child and all her world had enjoyed
it too Then by what right did Martin Eden emerge as he had so recently
emerged from his ragtime and workingclass songs and pass judgment on the
worlds music She was vexed with him and as she walked beside him she had a
vague feeling of outrage At the best in her most charitable frame of mind she
considered the statement of his views to be a caprice an erratic and
uncalledfor prank But when he took her in his arms at the door and kissed her
good night in tender loverfashion she forgot everything in the outrush of her
own love to him And later on a sleepless pillow she puzzled as she had often
puzzled of late as to how it was that she loved so strange a man and loved him
despite the disapproval of her people
And next day Martin Eden cast hackwork aside and at white heat hammered
out an essay to which he gave the title »The Philosophy of Illusion« A stamp
started it on its travels but it was destined to receive many stamps and to be
started on many travels in the months that followed
Chapter XXV
Maria Silva was poor and all the ways of poverty were clear to her Poverty to
Ruth was a word signifying a notnice condition of existence That was her
total knowledge on the subject She knew Martin was poor and his condition she
associated in her mind with the boyhood of Abraham Lincoln of Mr Butler and
of other men who had become successes Also while aware that poverty was
anything but delectable she had a comfortable middleclass feeling that poverty
was salutary that it was a sharp spur that urged on to success all men who were
not degraded and hopeless drudges So that her knowledge that Martin was so poor
that he had pawned his watch and overcoat did not disturb her She even
considered it the hopeful side of the situation believing that sooner or later
it would arouse him and compel him to abandon his writing
Ruth never read hunger in Martins face which had grown lean and had
enlarged the slight hollows in the cheeks In fact she marked the change in his
face with satisfaction It seemed to refine him to remove from him much of the
dross of flesh and the too animallike vigor that lured her while she detested
it Sometimes when with her she noted an unusual brightness in his eyes and
she admired it for it made him appear more the poet and the scholar the
things he would have liked to be and which she would have liked him to be But
Maria Silva read a different tale in the hollow cheeks and the burning eyes and
she noted the changes in them from day to day by them following the ebb and
flow of his fortunes She saw him leave the house with his overcoat and return
without it though the day was chill and raw and promptly she saw his cheeks
fill out slightly and the fire of hunger leave his eyes In the same way she had
seen his wheel and watch go and after each event she had seen his vigor bloom
again
Likewise she watched his toils and knew the measure of the midnight oil he
burned Work She knew that he outdid her though his work was of a different
order And she was surprised to behold that the less food he had the harder he
worked On occasion in a casual sort of way when she thought hunger pinched
hardest she would send him in a loaf of new baking awkwardly covering the act
with banter to the effect that it was better than he could bake And again she
would send one of her toddlers in to him with a great pitcher of hot soup
debating inwardly the while whether she was justified in taking it from the
mouths of her own flesh and blood Nor was Martin ungrateful knowing as he did
the lives of the poor and that if ever in the world there was charity this was
it
On a day when she had filled her brood with what was left in the house
Maria invested her last fifteen cents in a gallon of cheap wine Martin coming
into her kitchen to fetch water was invited to sit down and drink He drank her
very good health and in return she drank his Then she drank to prosperity in
his undertakings and he drank to the hope that James Grant would show up and
pay her for his washing James Grant was a journeyman carpenter who did not
always pay his bills and who owed Maria three dollars
Both Maria and Martin drank the sour new wine on empty stomachs and it went
swiftly to their heads Utterly differentiated creatures that they were they
were lonely in their misery and though the misery was tacitly ignored it was
the bond that drew them together Maria was amazed to learn that he had been in
the Azores where she had lived until she was eleven She was doubly amazed that
he had been in the Hawaiian Islands whither she had migrated from the Azores
with her people But her amazement passed all bounds when he told her he had
been on Maui the particular island whereon she had attained womanhood and
married Kahului where she had first met her husband he Martin had been
there twice Yes she remembered the sugar steamers and he had been on them
well well it was a small world And Wailuku That place too Did he know the
headluna of the plantation Yes and had had a couple of drinks with him
And so they reminiscenced and drowned their hunger in the raw sour wine To
Martin the future did not seem so dim Success trembled just before him He was
on the verge of clasping it Then he studied the deeplined face of the
toilworn woman before him remembered her soups and loaves of new baking and
felt spring up in him the warmest gratitude and philanthropy
»Maria« he exclaimed suddenly »What would you like to have«
She looked at him bepuzzled
»What would you like to have now right now if you could get it«
»Shoe alla da roun for da childs seven pairs da shoe«
»You shall have them« he announced while she nodded her head gravely »But
I mean a big wish something big that you want«
Her eyes sparkled goodnaturedly He was choosing to make fun with her
Maria with whom few made fun these days
»Think hard« he cautioned just as she was opening her mouth to speak
»Alla right« she answered »I thinka da hard I lika da house dis house
all mine no paya da rent seven dollar da month«
»You shall have it« he granted »and in a short time Now wish the great
wish Make believe I am God and I say to you anything you want you can have
Then you wish that thing and I listen«
Maria considered solemnly for a space
»You no fraid« she asked warningly
»No no« he laughed »Im not afraid Go ahead«
»Most verra big« she warned again
»All right Fire away«
»Well den « She drew a big breath like a child as she voiced to the
uttermost all she cared to demand of life »I lika da have one milka ranch
good milka ranch Plenty cow plenty land plenty grass I lika da have near San
Lean my sister liva dere I sella da milk in Oakland I maka da plentee mon
Joe an Nick no runna da cow Dey goa to school Bimeby maka da good engineer
worka da railroad Yes I lika da milka ranch«
She paused and regarded Martin with twinkling eyes
»You shall have it« he answered promptly
She nodded her head and touched her lips courteously to the wineglass and
to the giver of the gift she knew would never be given His heart was right and
in her own heart she appreciated his intention as much as if the gift had gone
with it
»No Maria« he went on »Nick and Joe wont have to peddle milk and all
the kids can go to school and wear shoes the whole year round It will be a
firstclass milk ranch everything complete There will be a house to live in
and a stable for the horses and cowbarns of course There will be chickens
pigs vegetables fruit trees and everything like that and there will be
enough cows to pay for a hired man or two Then you wont have anything to do
but take care of the children For that matter if you find a good man you can
marry and take it easy while he runs the ranch«
And from such largess dispensed from his future Martin turned and took his
one good suit of clothes to the pawnshop His plight was desperate for him to
do this for it cut him off from Ruth He had no secondbest suit that was
presentable and though he could go to the butcher and the baker and even on
occasion to his sisters it was beyond all daring to dream of entering the
Morse home so disreputably apparelled
He toiled on miserable and wellnigh hopeless It began to appear to him
that the second battle was lost and that he would have to go to work In doing
this he would satisfy everybody the grocer his sister Ruth and even Maria
to whom he owed a months room rent He was two months behind with his
typewriter and the agency was clamoring for payment or for the return of the
machine In desperation all but ready to surrender to make a truce with fate
until he could get a fresh start he took the civil service examinations for the
Railway Mail To his surprise he passed first The job was assured though when
the call would come to enter upon his duties nobody knew
It was at this time at the lowest ebb that the smoothrunning editorial
machine broke down A cog must have slipped or an oilcup run dry for the
postman brought him one morning a short thin envelope Martin glanced at the
upper lefthand corner and read the name and address of the Transcontinental
Monthly His heart gave a great leap and he suddenly felt faint the sinking
feeling accompanied by a strange trembling of the knees He staggered into his
room and sat down on the bed the envelope still unopened and in that moment
came understanding to him how people suddenly fall dead upon receipt of
extraordinarily good news
Of course this was good news There was no manuscript in that thin envelope
therefore it was an acceptance He knew the story in the hands of the
Transcontinental It was »The Ring of Bells« one of his horror stories and it
was an even five thousand words And since firstclass magazines always paid on
acceptance there was a check inside Two cents a word twenty dollars a
thousand the check must be a hundred dollars One hundred dollars As he tore
the envelope open every item of all his debts surged in his brain 385 to
the grocer butcher 400 flat baker 200 fruit store 500 total
1485 Then there was room rent 250 another month in advance 250 two
months typewriter 800 a month in advance 400 total 3185 And
finally to be added his pledges plus interest with the pawnbroker watch
550 overcoat 550 wheel 775 suit of clothes 550 60 interest but
what did it matter grand total 5610 He saw as if visible in the air
before him in illuminated figures the whole sum and the subtraction that
followed and that gave a remainder of 4390 When he had squared every debt
redeemed every pledge he would still have jingling in his pockets a princely
4390 And on top of that he would have a months rent paid in advance on the
typewriter and on the room
By this time he had drawn the single sheet of typewritten letter out and
spread it open There was no check He peered into the envelope held it to the
light but could not trust his eyes and in trembling haste tore the envelope
apart There was no check He read the letter skimming it line by line dashing
through the editors praise of his story to the meat of the letter the
statement why the check had not been sent He found no such statement but he
did find that which made him suddenly wilt The letter slid from his hand His
eyes went lacklustre and he lay back on the pillow pulling the blanket about
him and up to his chin
Five dollars for »The Ring of Bells« five dollars for five thousand words
Instead of two cents a word ten words for a cent And the editor had praised
it too And he would receive the check when the story was published Then it
was all poppycock two cents a word for minimum rate and payment upon
acceptance It was a lie and it had led him astray He would never have
attempted to write had he known that He would have gone to work to work for
Ruth He went back to the day he first attempted to write and was appalled at
the enormous waste of time and all for ten words for a cent And the other
high rewards of writers that he had read about must be lies too His
secondhand ideas of authorship were wrong for here was the proof of it
The Transcontinental sold for twentyfive cents and its dignified and
artistic cover proclaimed it as among the firstclass magazines It was a staid
respectable magazine and it had been published continuously since long before
he was born Why on the outside cover were printed every month the words of one
of the worlds great writers words proclaiming the inspired mission of the
Transcontinental by a star of literature whose first coruscations had appeared
inside those selfsame covers And the high and lofty heaveninspired
Transcontinental paid five dollars for five thousand words The great writer had
recently died in a foreign land in dire poverty Martin remembered which was
not to be wondered at considering the magnificent pay authors receive
Well he had taken the bait the newspaper lies about writers and their pay
and he had wasted two years over it But he would disgorge the bait now Not
another line would he ever write He would do what Ruth wanted him to do what
everybody wanted him to do get a job The thought of going to work reminded
him of Joe Joe tramping through the land of nothingtodo Martin heaved a
great sigh of envy The reaction of nineteen hours a day for many days was
strong upon him But then Joe was not in love had none of the responsibilities
of love and he could afford to loaf through the land of nothingtodo He
Martin had something to work for and go to work he would He would start out
early next morning to hunt a job And he would let Ruth know too that he had
mended his ways and was willing to go into her fathers office
Five dollars for five thousand words ten words for a cent the market price
for art The disappointment of it the lie of it the infamy of it were
uppermost in his thoughts and under his closed eyelids in fiery figures
burned the 385 he owed the grocer He shivered and was aware of an aching in
his bones The small of his back ached especially His head ached the top of it
ached the back of it ached the brains inside of it ached and seemed to be
swelling while the ache over his brows was intolerable And beneath the brows
planted under his lids was the merciless 385 He opened his eyes to escape
it but the white light of the room seemed to sear the balls and forced him to
close his eyes when the 385 confronted him again
Five dollars for five thousand words ten words for a cent that particular
thought took up its residence in his brain and he could no more escape it than
he could the 385 under his eyelids A change seemed to come over the latter
and he watched curiously till 200 burned in its stead Ah he thought that
was the baker The next sum that appeared was 250 It puzzled him and he
pondered it as if life and death hung on the solution He owed somebody two
dollars and a half that was certain but who was it To find it was the task
set him by an imperious and malignant universe and he wandered through the
endless corridors of his mind opening all manner of lumber rooms and chambers
stored with odds and ends of memories and knowledge as he vainly sought the
answer After several centuries it came to him easily without effort that it
was Maria With a great relief he turned his soul to the screen of torment under
his lids He had solved the problem now he could rest But no the 250 faded
away and in its place burned 800 Who was that He must go the dreary round
of his mind again and find out
How long he was gone on this quest he did not know but after what seemed an
enormous lapse of time he was called back to himself by a knock at the door
and by Marias asking if he was sick He replied in a muffled voice he did not
recognize saying that he was merely taking a nap He was surprised when he
noted the darkness of night in the room He had received the letter at two in
the afternoon and he realized that he was sick
Then the 800 began to smoulder under his lids again and he returned
himself to servitude But he grew cunning There was no need for him to wander
through his mind He had been a fool He pulled a lever and made his mind
revolve about him a monstrous wheel of fortune a merrygoround of memory a
revolving sphere of wisdom Faster and faster it revolved until its vortex
sucked him in and he was flung whirling through black chaos
Quite naturally he found himself at a mangle feeding starched cuffs But as
he fed he noticed figures printed on the cuffs It was a new way of marking
linen he thought until looking closer he saw 385 on one of the cuffs Then
it came to him that it was the grocers bill and that these were his bills
flying around on the drum of the mangle A crafty idea came to him He would
throw the bills on the floor and so escape paying them No sooner thought than
done and he crumpled the cuffs spitefully as he flung them upon an unusually
dirty floor Ever the heap grew and though each bill was duplicated a thousand
times he found only one for two dollars and a half which was what he owed
Maria That meant that Maria would not press for payment and he resolved
generously that it would be the only one he would pay so he began searching
through the castout heap for hers He sought it desperately for ages and was
still searching when the manager of the hotel entered the fat Dutchman His
face blazed with wrath and he shouted in stentorian tones that echoed down the
universe »I shall deduct the cost of those cuffs from your wages« The pile of
cuffs grew into a mountain and Martin knew that he was doomed to toil for a
thousand years to pay for them Well there was nothing left to do but kill the
manager and burn down the laundry But the big Dutchman frustrated him seizing
him by the nape of the neck and dancing him up and down He danced him over the
ironing tables the stove and the mangles and out into the washroom and over
the wringer and washer Martin was danced until his teeth rattled and his head
ached and he marvelled that the Dutchman was so strong
And then he found himself before the mangle this time receiving the cuffs
an editor of a magazine was feeding from the other side Each cuff was a check
and Martin went over them anxiously in a fever of expectation but they were
all blanks He stood there and received the blanks for a million years or so
never letting one go by for fear it might be filled out At last he found it
With trembling fingers he held it to the light It was for five dollars »Ha
Ha« laughed the editor across the mangle »Well then I shall kill you«
Martin said He went out into the washroom to get the axe and found Joe
starching manuscripts He tried to make him desist then swung the axe for him
But the weapon remained poised in midair for Martin found himself back in the
ironing room in the midst of a snowstorm No it was not snow that was falling
but checks of large denomination the smallest not less than a thousand dollars
He began to collect them and sort them out in packages of a hundred tying each
package securely with twine
He looked up from his task and saw Joe standing before him juggling
flatirons starched shirts and manuscripts Now and again he reached out and
added a bundle of checks to the flying miscellany that soared through the roof
and out of sight in a tremendous circle Martin struck at him but he seized the
axe and added it to the flying circle Then he plucked Martin and added him
Martin went up through the roof clutching at manuscripts so that by the time
he came down he had a large armful But no sooner down than up again and a
second and a third time and countless times he flew around the circle From far
off he could hear a childish treble singing »Waltz me around again Willie
around around around«
He recovered the axe in the midst of the Milky Way of checks starched
shirts and manuscripts and prepared when he came down to kill Joe But he
did not come down Instead at two in the morning Maria having heard his
groans through the thin partition came into his room to put hot flatirons
against his body and damp cloths upon his aching eyes
Chapter XXVI
Martin Eden did not go out to hunt for a job in the morning It was late
afternoon before he came out of his delirium and gazed with aching eyes about
the room Mary one of the tribe of Silva eight years old keeping watch
raised a screech at sight of his returning consciousness Maria hurried into the
room from the kitchen She put her workcalloused hand upon his hot forehead and
felt his pulse
»You lika da eat« she asked
He shook his head Eating was farthest from his desire and he wondered that
he should ever have been hungry in his life
»Im sick Maria« he said weakly »What is it Do you know«
»Grip« she answered »Two or three days you alla da right Better you no
eat now Bimeby plenty can eat tomorrow can eat maybe«
Martin was not used to sickness and when Maria and her little girl left
him he essayed to get up and dress By a supreme exertion of will with reeling
brain and eyes that ached so that he could not keep them open he managed to get
out of bed only to be left stranded by his senses upon the table Half an hour
later he managed to regain the bed where he was content to lie with closed eyes
and analyze his various pains and weaknesses Maria came in several times to
change the cold cloths on his forehead Otherwise she left him in peace too
wise to vex him with chatter This moved him to gratitude and he murmured to
himself »Maria you getta da milka ranch all righta all right«
Then he remembered his longburied past of yesterday It seemed a lifetime
since he had received that letter from the Transcontinental a lifetime since
it was all over and done with and a new page turned He had shot his bolt and
shot it hard and now he was down on his back If he hadnt starved himself he
wouldnt have been caught by La Grippe He had been run down and he had not had
the strength to throw off the germ of disease which had invaded his system This
was what resulted
»What does it profit a man to write a whole library and lose his own life«
he demanded aloud »This is no place for me No more literature in mine Me for
the countinghouse and ledger the monthly salary and the little home with
Ruth«
Two days later having eaten an egg and two slices of toast and drunk a cup
of tea he asked for his mail but found his eyes still hurt too much to permit
him to read
»You read for me Maria« he said »Never mind the big long letters Throw
them under the table Read me the small letters«
»No can« was the answer »Teresa she go to school she can«
So Teresa Silva aged nine opened his letters and read them to him He
listened absently to a long dun from the typewriter people his mind busy with
ways and means of finding a job Suddenly he was shocked back to himself
»We offer you forty dollars for all serial rights in your story« Teresa
slowly spelled out »provided you allow us to make the alterations suggested«
»What magazine is that« Martin shouted »Here give it to me«
He could see to read now and he was unaware of the pain of the action It
was the White Mouse that was offering him forty dollars and the story was »The
Whirlpool« another of his early horror stories He read the letter through
again and again The editor told him plainly that he had not handled the idea
properly but that it was the idea they were buying because it was original If
they could cut the story down onethird they would take it and send him forty
dollars on receipt of his answer
He called for pen and ink and told the editor he could cut the story down
threethirds if he wanted to and to send the forty dollars right along
The letter despatched to the letterbox by Teresa Martin lay back and
thought It wasnt a lie after all The White Mouse paid on acceptance There
were three thousand words in »The Whirlpool« Cut down a third there would be
two thousand At forty dollars that would be two cents a word Pay on acceptance
and two cents a word the newspapers had told the truth And he had thought the
White Mouse a thirdrater It was evident that he did not know the magazines He
had deemed the Transcontinental a firstrater and it paid a cent for ten words
He had classed the White Mouse as of no account and it paid twenty times as
much as the Transcontinental and also had paid on acceptance
Well there was one thing certain when he got well he would not go out
looking for a job There were more stories in his head as good as »The
Whirlpool« and at forty dollars apiece he could earn far more than in any job
or position Just when he thought the battle lost it was won He had proved for
his career The way was clear Beginning with the White Mouse he would add
magazine after magazine to his growing list of patrons Hackwork could be put
aside For that matter it had been wasted time for it had not brought him a
dollar He would devote himself to work good work and he would pour out the
best that was in him He wished Ruth was there to share in his joy and when he
went over the letters left lying on his bed he found one from her It was
sweetly reproachful wondering what had kept him away for so dreadful a length
of time He reread the letter adoringly dwelling over her handwriting loving
each stroke of her pen and in the end kissing her signature
And when he answered he told her recklessly that he had not been to see her
because his best clothes were in pawn He told her that he had been sick but
was once more nearly well and that inside ten days or two weeks as soon as a
letter could travel to New York City and return he would redeem his clothes and
be with her
But Ruth did not care to wait ten days or two weeks Besides her lover was
sick The next afternoon accompanied by Arthur she arrived in the Morse
carriage to the unqualified delight of the Silva tribe and of all the urchins
on the street and to the consternation of Maria She boxed the ears of the
Silvas who crowded about the visitors on the tiny front porch and in more than
usual atrocious English tried to apologize for her appearance Sleeves rolled up
from soapflecked arms and a wet gunnysack around her waist told of the task at
which she had been caught So flustered was she by two such grand young people
asking for her lodger that she forgot to invite them to sit down in the little
parlor To enter Martins room they passed through the kitchen warm and moist
and steamy from the big washing in progress Maria in her excitement jammed
the bedroom and bedroomcloset doors together and for five minutes through the
partly open door clouds of steam smelling of soapsuds and dirt poured into
the sick chamber
Ruth succeeded in veering right and left and right again and in running the
narrow passage between table and bed to Martins side but Arthur veered too
wide and fetched up with clatter and bang of pots and pans in the corner where
Martin did his cooking Arthur did not linger long Ruth occupied the only
chair and having done his duty he went outside and stood by the gate the
centre of seven marvelling Silvas who watched him as they would have watched a
curiosity in a sideshow All about the carriage were gathered the children from
a dozen blocks waiting and eager for some tragic and terrible dénouement
Carriages were seen on their street only for weddings and funerals Here was
neither marriage nor death therefore it was something transcending experience
and well worth waiting for
Martin had been wild to see Ruth His was essentially a lovenature and he
possessed more than the average mans need for sympathy He was starving for
sympathy which with him meant intelligent understanding and he had yet to
learn that Ruths sympathy was largely sentimental and tactful and that it
proceeded from gentleness of nature rather than from understanding of the
objects of her sympathy So it was while Martin held her hand and gladly talked
that her love for him prompted her to press his hand in return and that her
eyes were moist and luminous at sight of his helplessness and of the marks
suffering had stamped upon his face
But while he told her of his two acceptances of his despair when he
received the one from the Transcontinental and of the corresponding delight
with which he received the one from the White Mouse she did not follow him She
heard the words he uttered and understood their literal import but she was not
with him in his despair and his delight She could not get out of herself She
was not interested in selling stories to magazines What was important to her
was matrimony She was not aware of it however any more than she was aware
that her desire that Martin take a position was the instinctive and preparative
impulse of motherhood She would have blushed had she been told as much in
plain set terms and next she might have grown indignant and asserted that her
sole interest lay in the man she loved and her desire for him to make the best
of himself So while Martin poured out his heart to her elated with the first
success his chosen work in the world had received she paid heed to his bare
words only gazing now and again about the room shocked by what she saw
For the first time Ruth gazed upon the sordid face of poverty Starving
lovers had always seemed romantic to her but she had had no idea how starving
lovers lived She had never dreamed it could be like this Ever her gaze shifted
from the room to him and back again The steamy smell of dirty clothes which
had entered with her from the kitchen was sickening Martin must be soaked with
it Ruth concluded if that awful woman washed frequently Such was the
contagiousness of degradation When she looked at Martin she seemed to see the
smirch left upon him by his surroundings She had never seen him unshaven and
the three days growth of beard on his face was repulsive to her Not alone did
it give him the same dark and murky aspect of the Silva house inside and out
but it seemed to emphasize that animallike strength of his which she detested
And here he was being confirmed in his madness by the two acceptances he took
such pride in telling her about A little longer and he would have surrendered
and gone to work Now he would continue on in this horrible house writing and
starving for a few more months
»What is that smell« she asked suddenly
»Some of Marias washing smells I imagine« was the answer »I am growing
quite accustomed to them«
»No no not that It is something else A stale sickish smell«
Martin sampled the air before replying
»I cant smell anything else except stale tobacco smoke« he announced
»Thats it It is terrible Why do you smoke so much Martin«
»I dont know except that I smoke more than usual when I am lonely And
then too its such a longstanding habit I learned when I was only a
youngster«
»It is not a nice habit you know« she reproved »It smells to heaven«
»Thats the fault of the tobacco I can afford only the cheapest But wait
until I get that fortydollar check Ill use a brand that is not offensive even
to the angels But that wasnt so bad was it two acceptances in three days
That fortyfive dollars will pay about all my debts«
»For two years work« she queried
»No for less than a weeks work Please pass me that book over on the far
corner of the table the account book with the gray cover« He opened it and
began turning over the pages rapidly »Yes I was right Four days for The Ring
of Bells two days for The Whirlpool Thats fortyfive dollars for a weeks
work one hundred and eighty dollars a month That beats any salary I can
command And besides Im just beginning A thousand dollars a month is not too
much to buy for you all I want you to have A salary of five hundred a month
would be too small That fortyfive dollars is just a starter Wait till I get
my stride Then watch my smoke«
Ruth misunderstood his slang and reverted to cigarettes
»You smoke more than enough as it is and the brand of tobacco will make no
difference It is the smoking itself that is not nice no matter what the brand
may be You are a chimney a living volcano a perambulating smokestack and
you are a perfect disgrace Martin dear you know you are«
She leaned toward him entreaty in her eyes and as he looked at her
delicate face and into her pure limpid eyes as of old he was struck with his
own unworthiness
»I wish you wouldnt smoke any more« she whispered »Please for my
sake«
»All right I wont« he cried »Ill do anything you ask dear love
anything you know that«
A great temptation assailed her In an insistent way she had caught glimpses
of the large easygoing side of his nature and she felt sure if she asked him
to cease attempting to write that he would grant her wish In the swift instant
that elapsed the words trembled on her lips But she did not utter them She
was not quite brave enough she did not quite dare Instead she leaned toward
him to meet him and in his arms murmured
»You know it is really not for my sake Martin but for your own I am sure
smoking hurts you and besides it is not good to be a slave to anything to a
drug least of all«
»I shall always be your slave« he smiled
»In which case I shall begin issuing my commands«
She looked at him mischievously though deep down she was already regretting
that she had not preferred her largest request
»I live but to obey your majesty«
»Well then my first commandment is Thou shalt not omit to shave every
day Look how you have scratched my cheek«
And so it ended in caresses and lovelaughter But she had made one point
and she could not expect to make more than one at a time She felt a womans
pride in that she had made him stop smoking Another time she would persuade him
to take a position for had he not said he would do anything she asked
She left his side to explore the room examining the clotheslines of notes
overhead learning the mystery of the tackle used for suspending his wheel under
the ceiling and being saddened by the heap of manuscripts under the table which
represented to her just so much wasted time The oilstove won her admiration
but on investigating the food shelves she found them empty
»Why you havent anything to eat you poor dear« she said with tender
compassion »You must be starving«
»I store my food in Marias safe and in her pantry« he lied »It keeps
better there No danger of my starving Look at that«
She had come back to his side and she saw him double his arm at the elbow
the biceps crawling under his shirtsleeve and swelling into a knot of muscle
heavy and hard The sight repelled her Sentimentally she disliked it But her
pulse her blood every fibre of her loved it and yearned for it and in the
old inexplicable way she leaned toward him not away from him And in the
moment that followed when he crushed her in his arms the brain of her
concerned with the superficial aspects of life was in revolt while the heart
of her the woman of her concerned with life itself exulted triumphantly It
was in moments like this that she felt to the uttermost the greatness of her
love for Martin for it was almost a swoon of delight to her to feel his strong
arms about her holding her tightly hurting her with the grip of their fervor
At such moments she found justification for her treason to her standards for
her violation of her own high ideals and most of all for her tacit
disobedience to her mother and father They did not want her to marry this man
It shocked them that she should love him It shocked her too sometimes when
she was apart from him a cool and reasoning creature With him she loved him
in truth at times a vexed and worried love but love it was a love that was
stronger than she
»This La Grippe is nothing« he was saying »It hurts a bit and gives one a
nasty headache but it doesnt compare with breakbone fever«
»Have you had that too« she queried absently intent on the heavensent
justification she was finding in his arms
And so with absent queries she led him on till suddenly his words
startled her
He had had the fever in a secret colony of thirty lepers on one of the
Hawaiian Islands
»But why did you go there« she demanded
Such royal carelessness of body seemed criminal
»Because I didnt know« he answered »I never dreamed of lepers When I
deserted the schooner and landed on the beach I headed inland for some place of
hiding For three days I lived off guavas ohiaapples and bananas all of
which grew wild in the jungle On the fourth day I found the trail a mere
foottrail It led inland and it led up It was the way I wanted to go and it
showed signs of recent travel At one place it ran along the crest of a ridge
that was no more than a knifeedge The trail wasnt three feet wide on the
crest and on either side the ridge fell away in precipices hundreds of feet
deep One man with plenty of ammunition could have held it against a hundred
thousand
It was the only way in to the hidingplace Three hours after I found the
trail I was there in a little mountain valley a pocket in the midst of lava
peaks The whole place was terraced for taropatches fruit trees grew there
and there were eight or ten grass huts But as soon as I saw the inhabitants I
knew what Id struck One sight of them was enough«
»What did you do« Ruth demanded breathlessly listening like any
Desdemona appalled and fascinated
»Nothing for me to do Their leader was a kind old fellow pretty far gone
but he ruled like a king He had discovered the little valley and founded the
settlement all of which was against the law But he had guns plenty of
ammunition and those Kanakas trained to the shooting of wild cattle and wild
pig were dead shots No there wasnt any running away for Martin Eden He
stayed for three months«
»But how did you escape«
»Id have been there yet if it hadnt been for a girl there a
halfChinese quarterwhite and quarterHawaiian She was a beauty poor thing
and well educated Her mother in Honolulu was worth a million or so Well
this girl got me away at last Her mother financed the settlement you see so
the girl wasnt afraid of being punished for letting me go But she made me
swear first never to reveal the hidingplace and I never have This is the
first time I have even mentioned it The girl had just the first signs of
leprosy The fingers of her right hand were slightly twisted and there was a
small spot on her arm That was all I guess she is dead now«
»But werent you frightened And werent you glad to get away without
catching that dreadful disease«
»Well« he confessed »I was a bit shivery at first but I got used to it I
used to feel sorry for that poor girl though That made me forget to be afraid
She was such a beauty in spirit as well as in appearance and she was only
slightly touched yet she was doomed to lie there living the life of a
primitive savage and rotting slowly away Leprosy is far more terrible than you
can imagine it«
»Poor thing« Ruth murmured softly »Its a wonder she let you get away«
»How do you mean« Martin asked unwittingly
»Because she must have loved you« Ruth said still softly »Candidly now
didnt she«
Martins sunburn had been bleached by his work in the laundry and by the
indoor life he was living while the hunger and the sickness had made his face
even pale and across this pallor flowed the slow wave of a blush He was
opening his mouth to speak but Ruth shut him off
»Never mind dont answer its not necessary« she laughed
But it seemed to him there was something metallic in her laughter and that
the light in her eyes was cold On the spur of the moment it reminded him of a
gale he had once experienced in the North Pacific And for the moment the
apparition of the gale rose before his eyes a gale at night with a clear sky
and under a full moon the huge seas glinting coldly in the moonlight Next he
saw the girl in the leper refuge and remembered it was for love of him that she
had let him go
»She was noble« he said simply »She gave me life«
That was all of the incident but he heard Ruth muffle a dry sob in her
throat and noticed that she turned her face away to gaze out of the window
When she turned it back to him it was composed and there was no hint of the
gale in her eyes
»Im such a silly« she said plaintively »But I cant help it I do so love
you Martin I do I do I shall grow more catholic in time but at present I
cant help being jealous of those ghosts of the past and you know your past is
full of ghosts
It must be« she silenced his protest »It could not be otherwise And
theres poor Arthur motioning me to come Hes tired waiting And now goodby
dear
Theres some kind of a mixture put up by the druggists that helps men to
stop the use of tobacco« she called back from the door »and I am going to send
you some«
The door closed but opened again
»I do I do« she whispered to him and this time she was really gone
Maria with worshipful eyes that none the less were keen to note the texture
of Ruths garments and the cut of them a cut unknown that produced an effect
mysteriously beautiful saw her to the carriage The crowd of disappointed
urchins stared till the carriage disappeared from view then transferred their
stare to Maria who had abruptly become the most important person on the street
But it was one of her progeny who blasted Marias reputation by announcing that
the grand visitors had been for her lodger After that Maria dropped back into
her old obscurity and Martin began to notice the respectful manner in which he
was regarded by the small fry of the neighborhood As for Maria Martin rose in
her estimation a full hundred per cent and had the Portuguese grocer witnessed
that afternoon carriagecall he would have allowed Martin an additional
threedollarsandeightyfivecents worth of credit
Chapter XXVII
The sun of Martins good fortune rose The day after Ruths visit he received a
check for three dollars from a New York scandal weekly in payment for three of
his triolets Two days later a newspaper published in Chicago accepted his
»Treasure Hunters« promising to pay ten dollars for it on publication The
price was small but it was the first article he had written his very first
attempt to express his thought on the printed page To cap everything the
adventure serial for boys his second attempt was accepted before the end of
the week by a juvenile monthly calling itself Youth and Age It was true the
serial was twentyone thousand words and they offered to pay him sixteen
dollars on publication which was something like seventyfive cents a thousand
words but it was equally true that it was the second thing he had attempted to
write and that he was himself thoroughly aware of its clumsy worthlessness
But even his earliest efforts were not marked with the clumsiness of
mediocrity What characterized them was the clumsiness of too great strength
the clumsiness which the tyro betrays when he crushes butterflies with battering
rams and hammers out vignettes with a warclub So it was that Martin was glad
to sell his early efforts for songs He knew them for what they were and it had
not taken him long to acquire this knowledge What he pinned his faith to was
his later work He had striven to be something more than a mere writer of
magazine fiction He had sought to equip himself with the tools of artistry On
the other hand he had not sacrificed strength His conscious aim had been to
increase his strength by avoiding excess of strength Nor had he departed from
his love of reality His work was realism though he had endeavored to fuse with
it the fancies and beauties of imagination What he sought was an impassioned
realism shot through with human aspiration and faith What he wanted was life
as it was with all its spiritgroping and soulreaching left in
He had discovered in the course of his reading two schools of fiction One
treated of man as a god ignoring his earthly origin the other treated of man
as a clod ignoring his heavensent dreams and divine possibilities Both the
god and the clod schools erred in Martins estimation and erred through too
great singleness of sight and purpose There was a compromise that approximated
the truth though it flattered not the school of god while it challenged the
brutesavageness of the school of clod It was his story »Adventure« which had
dragged with Ruth that Martin believed had achieved his ideal of the true in
fiction and it was in an essay »God and Clod« that he had expressed his views
on the whole general subject
But »Adventure« and all that he deemed his best work still went begging
among the editors His early work counted for nothing in his eyes except for the
money it brought and his horror stories two of which he had sold he did not
consider high work nor his best work To him they were frankly imaginative and
fantastic though invested with all the glamour of the real wherein lay their
power This investiture of the grotesque and impossible with reality he looked
upon as a trick a skilful trick at best Great literature could not reside in
such a field Their artistry was high but he denied the worthwhileness of
artistry when divorced from humanness The trick had been to fling over the face
of his artistry a mask of humanness and this he had done in the halfdozen or
so stories of the horror brand he had written before he emerged upon the high
peaks of »Adventure« »Joy« »The Pot« and »The Wine of Life«
The three dollars he received for the triolets he used to eke out a
precarious existence against the arrival of the White Mouse check He cashed the
first check with the suspicious Portuguese grocer paying a dollar on account
and dividing the remaining two dollars between the baker and the fruit store
Martin was not yet rich enough to afford meat and he was on slim allowance when
the White Mouse check arrived He was divided on the cashing of it He had never
been in a bank in his life much less been in one on business and he had a
naïve and childlike desire to walk into one of the big banks down in Oakland and
fling down his indorsed check for forty dollars On the other hand practical
common sense ruled that he should cash it with his grocer and thereby make an
impression that would later result in an increase of credit Reluctantly Martin
yielded to the claims of the grocer paying his bill with him in full and
receiving in change a pocketful of jingling coin Also he paid the other
tradesmen in full redeemed his suit and his bicycle paid one months rent on
the typewriter and paid Maria the overdue month for his room and a month in
advance This left him in his pocket for emergencies a balance of nearly three
dollars
In itself, this small sum seemed a fortune Immediately on recovering his
clothes he had gone to see Ruth and on the way he could not refrain from
jingling the little handful of silver in his pocket He had been so long without
money that like a rescued starving man who cannot let the unconsumed food out
of his sight Martin could not keep his hand off the silver He was not mean
nor avaricious but the money meant more than so many dollars and cents It
stood for success and the eagles stamped upon the coins were to him so many
winged victories
It came to him insensibly that it was a very good world It certainly
appeared more beautiful to him For weeks it had been a very dull and sombre
world but now with nearly all debts paid three dollars jingling in his
pocket and in his mind the consciousness of success the sun shone bright and
warm and even a rainsquall that soaked unprepared pedestrians seemed a merry
happening to him When he starved his thoughts had dwelt often upon the
thousands he knew were starving the world over but now that he was feasted
full the fact of the thousands starving was no longer pregnant in his brain He
forgot about them and being in love remembered the countless lovers in the
world Without deliberately thinking about it motifs for lovelyrics began to
agitate his brain Swept away by the creative impulse he got off the electric
car without vexation two blocks beyond his crossing
He found a number of persons in the Morse home Ruths two girlcousins were
visiting her from San Rafael and Mrs Morse under pretext of entertaining
them was pursuing her plan of surrounding Ruth with young people The campaign
had begun during Martins enforced absence and was already in full swing She
was making a point of having at the house men who were doing things Thus in
addition to the cousins Dorothy and Florence Martin encountered two university
professors one of Latin the other of English a young army officer just back
from the Philippines onetime schoolmate of Ruths a young fellow named
Melville private secretary to Joseph Perkins head of the San Francisco Trust
Company and finally of the men a live bank cashier Charles Hapgood a
youngish man of thirtyfive graduate of Stanford University member of the Nile
Club and the Unity Club and a conservative speaker for the Republican Party
during campaigns in short a rising young man in every way Among the women
was one who painted portraits another who was a professional musician and
still another who possessed the degree of Doctor of Sociology and who was
locally famous for her social settlement work in the slums of San Francisco But
the women did not count for much in Mrs Morses plan At the best they were
necessary accessories The men who did things must be drawn to the house
somehow
»Dont get excited when you talk« Ruth admonished Martin before the ordeal
of introduction began
He bore himself a bit stiffly at first oppressed by a sense of his own
awkwardness especially of his shoulders which were up to their old trick of
threatening destruction to furniture and ornaments Also he was rendered
selfconscious by the company He had never before been in contact with such
exalted beings nor with so many of them Hapgood the bank cashier fascinated
him and he resolved to investigate him at the first opportunity For underneath
Martins awe lurked his assertive ego and he felt the urge to measure himself
with these men and women and to find out what they had learned from the books
and life which he had not learned
Ruths eyes roved to him frequently to see how he was getting on and she
was surprised and gladdened by the ease with which he got acquainted with her
cousins He certainly did not grow excited while being seated removed from him
the worry of his shoulders Ruth knew them for clever girls superficially
brilliant and she could scarcely understand their praise of Martin later that
night at going to bed But he on the other hand a wit in his own class a gay
quizzer and laughtermaker at dances and Sunday picnics had found the making of
fun and the breaking of goodnatured lances simple enough in this environment
And on this evening success stood at his back patting him on the shoulder and
telling him that he was making good so that he could afford to laugh and make
laughter and remain unabashed
Later Ruths anxiety found justification Martin and Professor Caldwell had
got together in a conspicuous corner and though Martin no longer wove the air
with his hands to Ruths critical eye he permitted his own eyes to flash and
glitter too frequently talked too rapidly and warmly grew too intense and
allowed his aroused blood to redden his cheeks too much He lacked decorum and
control and was in decided contrast to the young professor of English with whom
he talked
But Martin was not concerned with appearances He had been swift to note the
others trained mind and to appreciate his command of knowledge. Furthermore
Professor Caldwell did not realize Martins concept of the average English
professor Martin wanted him to talk shop and though he seemed averse at
first succeeded in making him do it For Martin did not see why a man should
not talk shop
»Its absurd and unfair« he had told Ruth weeks before »this objection to
talking shop For what reason under the sun do men and women come together if
not for the exchange of the best that is in them And the best that is in them
is what they are interested in the thing by which they make their living the
thing theyve specialized on and sat up days and nights over and even dreamed
about Imagine Mr Butler living up to social etiquette and enunciating his
views on Paul Verlaine or the German drama or the novels of DAnnunzio Wed be
bored to death I for one if I must listen to Mr Butler prefer to hear him
talk about his law Its the best that is in him and life is so short that I
want the best of every man and woman I meet«
»But« Ruth had objected »there are the topics of general interest to all«
»There you mistake« he had rushed on »All persons in society all cliques
in society or rather nearly all persons and cliques ape their betters
Now who are the best betters The idlers the wealthy idlers They do not know
as a rule the things known by the persons who are doing something in the world
To listen to conversation about such things would mean to be bored wherefore
the idlers decree that such things are shop and must not be talked about
Likewise they decree the things that are not shop and which may be talked about
and those things are the latest operas latest novels cards billiards
cocktails automobiles horse shows trout fishing tunafishing biggame
shooting yacht sailing and so forth and mark you these are the things the
idlers know In all truth they constitute the shoptalk of the idlers And the
funniest part of it is that many of the clever people and all the wouldbe
clever people allow the idlers so to impose upon them As for me I want the
best a mans got in him call it shop vulgarity or anything you please«
And Ruth had not understood This attack of his on the established had
seemed to her just so much wilfulness of opinion
So Martin contaminated Professor Caldwell with his own earnestness
challenging him to speak his mind As Ruth paused beside them she heard Martin
saying
»You surely dont pronounce such heresies in the University of California«
Professor Caldwell shrugged his shoulders »The honest taxpayer and the
politician you know Sacramento gives us our appropriations and therefore we
kowtow to Sacramento and to the Board of Regents and to the party press or to
the press of both parties«
»Yes thats clear but how about you« Martin urged »You must be a fish
out of the water«
»Few like me I imagine in the university pond Sometimes I am fairly sure
I am out of water and that I should belong in Paris in Grub Street in a
hermits cave or in some sadly wild Bohemian crowd drinking claret dagored
they call it in San Francisco dining in cheap restaurants in the Latin
Quarter and expressing vociferously radical views upon all creation Really I
am frequently almost sure that I was cut out to be a radical But then there
are so many questions on which I am not sure I grow timid when I am face to
face with my human frailty which ever prevents me from grasping all the factors
in any problem human vital problems you know«
And as he talked on Martin became aware that to his own lips had come the
»Song of the Trade Wind«
»I am strongest at noon
But under the moon
I stiffen the bunt of the sail«
He was almost humming the words and it dawned upon him that the other reminded
him of the trade wind of the Northeast Trade steady and cool and strong He
was equable he was to be relied upon and withal there was a certain bafflement
about him Martin had the feeling that he never spoke his full mind just as he
had often had the feeling that the trades never blew their strongest but always
held reserves of strength that were never used Martins trick of visioning was
active as ever His brain was a most accessible storehouse of remembered fact
and fancy and its contents seemed ever ordered and spread for his inspection
Whatever occurred in the instant present Martins mind immediately presented
associated antithesis or similitude which ordinarily expressed themselves to him
in vision It was sheerly automatic and his visioning was an unfailing
accompaniment to the living present Just as Ruths face in a momentary
jealousy had called before his eyes a forgotten moonlight gale and as
Professor Caldwell made him see again the Northeast Trade herding the white
billows across the purple sea so from moment to moment not disconcerting but
rather identifying and classifying new memoryvisions rose before him or
spread under his eyelids or were thrown upon the screen of his consciousness
These visions came out of the actions and sensations of the past out of things
and events and books of yesterday and last week a countless host of
apparitions that waking or sleeping forever thronged his mind
So it was as he listened to Professor Caldwells easy flow of speech the
conversation of a clever cultured man that Martin kept seeing himself down
all his past He saw himself when he had been quite the hoodlum wearing a
stiffrim Stetson hat and a squarecut doublebreasted coat with a certain
swagger to the shoulders and possessing the ideal of being as tough as the
police permitted He did not disguise it to himself nor attempt to palliate it
At one time in his life he had been just a common hoodlum the leader of a gang
that worried the police and terrorized honest workingclass householders But
his ideals had changed He glanced about him at the wellbred welldressed men
and women and breathed into his lungs the atmosphere of culture and refinement
and at the same moment the ghost of his early youth in stiffrim and
squarecut with swagger and toughness stalked across the room This figure of
the corner hoodlum he saw merge into himself sitting and talking with an
actual university professor
For after all he had never found his permanent abiding place He had
fitted in wherever he found himself been a favorite always and everywhere by
virtue of holding his own at work and at play and by his willingness and ability
to fight for his rights and command respect But he had never taken root He had
fitted in sufficiently to satisfy his fellows but not to satisfy himself He had
been perturbed always by a feeling of unrest had heard always the call of
something from beyond and had wandered on through life seeking it until he
found books and art and love And here he was in the midst of all this the
only one of all the comrades he had adventured with who could have made
themselves eligible for the inside of the Morse home
But such thoughts and visions did not prevent him from following Professor
Caldwell closely And as he followed comprehendingly and critically he noted
the unbroken field of the others knowledge As for himself from moment to
moment the conversation showed him gaps and open stretches whole subjects with
which he was unfamiliar Nevertheless thanks to his Spencer he saw that he
possessed the outlines of the field of knowledge. It was a matter only of time
when he would fill in the outline Then watch out he thought ware shoal
everybody He felt like sitting at the feet of the professor worshipful and
absorbent but as he listened he began to discern a weakness in the others
judgments a weakness so stray and elusive that he might not have caught it had
it not been ever present And when he did catch it he leapt to equality at
once
Ruth came up to them a second time just as Martin began to speak
»Ill tell you where you are wrong or rather what weakens your
judgments« he said »You lack biology It has no place in your scheme of
things Oh I mean the real interpretative biology from the ground up from
the laboratory and the testtube and the vitalized inorganic right on up to the
widest æsthetic and sociological generalizations«
Ruth was appalled She had sat two lecture courses under Professor Caldwell
and looked up to him as the living repository of all knowledge
»I scarcely follow you« he said dubiously
Martin was not so sure but what he had followed him
»Then Ill try to explain« he said »I remember reading in Egyptian history
something to the effect that understanding could not be had of Egyptian art
without first studying the land question«
»Quite right« the professor nodded
»And it seems to me« Martin continued »that knowledge of the land
question in turn of all questions for that matter cannot be had without
previous knowledge of the stuff and the constitution of life How can we
understand laws and institutions religions and customs without understanding
not merely the nature of the creatures that made them but the nature of the
stuff out of which the creatures are made Is literature less human than the
architecture and sculpture of Egypt Is there one thing in the known universe
that is not subject to the law of evolution Oh I know there is an elaborate
evolution of the various arts laid down but it seems to me to be too
mechanical The human himself is left out The evolution of the tool of the
harp of music and song and dance are all beautifully elaborated but how about
the evolution of the human himself the development of the basic and intrinsic
parts that were in him before he made his first tool or gibbered his first
chant It is that which you do not consider and which I call biology It is
biology in its largest aspects
I know I express myself incoherently but Ive tried to hammer out the idea
It came to me as you were talking so I was not primed and ready to deliver it
You spoke yourself of the human frailty that prevented one from taking all the
factors into consideration And you in turn or so it seems to me leave
out the biological factor the very stuff out of which has been spun the fabric
of all the arts the warp and the woof of all human actions and achievements«
To Ruths amazement Martin was not immediately crushed and that the
professor replied in the way he did struck her as forbearance for Martins
youth Professor Caldwell sat for a full minute silent and fingering his watch
chain
»Do you know« he said at last »Ive had that same criticism passed on me
once before by a very great man a scientist and evolutionist Joseph Le
Conte But he is dead and I thought to remain undetected and now you come
along and expose me Seriously though and this is confession I think there
is something in your contention a great deal in fact I am too classical not
enough uptodate in the interpretative branches of science, and I can only
plead the disadvantages of my education and a temperamental slothfulness that
prevents me from doing the work I wonder if youll believe that Ive never been
inside a physics or chemistry laboratory It is true nevertheless Le Conte was
right and so are you Mr Eden at least to an extent how much I do not
know«
Ruth drew Martin away with her on a pretext when she had got him aside
whispering
»You shouldnt have monopolized Professor Caldwell that way There may be
others who want to talk with him«
»My mistake« Martin admitted contritely »But Id got him stirred up and
he was so interesting that I did not think Do you know he is the brightest
the most intellectual man I have ever talked with And Ill tell you something
else I once thought that everybody who went to universities or who sat in the
high places in society was just as brilliant and intelligent as he«
»Hes an exception« she answered
»I should say so Whom do you want me to talk to now Oh say bring me up
against that cashierfellow«
Martin talked for fifteen minutes with him nor could Ruth have wished
better behavior on her lovers part Not once did his eyes flash nor his cheeks
flush while the calmness and poise with which he talked surprised her But in
Martins estimation the whole tribe of bank cashiers fell a few hundred per
cent and for the rest of the evening he labored under the impression that bank
cashiers and talkers of platitudes were synonymous phrases The army officer he
found goodnatured and simple a healthy wholesome young fellow content to
occupy the place in life into which birth and luck had flung him On learning
that he had completed two years in the university Martin was puzzled to know
where he had stored it away Nevertheless Martin liked him better than the
platitudinous bank cashier
»I really dont object to platitudes« he told Ruth later »but what worries
me into nervousness is the pompous smugly complacent superior certitude with
which they are uttered and the time taken to do it Why I could give that man
the whole history of the Reformation in the time he took to tell me that the
UnionLabor Party had fused with the Democrats Do you know he skins his words
as a professional pokerplayer skins the cards that are dealt out to him Some
day Ill show you what I mean«
»Im sorry you dont like him« was her reply »Hes a favorite of Mr
Butlers Mr Butler says he is safe and honest calls him the Rock Peter and
says that upon him any banking institution can well be built«
»I dont doubt it from the little I saw of him and the less I heard from
him but I dont think so much of banks as I did You dont mind my speaking my
mind this way dear«
»No no it is most interesting«
»Yes« Martin went on heartily »Im no more than a barbarian getting my
first impressions of civilization Such impressions must be entertainingly novel
to the civilized person«
»What did you think of my cousins« Ruth queried
»I liked them better than the other women Theres plenty of fun in them
along with paucity of pretence«
»Then you did like the other women«
He shook his head
»That socialsettlement woman is no more than a sociological pollparrot I
swear if you winnowed her out between the stars like Tomlinson there would be
found in her not one original thought As for the portraitpainter she was a
positive bore Shed make a good wife for the cashier And the musician woman I
dont care how nimble her fingers are how perfect her technique how wonderful
her expression the fact is she knows nothing about music«
»She plays beautifully« Ruth protested
»Yes shes undoubtedly gymnastic in the externals of music but the
intrinsic spirit of music is unguessed by her I asked her what music meant to
her you know Im always curious to know that particular thing and she did not
know what it meant to her except that she adored it that it was the greatest
of the arts and that it meant more than life to her«
»You were making them talk shop« Ruth charged him
»I confess it And if they were failures on shop imagine my sufferings if
they had discoursed on other subjects Why I used to think that up here where
all the advantages of culture were enjoyed « He paused for a moment and
watched the youthful shade of himself in stiffrim and squarecut enter the
door and swagger across the room »As I was saying up here I thought all men
and women were brilliant and radiant But now from what little Ive seen of
them they strike me as a pack of ninnies most of them and ninety per cent of
the remainder as bores Now theres Professor Caldwell hes different Hes a
man every inch of him and every atom of his gray matter«
Ruths face brightened
»Tell me about him« she urged »Not what is large and brilliant I know
those qualities but whatever you feel is adverse I am most curious to know«
»Perhaps Ill get myself in a pickle« Martin debated humorously for a
moment »Suppose you tell me first Or maybe you find in him nothing less than
the best«
»I attended two lecture courses under him and I have known him for two
years that is why I am anxious for your first impression«
»Bad impression you mean Well here goes He is all the fine things you
think about him I guess At least he is the finest specimen of intellectual
man I have met but he is a man with a secret shame
Oh no no« he hastened to cry »Nothing paltry nor vulgar What I mean is
that he strikes me as a man who has gone to the bottom of things and is so
afraid of what he saw that he makes believe to himself that he never saw it
Perhaps thats not the clearest way to express it Heres another way A man who
has found the path to the hidden temple but has not followed it who has
perhaps caught glimpses of the temple and striven afterward to convince himself
that it was only a mirage of foliage Yet another way A man who could have done
things but who placed no value on the doing and who all the time in his
innermost heart is regretting that he has not done them who has secretly
laughed at the rewards for doing and yet still more secretly has yearned for
the rewards and for the joy of doing«
»I dont read him that way« she said »And for that matter I dont see
just what you mean«
»It is only a vague feeling on my part« Martin temporized »I have no
reason for it It is only a feeling and most likely it is wrong You certainly
should know him better than I«
From the evening at Ruths Martin brought away with him strange confusions
and conflicting feelings He was disappointed in his goal in the persons he had
climbed to be with On the other hand he was encouraged with his success The
climb had been easier than he expected He was superior to the climb and he
did not with false modesty hide it from himself he was superior to the beings
among whom he had climbed with the exception of course of Professor
Caldwell About life and the books he knew more than they and he wondered into
what nooks and crannies they had cast aside their educations He did not know
that he was himself possessed of unusual brain vigor nor did he know that the
persons who were given to probing the depths and to thinking ultimate thoughts
were not to be found in the drawing rooms of the worlds Morses nor did he
dream that such persons were as lonely eagles sailing solitary in the azure sky
far above the earth and its swarming freight of gregarious life
Chapter XXVIII
But success had lost Martins address and her messengers no longer came to his
door For twentyfive days working Sundays and holidays he toiled on »The
Shame of the Sun« a long essay of some thirty thousand words It was a
deliberate attack on the mysticism of the Maeterlinck school an attack from
the citadel of positive science upon the wonderdreamers but an attack
nevertheless that retained much of beauty and wonder of the sort compatible with
ascertained fact It was a little later that he followed up the attack with two
short essays »The WonderDreamers« and »The Yardstick of the Ego.« And on
essays long and short he began to pay the travelling expenses from magazine to
magazine
During the twentyfive days spent on »The Shame of the Sun« he sold
hackwork to the extent of six dollars and fifty cents A joke had brought in
fifty cents and a second one sold to a highgrade comic weekly had fetched a
dollar Then two humorous poems had earned two dollars and three dollars
respectively As a result having exhausted his credit with the tradesmen
though he had increased his credit with the grocer to five dollars his wheel
and suit of clothes went back to the pawnbroker The typewriter people were
again clamoring for money insistently pointing out that according to the
agreement rent was to be paid strictly in advance
Encouraged by his several small sales Martin went back to hackwork
Perhaps there was a living in it after all Stored away under his table were
the twenty storiettes which had been rejected by the newspaper shortstory
syndicate He read them over in order to find out how not to write newspaper
storiettes and so doing reasoned out the perfect formula He found that the
newspaper storiette should never be tragic should never end unhappily and
should never contain beauty of language subtlety of thought nor real delicacy
of sentiment Sentiment it must contain plenty of it pure and noble of the
sort that in his own early youth had brought his applause from nigger heaven
the ForGodmycountryandtheCzar and ImaybepoorbutIamhonest brand of
sentiment
Having learned such precautions Martin consulted »The Duchess« for tone
and proceeded to mix according to formula The formula consists of three parts
1 a pair of lovers are jarred apart 2 by some deed or event they are
reunited 3 marriage bells The third part was an unvarying quantity but the
first and second parts could be varied an infinite number of times Thus the
pair of lovers could be jarred apart by misunderstood motives by accident of
fate by jealous rivals by irate parents by crafty guardians by scheming
relatives and so forth and so forth they could be reunited by a brave deed of
the man lover by a similar deed of the woman lover by change of heart in one
lover or the other by forced confession of crafty guardian scheming relative
or jealous rival by voluntary confession of same by discovery of some
unguessed secret by lover storming girls heart by lover making long and noble
selfsacrifice and so on endlessly It was very fetching to make the girl
propose in the course of being reunited and Martin discovered bit by bit
other decidedly piquant and fetching ruses But marriage bells at the end was
the one thing he could take no liberties with though the heavens rolled up as a
scroll and the stars fell the wedding bells must go on ringing just the same
In quantity the formula prescribed twelve hundred words minimum dose fifteen
hundred words maximum dose
Before he got very far along in the art of the storiette Martin worked out
half a dozen stock forms which he always consulted when constructing
storiettes These forms were like the cunning tables used by mathematicians
which may be entered from top bottom right and left which entrances consist
of scores of lines and dozens of columns and from which may be drawn without
reasoning or thinking thousands of different conclusions all unchallengably
precise and true Thus in the course of half an hour with his forms Martin
could frame up a dozen or so storiettes which he put aside and filled in at his
convenience He found that he could fill one in after a day of serious work in
the hour before going to bed As he later confessed to Ruth he could almost do
it in his sleep The real work was in constructing the frames and that was
merely mechanical
He had no doubt whatever of the efficacy of his formula and for once he
knew the editorial mind when he said positively to himself that the first two he
sent off would bring checks And checks they brought for four dollars each at
the end of twelve days
In the meantime he was making fresh and alarming discoveries concerning the
magazines Though the Transcontinental had published »The Ring of Bells« no
check was forthcoming Martin needed it and he wrote for it An evasive answer
and a request for more of his work was all he received He had gone hungry two
days waiting for the reply and it was then that he put his wheel back in pawn
He wrote regularly twice a week to the Transcontinental for his five dollars
though it was only semioccasionally that he elicited a reply He did not know
that the Transcontinental had been staggering along precariously for years that
it was a fourthrater or a tenthrater without standing with a crazy
circulation that partly rested on petty bullying and partly on patriotic
appealing and with advertisements that were scarcely more than charitable
donations Nor did he know that the Transcontinental was the sole livelihood of
the editor and the business manager and that they could wring their livelihood
out of it only by moving to escape paying rent and by never paying any bill they
could evade Nor could he have guessed that the particular five dollars that
belonged to him had been appropriated by the business manager for the painting
of his house in Alameda which painting he performed himself on weekday
afternoons because he could not afford to pay union wages and because the first
scab he had employed had had a ladder jerked out from under him and been sent to
the hospital with a broken collarbone
The ten dollars for which Martin had sold »Treasure Hunters« to the Chicago
newspaper did not come to hand The article had been published as he had
ascertained at the file in the Central Readingroom but no word could he get
from the editor His letters were ignored To satisfy himself that they had been
received he registered several of them It was nothing less than robbery he
concluded a coldblooded steal while he starved he was pilfered of his
merchandise of his goods the sale of which was the sole way of getting bread
to eat
Youth and Age was a weekly and it had published twothirds of his
twentyonethousandword serial when it went out of business With it went all
hopes of getting his sixteen dollars
To cap the situation »The Pot« which he looked upon as one of the best
things he had written was lost to him In despair casting about frantically
among the magazines he had sent it to The Billow a society weekly in San
Francisco His chief reason for submitting it to that publication was that
having only to travel across the bay from Oakland a quick decision could be
reached Two weeks later he was overjoyed to see in the latest number on the
newsstand his story printed in full illustrated and in the place of honor
He went home with leaping pulse wondering how much they would pay him for one
of the best things he had done Also the celerity with which it had been
accepted and published was a pleasant thought to him That the editor had not
informed him of the acceptance made the surprise more complete After waiting a
week two weeks and half a week longer desperation conquered diffidence and
he wrote to the editor of The Billow suggesting that possibly through some
negligence of the business manager his little account had been overlooked
Even if it isnt more than five dollars Martin thought to himself it will
buy enough beans and peasoup to enable me to write half a dozen like it and
possibly as good
Back came a cool letter from the editor that at least elicited Martins
admiration
»We thank you« it ran »for your excellent contribution All of us in the
office enjoyed it immensely and as you see it was given the place of honor
and immediate publication We earnestly hope that you liked the illustrations
On rereading your letter it seems to us that you are laboring under the
misapprehension that we pay for unsolicited manuscripts This is not our custom
and of course yours was unsolicited We assumed naturally when we received
your story that you understood the situation We can only deeply regret this
unfortunate misunderstanding and assure you of our unfailing regard Again
thanking you for your kind contribution and hoping to receive more from you in
the near future we remain etc«
There was also a postscript to the effect that though The Billow carried no
free list it took great pleasure in sending him a complimentary subscription
for the ensuing year
After that experience Martin typed at the top of the first sheet of all his
manuscripts »Submitted at your usual rate«
Some day he consoled himself they will be submitted at my usual rate
He discovered in himself at this period a passion for perfection under
the sway of which he rewrote and polished »The Jostling Street« »The Wine of
Life« »Joy« the »Sea Lyrics« and others of his earlier work As of old
nineteen hours of labor a day was all too little to suit him He wrote
prodigiously and he read prodigiously forgetting in his toil the pangs caused
by giving up his tobacco Ruths promised cure for the habit flamboyantly
labelled he stowed away in the most inaccessible corner of his bureau
Especially during his stretches of famine he suffered from lack of the weed but
no matter how often he mastered the craving it remained with him as strong as
ever He regarded it as the biggest thing he had ever achieved Ruths point of
view was that he was doing no more than was right She brought him the
antitobacco remedy purchased out of her glove money and in a few days forgot
all about it
His machinemade storiettes though he hated them and derided them were
successful By means of them he redeemed all his pledges paid most of his
bills and bought a new set of tires for his wheel The storiettes at least kept
the pot aboiling and gave him time for ambitious work while the one thing that
upheld him was the forty dollars he had received from The White Mouse He
anchored his faith to that and was confident that the really firstclass
magazines would pay an unknown writer at least an equal rate if not a better
one But the thing was how to get into the firstclass magazines His best
stories essays and poems went begging among them and yet each month he read
reams of dull prosy inartistic stuff between all their various covers If only
one editor he sometimes thought would descend from his high seat of pride to
write me one cheering line No matter if my work is unusual no matter if it is
unfit for prudential reasons for their pages surely there must be some sparks
in it somewhere a few to warm them to some sort of appreciation And
thereupon he would get out one or another of his manuscripts such as
»Adventure« and read it over and over in a vain attempt to vindicate the
editorial silence
As the sweet California spring came on his period of plenty came to an end
For several weeks he had been worried by a strange silence on the part of the
newspaper storiette syndicate Then one day came back to him through the mail
ten of his immaculate machinemade storiettes They were accompanied by a brief
letter to the effect that the syndicate was overstocked and that some months
would elapse before it would be in the market again for manuscripts Martin had
even been extravagant on the strength of those ten storiettes Toward the last
the syndicate had been paying him five dollars each for them and accepting every
one he sent So he had looked upon the ten as good as sold and he had lived
accordingly on a basis of fifty dollars in the bank So it was that he entered
abruptly upon a lean period wherein he continued selling his earlier efforts to
publications that would not pay and submitting his later work to magazines that
would not buy Also he resumed his trips to the pawnbroker down in Oakland A
few jokes and snatches of humorous verse sold to the New York weeklies made
existence barely possible for him It was at this time that he wrote letters of
inquiry to the several great monthly and quarterly reviews and learned in reply
that they rarely considered unsolicited articles and that most of their
contents were written upon order by wellknown specialists who were authorities
in their various fields
Chapter XXIX
It was a hard summer for Martin Manuscript readers and editors were away on
vacation and publications that ordinarily returned a decision in three weeks
now retained his manuscript for three months or more The consolation he drew
from it was that a saving in postage was effected by the deadlock Only the
robberpublications seemed to remain actively in business and to them Martin
disposed of all his early efforts such as »Pearldiving« »The Sea as a
Career« »Turtlecatching« and »The Northeast Trades« For these manuscripts he
never received a penny It is true after six months correspondence he
effected a compromise whereby he received a safety razor for »Turtlecatching«
and that The Acropolis having agreed to give him five dollars cash and five
yearly subscriptions for »The Northeast Trades« fulfilled the second part of
the agreement
For a sonnet on Stevenson he managed to wring two dollars out of a Boston
editor who was running a magazine with a Matthew Arnold taste and a
pennydreadful purse »The Peri and the Pearl« a clever skit of a poem of two
hundred lines just finished white hot from his brain won the heart of the
editor of a San Francisco magazine published in the interest of a great
railroad When the editor wrote offering him payment in transportation Martin
wrote back to inquire if the transportation was transferable It was not and
so being prevented from peddling it he asked for the return of the poem Back
it came with the editors regrets and Martin sent it to San Francisco again
this time to The Hornet a pretentious monthly that had been fanned into a
constellation of the first magnitude by the brilliant journalist who founded it
But The Hornets light had begun to dim long before Martin was born The editor
promised Martin fifteen dollars for the poem but when it was published seemed
to forget about it Several of his letters being ignored Martin indicted an
angry one which drew a reply It was written by a new editor who coolly
informed Martin that he declined to be held responsible for the old editors
mistakes and that he did not think much of »The Peri and the Pearl« anyway
But The Globe a Chicago magazine gave Martin the most cruel treatment of
all He had refrained from offering his »Sea Lyrics« for publication until
driven to it by starvation After having been rejected by a dozen magazines
they had come to rest in The Globe office There were thirty poems in the
collection and he was to receive a dollar apiece for them The first month four
were published and he promptly received a check for four dollars but when he
looked over the magazine he was appalled at the slaughter In some cases the
titles had been altered »Finis« for instance being changed to »The Finish«
and »The Song of the Outer Reef« to »The Song of the Coral Reef« In one case
an absolutely different title a misappropriate title was substituted In place
of his own »Medusa Lights« the editor had printed »The Backward Track« But
the slaughter in the body of the poems was terrifying Martin groaned and
sweated and thrust his hands through his hair Phrases lines and stanzas were
cut out interchanged or juggled about in the most incomprehensible manner
Sometimes lines and stanzas not his own were substituted for his He could not
believe that a sane editor could be guilty of such maltreatment and his
favorite hypothesis was that his poems must have been doctored by the office boy
or the stenographer Martin wrote immediately begging the editor to cease
publishing the lyrics and to return them to him He wrote again and again
begging entreating threatening but his letters were ignored Month by month
the slaughter went on till the thirty poems were published and month by month
he received a check for those which had appeared in the current number
Despite these various misadventures the memory of the White Mouse
fortydollar check sustained him though he was driven more and more to
hackwork He discovered a breadandbutter field in the agricultural weeklies
and trade journals though among the religious weeklies he found he could easily
starve At his lowest ebb when his black suit was in pawn he made a tenstrike
or so it seemed to him in a prize contest arranged by the County Committee
of the Republican Party There were three branches of the contest and he
entered them all laughing at himself bitterly the while in that he was driven
to such straits to live His poem won the first prize of ten dollars his
campaign song the second prize of five dollars his essay on the principles of
the Republican Party the first prize of twentyfive dollars Which was very
gratifying to him until he tried to collect Something had gone wrong in the
County Committee and though a rich banker and a state senator were members of
it the money was not forthcoming While this affair was hanging fire he proved
that he understood the principles of the Democratic Party by winning the first
prize for his essay in a similar contest And moreover he received the money
twentyfive dollars But the forty dollars won in the first contest he never
received
Driven to shifts in order to see Ruth and deciding that the long walk from
north Oakland to her house and back again consumed too much time he kept his
black suit in pawn in place of his bicycle The latter gave him exercise saved
him hours of time for work and enabled him to see Ruth just the same A pair of
knee duck trousers and an old sweater made him a presentable wheel costume so
that he could go with Ruth on afternoon rides Besides he no longer had
opportunity to see much of her in her own home where Mrs Morse was thoroughly
prosecuting her campaign of entertainment The exalted beings he met there and
to whom he had looked up but a short time before now bored him They were no
longer exalted He was nervous and irritable what of his hard times
disappointments and close application to work and the conversation of such
people was maddening He was not unduly egotistic He measured the narrowness of
their minds by the minds of the thinkers in the books he read At Ruths home he
never met a large mind with the exception of Professor Caldwell and Caldwell
he had met there only once As for the rest they were numskulls ninnies
superficial dogmatic and ignorant It was their ignorance that astounded him
What was the matter with them What had they done with their educations They
had had access to the same books he had How did it happen that they had drawn
nothing from them
He knew that the great minds the deep and rational thinkers existed He
had his proofs from the books the books that had educated him beyond the Morse
standard And he knew that higher intellects than those of the Morse circle were
to be found in the world He read English society novels wherein he caught
glimpses of men and women talking politics and philosophy And he read of salons
in great cities even in the United States where art and intellect congregated
Foolishly in the past he had conceived that all wellgroomed persons above the
working class were persons with power of intellect and vigor of beauty Culture
and collars had gone together to him and he had been deceived into believing
that college educations and mastery were the same things
Well he would fight his way on and up higher And he would take Ruth with
him Her he dearly loved and he was confident that she would shine anywhere As
it was clear to him that he had been handicapped by his early environment so
now he perceived that she was similarly handicapped She had not had a chance to
expand The books on her fathers shelves the paintings on the walls the music
on the piano all was just so much meretricious display To real literature
real painting real music the Morses and their kind were dead And bigger than
such things was life of which they were densely hopelessly ignorant In spite
of their Unitarian proclivities and their masks of conservative broadmindedness
they were two generations behind interpretative science their mental processes
were mediæval while their thinking on the ultimate data of existence and of the
universe struck him as the same metaphysical method that was as young as the
youngest race as old as the caveman and older the same that moved the first
Pleistocene apeman to fear the dark that moved the first hasty Hebrew savage
to incarnate Eve from Adams rib that moved Descartes to build an idealistic
system of the universe out of the projections of his own puny ego and that
moved the famous British ecclesiastic to denounce evolution in satire so
scathing as to win immediate applause and leave his name a notorious scrawl on
the page of history
So Martin thought and he thought further till it dawned upon him that the
difference between these lawyers officers business men and bank cashiers he
had met and the members of the working class he had known was on a par with the
difference in the food they ate clothes they wore neighborhoods in which they
lived Certainly in all of them was lacking the something more which he found
in himself and in the books The Morses had shown him the best their social
position could produce and he was not impressed by it A pauper himself a
slave to the moneylender he knew himself the superior of those he met at the
Morses and when his one decent suit of clothes was out of pawn he moved
among them a lord of life quivering with a sense of outrage akin to what a
prince would suffer if condemned to live with goatherds
»You hate and fear the socialists« he remarked to Mr Morse one evening at
dinner »but why You know neither them nor their doctrines«
The conversation had been swung in that direction by Mrs Morse who had
been invidiously singing the praises of Mr Hapgood The cashier was Martins
black beast and his temper was a trifle short where the talker of platitudes
was concerned
»Yes« he had said »Charley Hapgood is what they call a rising young man
somebody told me as much And it is true Hell make the Governors Chair before
he dies and who knows maybe the United States Senate«
»What makes you think so« Mrs Morse had inquired
»Ive heard him make a campaign speech It was so cleverly stupid and
unoriginal and also so convincing that the leaders cannot help but regard him
as safe and sure while his platitudes are so much like the platitudes of the
average voter that oh well you know you flatter any man by dressing up his
own thoughts for him and presenting them to him«
»I actually think you are jealous of Mr Hapgood« Ruth had chimed in
»Heaven forbid«
The look of horror on Martins face stirred Mrs Morse to belligerence
»You surely dont mean to say that Mr Hapgood is stupid« she demanded
icily
»No more than the average Republican« was the retort »or average Democrat
either They are all stupid when they are not crafty and very few of them are
crafty The only wise Republicans are the millionnaires and their conscious
henchmen They know which side their bread is buttered on and they know why«
»I am a Republican« Mr Morse put in lightly »Pray how do you classify
me«
»Oh you are an unconscious henchman«
»Henchman«
»Why yes You do corporation work You have no workingclass nor criminal
practice You dont depend upon wifebeaters and pickpockets for your income
You get your livelihood from the masters of society and whoever feeds a man is
that mans master Yes you are a henchman You are interested in advancing the
interests of the aggregations of capital you serve«
Mr Morses face was a trifle red
»I confess sir« he said »that you talk like a scoundrelly socialist«
Then it was that Martin made his remark
»You hate and fear the socialists but why You know neither them nor their
doctrines«
»Your doctrine certainly sounds like socialism« Mr Morse replied while
Ruth gazed anxiously from one to the other and Mrs Morse beamed happily at the
opportunity afforded of rousing her liege lords antagonism
»Because I say Republicans are stupid and hold that liberty equality and
fraternity are exploded bubbles does not make me a socialist« Martin said with
a smile »Because I question Jefferson and the unscientific Frenchmen who
informed his mind does not make me a socialist Believe me Mr Morse you are
far nearer socialism than I who am ifs avowed enemy«
»Now you please to be facetious« was all the other could say
»Not at all I speak in all seriousness You still believe in equality and
yet you do the work of the corporations and the corporations from day to day
are busily engaged in burying equality And you call me a socialist because I
deny equality because I affirm just what you live up to The Republicans are
foes to equality though most of them fight the battle against equality with the
very word itself the slogan on their lips In the name of equality they destroy
equality That was why I called them stupid As for myself I am an
individualist I believe the race is to the swift the battle to the strong
Such is the lesson I have learned from biology or at least think I have
learned As I said I am an individualist and individualism is the hereditary
and eternal foe of socialism«
»But you frequent socialist meetings« Mr Morse challenged
»Certainly just as spies frequent hostile camps How else are you to learn
about the enemy Besides I enjoy myself at their meetings They are good
fighters and right or wrong they have read the books Any one of them knows
far more about sociology and all the other ologies than the average captain of
industry Yes I have been to half a dozen of their meetings but that doesnt
make me a socialist any more than hearing Charley Hapgood orate made me a
Republican«
»I cant help it« Mr Morse said feebly »but I still believe you incline
that way«
Bless me Martin thought to himself he doesnt know what I was talking
about He hasnt understood a word of it What did he do with his education
anyway
Thus in his development Martin found himself face to face with economic
morality or the morality of class and soon it became to him a grisly monster
Personally he was an intellectual moralist and more offending to him than
platitudinous pomposity was the morality of those about him which was a curious
hotchpotch of the economic the metaphysical the sentimental and the
imitative
A sample of this curious messy mixture he encountered nearer home His
sister Marian had been keeping company with an industrious young mechanic of
German extraction who after thoroughly learning the trade had set up for
himself in a bicyclerepair shop Also having got the agency for a lowgrade
make of wheel he was prosperous Marian had called on Martin in his room a
short time before to announce her engagement during which visit she had
playfully inspected Martins palm and told his fortune On her next visit she
brought Hermann von Schmidt along with her Martin did the honors and
congratulated both of them in language so easy and graceful as to affect
disagreeably the peasantmind of his sisters lover This bad impression was
further heightened by Martins reading aloud the halfdozen stanzas of verse
with which he had commemorated Marians previous visit It was a bit of society
verse airy and delicate which he had named »The Palmist« He was surprised
when he finished reading it to note no enjoyment in his sisters face Instead
her eyes were fixed anxiously upon her betrothed and Martin following her
gaze saw spread on that worthys asymmetrical features nothing but black and
sullen disapproval The incident passed over they made an early departure and
Martin forgot all about it though for the moment he had been puzzled that any
woman even of the working class should not have been flattered and delighted
by having poetry written about her
Several evenings later Marian again visited him this time alone Nor did
she waste time in coming to the point upbraiding him sorrowfully for what he
had done
»Why Marian« he chided »you talk as though you were ashamed of your
relatives or of your brother at any rate«
»And I am too« she blurted out
Martin was bewildered by the tears of mortification he saw in her eyes The
mood whatever it was was genuine
»But Marian why should your Hermann be jealous of my writing poetry about
my own sister«
»He aint jealous« she sobbed »He says it was indecent obobscene«
Martin emitted a long low whistle of incredulity then proceeded to
resurrect and read a carbon copy of »The Palmist«
»I cant see it« he said finally proffering the manuscript to her »Read
it yourself and show me whatever strikes you as obscene that was the word
wasnt it«
»He says so and he ought to know« was the answer with a wave aside of the
manuscript accompanied by a look of loathing »And he says youve got to tear
it up He says he wont have no wife of his with such things written about her
which anybody can read He says its a disgrace an he wont stand for it«
»Now look here Marian this is nothing but nonsense« Martin began then
abruptly changed his mind
He saw before him an unhappy girl knew the futility of attempting to
convince her husband or her and though the whole situation was absurd and
preposterous he resolved to surrender
»All right« he announced tearing the manuscript into half a dozen pieces
and throwing it into the wastebasket
He contented himself with the knowledge that even then the original
typewritten manuscript was reposing in the office of a New York magazine Marian
and her husband would never know and neither himself nor they nor the world
would lose if the pretty harmless poem ever were published
Marian starting to reach into the wastebasket refrained
»Can I« she pleaded
He nodded his head regarding her thoughtfully as she gathered the torn
pieces of manuscript and tucked them into the pocket of her jacket ocular
evidence of the success of her mission She reminded him of Lizzie Connolly
though there was less of fire and gorgeous flaunting life in her than in that
other girl of the working class whom he had seen twice But they were on a par
the pair of them in dress and carriage and he smiled with inward amusement at
the caprice of his fancy which suggested the appearance of either of them in
Mrs Morses drawingroom The amusement faded and he was aware of a great
loneliness This sister of his and the Morse drawingroom were milestones of the
road he had travelled And he had left them behind He glanced affectionately
about him at his few books They were all the comrades left to him
»Hello whats that« he demanded in startled surprise
Marian repeated her question
»Why dont I go to work« He broke into a laugh that was only halfhearted
»That Hermann of yours has been talking to you«
She shook her head
»Dont lie« he commanded and the nod of her head affirmed his charge
»Well you tell that Hermann of yours to mind his own business that when I
write poetry about the girl hes keeping company with its his business but
that outside of that hes got no say so Understand
So you dont think Ill succeed as a writer eh« he went on »You think Im
no good that Ive fallen down and am a disgrace to the family«
»I think it would be much better if you got a job« she said firmly and he
saw she was sincere »Hermann says «
»Damn Hermann« he broke out goodnaturedly »What I want to know is when
youre going to get married Also you find out from your Hermann if he will
deign to permit you to accept a wedding present from me«
He mused over the incident after she had gone and once or twice broke out
into laughter that was bitter as he saw his sister and her betrothed all the
members of his own class and the members of Ruths class directing their narrow
little lives by narrow little formulas herdcreatures flocking together and
patterning their lives by one another's opinions failing of being individuals
and of really living life because of the childlike formulas by which they were
enslaved He summoned them before him in apparitional procession Bernard
Higginbotham arm in arm with Mr Butler Hermann von Schmidt cheek by jowl with
Charley Hapgood and one by one and in pairs he judged them and dismissed them
judged them by the standards of intellect and morality he had learned from the
books Vainly he asked Where are the great souls the great men and women He
found them not among the careless gross and stupid intelligences that answered
the call of vision to his narrow room He felt a loathing for them such as Circe
must have felt for her swine When he had dismissed the last one and thought
himself alone a latecomer entered unexpected and unsummoned Martin watched
him and saw the stiffrim the squarecut doublebreasted coat and the
swaggering shoulders of the youthful hoodlum who had once been he
»You were like all the rest young fellow« Martin sneered »Your morality
and your knowledge were just the same as theirs You did not think and act for
yourself Your opinions like your clothes were ready made your acts were
shaped by popular approval You were cock of your gang because others acclaimed
you the real thing You fought and ruled the gang not because you liked to
you know you really despised it but because the other fellows patted you on
the shoulder You licked CheeseFace because you wouldnt give in and you
wouldnt give in partly because you were abysmal brute and for the rest because
you believed what every one about you believed that the measure of manhood was
the carnivorous ferocity displayed in injuring and marring fellowcreatures
anatomies Why you whelp you even won other fellows girls away from them not
because you wanted the girls but because in the marrow of those about you
those who set your moral pace was the instinct of the wild stallion and the
bullseal Well the years have passed and what do you think about it now«
As if in reply the vision underwent a swift metamorphosis The stiffrim
and the squarecut vanished being replaced by milder garments the toughness
went out of the face the hardness out of the eyes and the face chastened and
refined was irradiated from an inner life of communion with beauty and
knowledge The apparition was very like his present self and as he regarded
it he noted the studentlamp by which it was illuminated and the book over
which it pored He glanced at the title and read »The Science of Æsthetics«
Next he entered into the apparition trimmed the studentlamp and himself went
on reading »The Science of Æsthetics«
Chapter XXX
On a beautiful fall day a day of similar Indian summer to that which had seen
their love declared the year before Martin read his »Lovecycle« to Ruth It
was in the afternoon and as before they had ridden out to their favorite
knoll in the hills Now and again she had interrupted his reading with
exclamations of pleasure and now as he laid the last sheet of manuscript with
its fellows he waited her judgment
She delayed to speak and at last she spoke haltingly hesitating to frame
in words the harshness of her thought
»I think they are beautiful very beautiful« she said »but you cant sell
them can you You see what I mean« she said almost pleaded »This writing of
yours is not practical Something is the matter maybe it is with the market
that prevents you from earning a living by it And please dear dont
misunderstand me I am flattered and made proud and all that I could not be
a true woman were it otherwise that you should write these poems to me But
they do not make our marriage possible Dont you see Martin Dont think me
mercenary It is love the thought of our future with which I am burdened A
whole year has gone by since we learned we loved each other and our wedding day
is no nearer Dont think me immodest in thus talking about our wedding for
really I have my heart all that I am at stake Why dont you try to get work
on a newspaper if you are so bound up in your writing Why not become a
reporter for a while at least«
»It would spoil my style« was his answer in a low monotonous voice »You
have no idea how Ive worked for style«
»But those storiettes« she argued »You called them hackwork You wrote
many of them Didnt they spoil your style«
»No the cases are different The storiettes were ground out jaded at the
end of a long day of application to style But a reporters work is all hack
from morning till night is the one paramount thing of life And it is a
whirlwind life the life of the moment with neither past nor future and
certainly without thought of any style but reportorial style and that certainly
is not literature To become a reporter now just as my style is taking form
crystallizing would be to commit literary suicide As it is every storiette
every word of every storiette was a violation of myself of my selfrespect of
my respect for beauty I tell you it was sickening I was guilty of sin And I
was secretly glad when the markets failed even if my clothes did go into pawn
But the joy of writing the Lovecycle The creative joy in its noblest form
That was compensation for everything«
Martin did not know that Ruth was unsympathetic concerning the creative joy
She used the phrase it was on her lips he had first heard it She had read
about it studied about it in the university in the course of earning her
Bachelorship of Arts but she was not original not creative and all
manifestations of culture on her part were but harpings of the harpings of
others
»May not the editor have been right in his revision of your Sea Lyrics« she
questioned »Remember an editor must have proved qualifications or else he
would not be an editor«
»Thats in line with the persistence of the established« he rejoined his
heat against the editorfolk getting the better of him »What is is not only
right but is the best possible The existence of anything is sufficient
vindication of its fitness to exist to exist, mark you as the average person
unconsciously believes not merely in present conditions but in all conditions
It is their ignorance of course that makes them believe such rot their
ignorance which is nothing more nor less than the henidical mental process
described by Weininger They think they think and such thinkless creatures are
the arbiters of the lives of the few who really think«
He paused overcome by the consciousness that he had been talking over
Ruths head
»Im sure I dont know who this Weininger is« she retorted »And you are so
dreadfully general that I fail to follow you What I was speaking of was the
qualification of editors «
»And Ill tell you« he interrupted »The chief qualification of ninetynine
per cent of all editors is failure They have failed as writers Dont think
they prefer the drudgery of the desk and the slavery to their circulation and to
the business manager to the joy of writing They have tried to write and they
have failed And right there is the cursed paradox of it Every portal to
success in literature is guarded by those watchdogs the failures in
literature The editors subeditors associate editors most of them and the
manuscriptreaders for the magazines and bookpublishers most of them nearly
all of them are men who wanted to write and who have failed And yet they of
all creatures under the sun the most unfit are the very creatures who decide
what shall and what shall not find its way into print they who have proved
themselves not original who have demonstrated that they lack the divine fire
sit in judgment upon originality and genius And after them come the reviewers
just so many more failures Dont tell me that they have not dreamed the dream
and attempted to write poetry or fiction for they have and they have failed
Why the average review is more nauseating than codliver oil But you know my
opinion on the reviewers and the alleged critics There are great critics but
they are as rare as comets If I fail as a writer I shall have proved for the
career of editorship Theres bread and butter and jam at any rate«
Ruths mind was quick and her disapproval of her lovers views was
buttressed by the contradiction she found in his contention
»But Martin if that be so if all the doors are closed as you have shown
so conclusively how is it possible that any of the great writers ever arrived«
»They arrived by achieving the impossible« he answered »They did such
blazing glorious work as to burn to ashes those that opposed them They arrived
by course of miracle by winning a thousandtoone wager against them They
arrived because they were Carlyles battlescarred giants who will not be kept
down And that is what I must do I must achieve the impossible«
»But if you fail You must consider me as well Martin«
»If I fail« He regarded her for a moment as though the thought she had
uttered was unthinkable Then intelligence illumined his eyes »If I fail I
shall become an editor and you will be an editors wife«
She frowned at his facetiousness a pretty adorable frown that made him
put his arm around her and kiss it away
»There thats enough« she urged by an effort of will withdrawing herself
from the fascination of his strength »I have talked with father and mother I
never before asserted myself so against them I demanded to be heard I was very
undutiful They are against you you know but I assured them over and over of
my abiding love for you and at last father agreed that if you wanted to you
could begin right away in his office And then of his own accord he said he
would pay you enough at the start so that we could get married and have a little
cottage somewhere Which I think was very fine of him dont you«
Martin with the dull pain of despair at his heart mechanically reaching
for the tobacco and paper which he no longer carried to roll a cigarette
muttered something inarticulate and Ruth went on
»Frankly though and dont let it hurt you I tell you to show you
precisely how you stand with him he doesnt like your radical views and he
thinks you are lazy Of course I know you are not I know you work hard«
How hard even she did not know was the thought in Martins mind
»Well then« he said »how about my views Do you think they are so
radical«
He held her eyes and waited the answer
»I think them well very disconcerting« she replied
The question was answered for him and so oppressed was he by the grayness
of life that he forgot the tentative proposition she had made for him to go to
work And she having gone as far as she dared was willing to wait the answer
till she should bring the question up again
She had not long to wait Martin had a question of his own to propound to
her He wanted to ascertain the measure of her faith in him and within the week
each was answered Martin precipitated it by reading to her his »The Shame of
the Sun«
»Why dont you become a reporter« she asked when he had finished »You love
writing so and I am sure you would succeed You could rise in journalism and
make a name for yourself There are a number of great special correspondents
Their salaries are large and their field is the world They are sent
everywhere to the heart of Africa like Stanley or to interview the Pope or
to explore unknown Thibet«
»Then you dont like my essay« he rejoined »You believe that I have some
show in journalism but none in literature«
»No no I do like it It reads well But I am afraid its over the heads of
your readers At least it is over mine It sounds beautiful but I dont
understand it Your scientific slang is beyond me You are an extremist you
know dear and what may be intelligible to you may not be intelligible to the
rest of us«
»I imagine its the philosophic slang that bothers you« was all he could
say
He was flaming from the fresh reading of the ripest thought he had
expressed and her verdict stunned him
»No matter how poorly it is done« he persisted »dont you see anything in
it in the thought of it I mean«
She shook her head
»No it is so different from anything I have read I read Maeterlinck and
understand him «
»His mysticism you understand that« Martin flashed out
»Yes but this of yours which is supposed to be an attack upon him I dont
understand Of course if originality counts «
He stopped her with an impatient gesture that was not followed by speech He
became suddenly aware that she was speaking and that she had been speaking for
some time
»After all your writing has been a toy to you« she was saying »Surely you
have played with it long enough It is time to take up life seriously our
life Martin Hitherto you have lived solely your own«
»You want me to go to work« he asked
»Yes Father has offered «
»I understand all that« he broke in »but what I want to know is whether or
not you have lost faith in me«
She pressed his hand mutely her eyes dim
»In your writing dear« she admitted in a halfwhisper
»Youve read lots of my stuff« he went on brutally »What do you think of
it Is it utterly hopeless How does it compare with other mens work«
»But they sell theirs and you dont«
»That doesnt answer my question Do you think that literature is not at all
my vocation«
»Then I will answer« She steeled herself to do it »I dont think you were
made to write Forgive me dear You compel me to say it and you know I know
more about literature than you do«
»Yes you are a Bachelor of Arts« he said meditatively »and you ought to
know«
»But there is more to be said« he continued after a pause painful to both
»I know what I have in me No one knows that so well as I I know I shall
succeed I will not be kept down I am afire with what I have to say in verse
and fiction and essay I do not ask you to have faith in that though I do not
ask you to have faith in me nor in my writing What I do ask of you is to love
me and have faith in love
A year ago I begged for two years One of those years is yet to run And I
do believe upon my honor and my soul that before that year is run I shall have
succeeded You remember what you told me long ago that I must serve my
apprenticeship to writing Well I have served it I have crammed it and
telescoped it With you at the end awaiting me I have never shirked Do you
know I have forgotten what it is to fall peacefully asleep A few million years
ago I knew what it was to sleep my fill and to awake naturally from very glut of
sleep I am awakened always now by an alarm clock If I fall asleep early or
late I set the alarm accordingly and this and the putting out of the lamp
are my last conscious actions
When I begin to feel drowsy I change the heavy book I am reading for a
lighter one And when I doze over that I beat my head with my knuckles in order
to drive sleep away Somewhere I read of a man who was afraid to sleep Kipling
wrote the story This man arranged a spur so that when unconsciousness came his
naked body pressed against the iron teeth Well Ive done the same I look at
the time and I resolve that not until midnight or not until one oclock or
two oclock or three oclock shall the spur be removed And so it rowels me
awake until the appointed time That spur has been my bedmate for months I
have grown so desperate that five and a half hours of sleep is an extravagance
I sleep four hours now I am starved for sleep There are times when I am
lightheaded from want of sleep times when death with its rest and sleep is a
positive lure to me times when I am haunted by Longfellows lines
The sea is still and deep
All things within its bosom sleep
A single step and all is oer
A plunge a bubble and no more
Of course this is sheer nonsense It comes from nervousness from an
overwrought mind But the point is Why have I done this For you To shorten my
apprenticeship To compel Success to hasten And my apprenticeship is now
served I know my equipment I swear that I learn more each month than the
average college man learns in a year I know it I tell you But were my need
for you to understand not so desperate I should not tell you It is not
boasting I measure the results by the books Your brothers today are
ignorant barbarians compared with me and the knowledge I have wrung from the
books in the hours they were sleeping Long ago I wanted to be famous I care
very little for fame now What I want is you I am more hungry for you than for
food or clothing or recognition I have a dream of laying my head on your
breast and sleeping an æon or so and the dream will come true ere another year
is gone«
His power beat against her wave upon wave and in the moment his will
opposed hers most she felt herself most strongly drawn toward him The strength
that had always poured out from him to her was now flowering in his impassioned
voice his flashing eyes and the vigor of life and intellect surging in him
And in that moment and for the moment she was aware of a rift that showed in
her certitude a rift through which she caught sight of the real Martin Eden
splendid and invincible and as animaltrainers have their moments of doubt so
she for the instant seemed to doubt her power to tame this wild spirit of a
man
»And another thing« he swept on »You love me But why do you love me The
thing in me that compels me to write is the very thing that draws your love You
love me because I am somehow different from the men you have known and might
have loved I was not made for the desk and countinghouse for petty business
squabbling and legal jangling Make me do such things make me like those other
men doing the work they do breathing the air they breathe developing the
point of view they have developed and you have destroyed the difference
destroyed me destroyed the thing you love My desire to write is the most vital
thing in me Had I been a mere clod neither would I have desired to write nor
would you have desired me for a husband«
»But you forget« she interrupted the quick surface of her mind glimpsing a
parallel »There have been eccentric inventors starving their families while
they sought such chimeras as perpetual motion Doubtless their wives loved them
and suffered with them and for them not because of but in spite of their
infatuation for perpetual motion«
»True« was the reply »But there have been inventors who were not eccentric
and who starved while they sought to invent practical things and sometimes it
is recorded they succeeded Certainly I do not seek any impossibilities «
»You have called it achieving the impossible« she interpolated
»I spoke figuratively I seek to do what men have done before me to write
and to live by my writing«
Her silence spurred him on
»To you then my goal is as much a chimera as perpetual motion« he
demanded
He read her answer in the pressure of her hand on his the pitying
motherhand for the hurt child And to her just then he was the hurt child
the infatuated man striving to achieve the impossible
Toward the close of their talk she warned him again of the antagonism of her
father and mother
»But you love me« he asked
»I do I do« she cried
»And I love you not them and nothing they do can hurt me« Triumph sounded
in his voice »For I have faith in your love not fear of their enmity All
things may go astray in this world but not love Love cannot go wrong unless it
be a weakling that faints and stumbles by the way«
Chapter XXXI
Martin had encountered his sister Gertrude by chance on Broadway as it proved
a most propitious yet disconcerting chance Waiting on the corner for a car she
had seen him first and noted the eager hungry lines of his face and the
desperate worried look of his eyes In truth he was desperate and worried He
had just come from a fruitless interview with the pawnbroker from whom he had
tried to wring an additional loan on his wheel The muddy fall weather having
come on Martin had pledged his wheel some time since and retained his black
suit
»Theres the black suit« the pawnbroker who knew his every asset had
answered »You neednt tell me youve gone and pledged it with that Jew Lipka
Because if you have «
The man had looked the threat and Martin hastened to cry
»No no Ive got it But I want to wear it on a matter of business«
»All right« the mollified usurer had replied »And I want it on a matter of
business before I can let you have any more money You dont think Im in it for
my health«
»But its a fortydollar wheel in good condition« Martin had argued »And
youve only let me have seven dollars on it No not even seven Six and a
quarter you took the interest in advance«
»If you want some more bring the suit« had been the reply that sent Martin
out of the stuffy little den so desperate at heart as to reflect it in his face
and touch his sister to pity
Scarcely had they met when the Telegraph Avenue car came along and stopped
to take on a crowd of afternoon shoppers Mrs Higginbotham divined from the
grip on her arm as he helped her on that he was not going to follow her She
turned on the step and looked down upon him His haggard face smote her to the
heart again
»Aint you comin« she asked
The next moment she had descended to his side
»Im walking exercise you know« he explained
»Then Ill go along for a few blocks« she announced »Mebbe itll do me
good I aint ben feelin any too spry these last few days«
Martin glanced at her and verified her statement in her general slovenly
appearance in the unhealthy fat in the drooping shoulders the tired face with
the sagging lines and in the heavy fall of her feet without elasticity a
very caricature of the walk that belongs to a free and happy body
»Youd better stop here« he said though she had already come to a halt at
the first corner »and take the next car«
»My goodness if I aint all tired aready« she panted »But Im just as
able to walk as you in them soles Theyre that thin theyll bust long before
you git out to North Oakland«
»Ive a better pair at home« was the answer
»Come out to dinner tomorrow« she invited irrelevantly »Mr Higginbotham
wont be there Hes goin to San Leandro on business«
Martin shook his head but he had failed to keep back the wolfish hungry
look that leapt into his eyes at the suggestion of dinner
»You havent a penny Mart and thats why youre walkin Exercise« She
tried to sniff contemptuously but succeeded in producing only a sniffle »Here
lemme see«
And fumbling in her satchel she pressed a fivedollar piece into his hand
»I guess I forgot your last birthday Mart« she mumbled lamely
Martins hand instinctively closed on the piece of gold In the same instant
he knew he ought not to accept and found himself struggling in the throes of
indecision That bit of gold meant food life and light in his body and brain
power to go on writing and who was to say maybe to write something that
would bring in many pieces of gold Clear on his vision burned the manuscripts
of two essays he had just completed He saw them under the table on top of the
heap of returned manuscripts for which he had no stamps and he saw their
titles just as he had typed them »The High Priests of Mystery« and »The
Cradle of Beauty« He had never submitted them anywhere They were as good as
anything he had done in that line If only he had stamps for them Then the
certitude of his ultimate success rose up in him an able ally of hunger and
with a quick movement he slipped the coin into his pocket
»Ill pay you back Gertrude a hundred times over« he gulped out his
throat painfully contracted and in his eyes a swift hint of moisture
»Mark my words« he cried with abrupt positiveness »Before the year is out
Ill put an even hundred of those little yellowboys into your hand I dont ask
you to believe me All you have to do is wait and see«
Nor did she believe Her incredulity made her uncomfortable and failing of
other expedient she said
»I know youre hungry Mart Its sticking out all over you Come in to
meals any time Ill send one of the children to tell you when Mr Higginbotham
aint to be there An Mart «
He waited though he knew in his secret heart what she was about to say so
visible was her thought process to him
»Dont you think its about time you got a job«
»You dont think Ill win out« he asked
She shook her head
»Nobody has faith in me Gertrude except myself« His voice was
passionately rebellious »Ive done good work already plenty of it and sooner
or later it will sell«
»How do you know it is good«
»Because « He faltered as the whole vast field of literature and the
history of literature stirred in his brain and pointed the futility of his
attempting to convey to her the reasons for his faith »Well because its
better than ninetynine per cent of what is published in the magazines«
»I wisht youd listen to reason« she answered feebly but with unwavering
belief in the correctness of her diagnosis of what was ailing him »I wisht
youd listen to reason« she repeated »an come to dinner tomorrow«
After Martin had helped her on the car he hurried to the postoffice and
invested three of the five dollars in stamps and when later in the day on the
way to the Morse home he stopped in at the postoffice to weigh a large number
of long bulky envelopes he affixed to them all the stamps save three of the
two denomination
It proved a momentous night for Martin for after dinner he met Russ
Brissenden How he chanced to come there whose friend he was or what
acquaintance brought him Martin did not know Nor had he the curiosity to
inquire about him of Ruth In short Brissenden struck Martin as anæmic and
featherbrained and was promptly dismissed from his mind An hour later he
decided that Brissenden was a boor as well what of the way he prowled about
from one room to another staring at the pictures or poking his nose into books
and magazines he picked up from the table or drew from the shelves Though a
stranger in the house he finally isolated himself in the midst of the company
huddling into a capacious Morris chair and reading steadily from a thin volume
he had drawn from his pocket As he read he abstractedly ran his fingers with
a caressing movement through his hair Martin noticed him no more that evening
except once when he observed him chaffing with great apparent success with
several of the young women
It chanced that when Martin was leaving he overtook Brissenden already half
down the walk to the street
»Hello is that you« Martin said
The other replied with an ungracious grunt but swung alongside Martin made
no further attempt at conversation and for several blocks unbroken silence lay
upon them
»Pompous old ass«
The suddenness and the virulence of the exclamation startled Martin He felt
amused and at the same time was aware of a growing dislike for the other
»What do you go to such a place for« was abruptly flung at him after
another block of silence
»Why do you« Martin countered
»Bless me I dont know« came back »At least this is my first
indiscretion There are twentyfour hours in each day and I must spend them
somehow Come and have a drink«
»All right« Martin answered
The next moment he was nonplussed by the readiness of his acceptance At
home was several hours hackwork waiting for him before he went to bed and
after he went to bed there was a volume of Weismann waiting for him to say
nothing of Herbert Spencers Autobiography which was as replete for him with
romance as any thrilling novel Why should he waste any time with this man he
did not like was his thought And yet it was not so much the man nor the drink
as was it what was associated with the drink the bright lights the mirrors
and dazzling array of glasses the warm and glowing faces and the resonant hum
of the voices of men That was it it was the voices of men optimistic men men
who breathed success and spent their money for drinks like men He was lonely
that was what was the matter with him that was why he had snapped at the
invitation as a bonita strikes at a white rag on a hook Not since with Joe at
Shelly Hot Springs with the one exception of the wine he took with the
Portuguese grocer had Martin had a drink at a public bar Mental exhaustion did
not produce a craving for liquor such as physical exhaustion did and he had
felt no need for it But just now he felt desire for the drink or rather for
the atmosphere wherein drinks were dispensed and disposed of Such a place was
the Grotto where Brissenden and he lounged in capacious leather chairs and
drank Scotch and soda
They talked They talked about many things and now Brissenden and now
Martin took turn in ordering Scotch and soda Martin who was extremely
strongheaded marvelled at the others capacity for liquor and ever and anon
broke off to marvel at the others conversation He was not long in assuming
that Brissenden knew everything and in deciding that here was the second
intellectual man he had met But he noted that Brissenden had what Professor
Caldwell lacked namely fire the flashing insight and perception the flaming
uncontrol of genius Living language flowed from him His thin lips like the
dies of a machine stamped out phrases that cut and stung or again pursing
caressingly about the inchoate sound they articulated the thin lips shaped soft
and velvety things mellow phrases of glow and glory of haunting beauty
reverberant of the mystery and inscrutableness of life and yet again the thin
lips were like a bugle from which rang the crash and tumult of cosmic strife
phrases that sounded clear as silver that were luminous as starry spaces that
epitomized the final word of science and yet said something more the poets
word the transcendental truth elusive and without words which could express
and which none the less found expression in the subtle and all but ungraspable
connotations of common words He by some wonder of vision saw beyond the
farthest outpost of empiricism where was no language for narration and yet by
some golden miracle of speech investing known words with unknown significances
he conveyed to Martins consciousness messages that were incommunicable to
ordinary souls
Martin forgot his first impression of dislike Here was the best the books
had to offer coming true Here was an intelligence a living man for him to look
up to »I am down in the dirt at your feet« Martin repeated to himself again
and again
»Youve studied biology« he said aloud in significant allusion
To his surprise Brissenden shook his head
»But you are stating truths that are substantiated only by biology« Martin
insisted and was rewarded by a blank stare »Your conclusions are in line with
the books which you must have read«
»I am glad to hear it« was the answer »That my smattering of knowledge
should enable me to shortcut my way to truth is most reassuring As for myself
I never bother to find out if I am right or not It is all valueless anyway Man
can never know the ultimate verities«
»You are a disciple of Spencer« Martin cried triumphantly
»I havent read him since adolescence and all I read then was his
Education«
»I wish I could gather knowledge as carelessly« Martin broke out half an
hour later He had been closely analyzing Brissendens mental equipment »You
are a sheer dogmatist and thats what makes it so marvellous You state
dogmatically the latest facts which science has been able to establish only by à
posteriori reasoning You jump at correct conclusions You certainly shortcut
with a vengeance You feel your way with the speed of light by some
hyperrational process to truth«
»Yes that was what used to bother Father Joseph and Brother Dutton«
Brissenden replied »Oh no« he added »I am not anything It was a lucky trick
of fate that sent me to a Catholic college for my education Where did you pick
up what you know«
And while Martin told him he was busy studying Brissenden ranging from his
long lean aristocratic face and drooping shoulders to the overcoat on a
neighboring chair its pockets sagged and bulged by the freightage of many
books Brissendens face and long slender hands were browned by the sun
excessively browned Martin thought This sunburn bothered Martin It was patent
that Brissenden was no outdoor man Then how had he been ravaged by the sun
Something morbid and significant attached to that sunburn was Martins thought
as he returned to a study of the face narrow with high cheekbones and
cavernous hollows and graced with as delicate and fine an aquiline nose as
Martin had ever seen There was nothing remarkable about the size of the eyes
They were neither large nor small while their color was a nondescript brown
but in them smouldered a fire or rather lurked an expression dual and
strangely contradictory Defiant indomitable even harsh to excess they at the
same time aroused pity Martin found himself pitying him he knew not why though
he was soon to learn
»Oh Im a lunger« Brissenden announced offhand a little later having
already stated that he came from Arizona »Ive been down there a couple of
years living on the climate«
»Arent you afraid to venture it up in this climate«
»Afraid«
There was no special emphasis of his repetition of Martins word But Martin
saw in that ascetic face the advertisement that there was nothing of which it
was afraid The eyes had narrowed till they were eaglelike and Martin almost
caught his breath as he noted the eagle beak with its dilated nostrils defiant
assertive aggressive Magnificent was what he commented to himself his blood
thrilling at the sight Aloud he quoted
»Under the bludgeoning of Chance
My head is bloody but unbowed«
»You like Henley« Brissenden said his expression changing swiftly to large
graciousness and tenderness »Of course I couldnt have expected anything else
of you Ah Henley A brave soul He stands out among contemporary rhymesters
magazine rhymesters as a gladiator stands out in the midst of a band of
eunuchs«
»You dont like the magazines« Martin softly impeached
»Do you« was snarled back at him so savagely as to startle him
»I I write or rather try to write for the magazines« Martin faltered
»Thats better« was the mollified rejoinder »You try to write but you
dont succeed I respect and admire your failure I know what you write I can
see it with half an eye and theres one ingredient in it that shuts it out of
the magazines Its guts and magazines have no use for that particular
commodity What they want is wishwash and slush and God knows they get it but
not from you«
»Im not above hackwork« Martin contended
»On the contrary « Brissenden paused and ran an insolent eye over Martins
objective poverty passing from the wellworn tie and the sawedged collar to
the shiny sleeves of the coat and on to the slight fray of one cuff winding up
and dwelling upon Martins sunken cheeks »On the contrary hackwork is above
you so far above you that you can never hope to rise to it Why man I could
insult you by asking you to have something to eat«
Martin felt the heat in his face of the involuntary blood and Brissenden
laughed triumphantly
»A full man is not insulted by such an invitation« he concluded
»You are a devil« Martin cried irritably
»Anyway I didnt ask you«
»You didnt dare«
»Oh I dont know about that I invite you now«
Brissenden half rose from his chair as he spoke as if with the intention of
departing to the restaurant forthwith
Martins fists were tightclenched and his blood was drumming in his
temples
»Bosco He eats em alive Eats em alive« Brissenden exclaimed imitating
the spieler of a locally famous snakeeater
»I could certainly eat you alive« Martin said in turn running insolent
eyes over the others diseaseravaged frame
»Only Im not worthy of it«
»On the contrary« Martin considered »because the incident is not worthy«
He broke into a laugh hearty and wholesome »I confess you made a fool of me
Brissenden That I am hungry and you are aware of it are only ordinary
phenomena, and theres no disgrace You see I laugh at the conventional little
moralities of the herd then you drift by say a sharp true word and
immediately I am the slave of the same little moralities«
»You were insulted« Brissenden affirmed
»I certainly was a moment ago The prejudice of early youth you know I
learned such things then and they cheapen what I have since learned They are
the skeletons in my particular closet«
»But youve got the door shut on them now«
»I certainly have«
»Sure«
»Sure«
»Then lets go and get something to eat«
»Ill go you« Martin answered attempting to pay for the current Scotch and
soda with the last change from his two dollars and seeing the waiter bullied by
Brissenden into putting that change back on the table
Martin pocketed it with a grimace and felt for a moment the kindly weight
of Brissendens hand upon his shoulder
Chapter XXXII
Promptly the next afternoon Maria was excited by Martins second visitor But
she did not lose her head this time for she seated Brissenden in her parlors
grandeur of respectability
»Hope you dont mind my coming« Brissenden began
»No no not at all« Martin answered shaking hands and waving him to the
solitary chair himself taking to the bed »But how did you know where I lived«
»Called up the Morses Miss Morse answered the phone And here I am« He
tugged at his coat pocket and flung a thin volume on the table »Theres a book
by a poet Read it and keep it« And then in reply to Martins protest »What
have I to do with books I had another hemorrhage this morning Got any whiskey
No of course not Wait a minute«
He was off and away Martin watched his long figure go down the outside
steps and on turning to close the gate noted with a pang the shoulders which
had once been broad drawn in now over the collapsed ruin of the chest Martin
got two tumblers and fell to reading the book of verse Henry Vaughn Marlows
latest collection
»No Scotch« Brissenden announced on his return »The beggar sells nothing
but American whiskey But heres a quart of it«
»Ill send one of the youngsters for lemons and well make a toddy« Martin
offered
»I wonder what a book like that will earn Marlow« he went on holding up
the volume in question
»Possibly fifty dollars« came the answer »Though hes lucky if he pulls
even on it or if he can inveigle a publisher to risk bringing it out«
»Then one cant make a living out of poetry«
Martins tone and face alike showed his dejection
»Certainly not What fool expects to Out of rhyming yes Theres Bruce
and Virginia Spring and Sedgwick They do very nicely But poetry do you know
how Vaughn Marlow makes his living teaching in a boys crammingjoint down in
Pennsylvania and of all private little hells such a billet is the limit I
wouldnt trade places with him if he had fifty years of life before him And yet
his work stands out from the ruck of the contemporary versifiers as a balas ruby
among carrots And the reviews he gets Damn them all of them the crass
manikins«
»Too much is written by the men who cant write about the men who do write«
Martin concurred »Why I was appalled at the quantities of rubbish written
about Stevenson and his work«
»Ghouls and harpies« Brissenden snapped out with clicking teeth »Yes I
know the spawn complacently pecking at him for his Father Damien letter
analyzing him weighing him «
»Measuring him by the yardstick of their own miserable egos« Martin broke
in
»Yes thats it a good phrase mouthing and besliming the True and
Beautiful and Good and finally patting him on the back and saying Good dog
Fido Faugh The little chattering daws of men Richard Realf called them the
night he died«
»Pecking at stardust« Martin took up the strain warmly »at the meteoric
flight of the mastermen I once wrote a squib on them the critics or the
reviewers rather«
»Lets see it« Brissenden begged eagerly
So Martin unearthed a carbon copy of Stardust and during the reading of it
Brissenden chuckled rubbed his hands and forgot to sip his toddy
»Strikes me youre a bit of stardust yourself flung into a world of cowled
gnomes who cannot see« was his comment at the end of it »Of course it was
snapped up by the first magazine«
Martin ran over the pages of his manuscript book
»It has been refused by twentyseven of them«
Brissenden essayed a long and hearty laugh but broke down in a fit of
coughing
»Say you neednt tell me you havent tackled poetry« he gasped »Let me
see some of it«
»Dont read it now« Martin pleaded »I want to talk with you Ill make up
a bundle and you can take it home«
Brissenden departed with the »Lovecycle« and »The Peri and the Pearl«
returning next day to greet Martin with
»I want more«
Not only did he assure Martin that he was a poet but Martin learned that
Brissenden also was one He was swept off his feet by the others work and
astounded that no attempt had been made to publish it
»A plague on all their houses« was Brissendens answer to Martins
volunteering to market his work for him »Love Beauty for its own sake« was his
counsel »and leave the magazines alone Back to your ships and your sea
thats my advice to you Martin Eden What do you want in these sick and rotten
cities of men You are cutting your throat every day you waste in them trying to
prostitute beauty to the needs of magazinedom What was it you quoted me the
other day Oh yes Man the latest of the ephemera Well what do you the
latest of the ephemera want with fame If you got it it would be poison to
you You are too simple too elemental and too rational by my faith to
prosper on such pap I hope you never do sell a line to the magazines Beauty is
the only master to serve Serve her and damn the multitude Success What in
hells success if it isnt right there in your Stevenson sonnet which outranks
Henleys Apparition in that Lovecycle in those seapoems
It is not in what you succeed in doing that you get your joy but in the
doing of it You cant tell me I know it You know it Beauty hurts you It is
an everlasting pain in you a wound that does not heal a knife of flame Why
should you palter with magazines Let beauty be your end Why should you mint
beauty into gold Anyway you cant so theres no use in my getting excited
over it You can read the magazines for a thousand years and you wont find the
value of one line of Keats Leave fame and coin alone sign away on a ship
tomorrow and go back to your sea«
»Not for fame but for love« Martin laughed »Love seems to have no place
in your Cosmos in mine Beauty is the handmaiden of Love«
Brissenden looked at him pityingly and admiringly »You are so young Martin
boy so young You will flutter high but your wings are of the finest gauze
dusted with the fairest pigments Do not scorch them But of course you have
scorched them already It required some glorified petticoat to account for that
Lovecycle and thats the shame of it«
»It glorifies love as well as the petticoat« Martin laughed
»The philosophy of madness« was the retort »So have I assured myself when
wandering in hasheesh dreams But beware These bourgeois cities will kill you
Look at that den of traitors where I met you Dry rot is no name for it One
cant keep his sanity in such an atmosphere Its degrading Theres not one of
them who is not degrading man and woman all of them animated stomachs guided
by the high intellectual and artistic impulses of clams «
He broke off suddenly and regarded Martin Then with a flash of divination
he saw the situation The expression on his face turned to wondering horror
»And you wrote that tremendous Lovecycle to her that pale shrivelled
female thing«
The next instant Martins right hand had shot to a throttling clutch on his
throat and he was being shaken till his teeth rattled But Martin looking into
his eyes saw no fear there naught but a curious and mocking devil Martin
remembered himself and flung Brissenden by the neck sidelong upon the bed at
the same moment releasing his hold
Brissenden panted and gasped painfully for a moment then began to chuckle
»You had made me eternally your debtor had you shaken out the flame« he
said
»My nerves are on a hairtrigger these days« Martin apologized »Hope I
didnt hurt you Here let me mix a fresh toddy«
»Ah you young Greek« Brissenden went on »I wonder if you take just pride
in that body of yours You are devilish strong You are a young panther a lion
cub Well well it is you who must pay for that strength«
»What do you mean« Martin asked curiously passing him a glass »Here down
this and be good«
»Because « Brissenden sipped his toddy and smiled appreciation of it
»Because of the women They will worry you until you die as they have already
worried you or else I was born yesterday Now theres no use in your choking
me Im going to have my say This is undoubtedly your calf love but for
Beautys sake show better taste next time What under heaven do you want with a
daughter of the bourgeoisie Leave them alone Pick out some great wanton flame
of a woman who laughs at life and jeers at death and loves one while she may
There are such women and they will love you just as readily as any
pusillanimous product of bourgeoissheltered life«
»Pusillanimous« Martin protested
»Just so pusillanimous prattling out little moralities that have been
prattled into them and afraid to live life They will love you Martin but
they will love their little moralities more What you want is the magnificent
abandon of life the great free souls the blazing butterflies and not the
little gray moths Oh you will grow tired of them too of all the female
things if you are unlucky enough to live But you wont live You wont go back
to your ships and sea therefore youll hang around these pestholes of cities
until your bones are rotten and then youll die«
»You can lecture me but you cant make me talk back« Martin said »After
all you have but the wisdom of your temperament and the wisdom of my
temperament is just as unimpeachable as yours«
They disagreed about love and the magazines and many things but they
liked each other and on Martins part it was no less than a profound liking
Day after day they were together if for no more than the hour Brissenden spent
in Martins stuffy room Brissenden never arrived without his quart of whiskey
and when they dined together downtown he drank Scotch and soda throughout the
meal He invariably paid the way for both and it was through him that Martin
learned the refinements of food drank his first champagne and made
acquaintance with Rhenish wines
But Brissenden was always an enigma With the face of an ascetic he was in
all the failing blood of him a frank voluptuary He was unafraid to die bitter
and cynical of all the ways of living and yet dying he loved life to the
last atom of it He was possessed by a madness to live to thrill »to squirm my
little space in the cosmic dust whence I came« as he phrased it once himself
He had tampered with drugs and done many strange things in quest of new thrills
new sensations As he told Martin he had once gone three days without water
had done so voluntarily in order to experience the exquisite delight of such a
thirst assuaged Who or what he was Martin never learned He was a man without
a past whose future was the imminent grave and whose present was a bitter fever
of living
Chapter XXXIII
Martin was steadily losing his battle Economize as he would the earnings from
hackwork did not balance expenses Thanksgiving found him with his black suit
in pawn and unable to accept the Morses invitation to dinner Ruth was not made
happy by his reason for not coming and the corresponding effect on him was one
of desperation He told her that he would come after all that he would go over
to San Francisco to the Transcontinental office collect the five dollars due
him and with it redeem his suit of clothes
In the morning he borrowed ten cents from Maria He would have borrowed it
by preference from Brissenden but that erratic individual had disappeared Two
weeks had passed since Martin had seen him and he vainly cudgelled his brains
for some cause of offence The ten cents carried Martin across the ferry to San
Francisco and as he walked up Market Street he speculated upon his predicament
in case he failed to collect the money There would then be no way for him to
return to Oakland and he knew no one in San Francisco from whom to borrow
another ten cents
The door to the Transcontinental office was ajar and Martin in the act of
opening it was brought to a sudden pause by a loud voice from within which
exclaimed
»But that is not the question Mr Ford« Ford Martin knew from his
correspondence to be the editors name »The question is are you prepared to
pay cash and cash down I mean I am not interested in the prospects of the
Transcontinental and what you expect to make it next year What I want is to be
paid for what I do And I tell you right now the Christmas Transcontinental
dont go to press till I have the money in my hand Good day When you get the
money come and see me«
The door jerked open and the man flung past Martin with an angry
countenance and went down the corridor muttering curses and clenching his
fists Martin decided not to enter immediately and lingered in the hallways for
a quarter of an hour Then he shoved the door open and walked in It was a new
experience the first time he had been inside an editorial office Cards
evidently were not necessary in that office for the boy carried word to an
inner room that there was a man who wanted to see Mr Ford Returning the boy
beckoned him from halfway across the room and led him to the private office the
editorial sanctum Martins first impression was of the disorder and cluttered
confusion of the room Next he noticed a bewhiskered youthfullooking man
sitting at a rolltop desk who regarded him curiously Martin marvelled at the
calm repose of his face It was evident that the squabble with the printer had
not affected his equanimity
»I I am Martin Eden« Martin began the conversation »And I want my five
dollars« was what he would have liked to say
But this was his first editor and under the circumstances he did not desire
to scare him too abruptly To his surprise Mr Ford leaped into the air with a
»You dont say so« and the next moment with both hands was shaking Martins
hand effusively
»Cant say how glad I am to see you Mr Eden Often wondered what you were
like«
Here he held Martin off at arms length and ran his beaming eyes over
Martins secondbest suit which was also his worst suit and which was ragged
and past repair though the trousers showed the careful crease he had put in
with Marias flatirons
»I confess though I conceived you to be a much older man than you are
Your story you know showed such breadth and vigor such maturity and depth of
thought A masterpiece that story I knew it when I had read the first
halfdozen lines Let me tell you how I first read it But no first let me
introduce you to the staff«
Still talking Mr Ford led him into the general office where he introduced
him to the associate editor Mr White a slender frail little man whose hand
seemed strangely cold as if he were suffering from a chill and whose whiskers
were sparse and silky
»And Mr Ends Mr Eden Mr Ends is our business manager you know«
Martin found himself shaking hands with a crankyeyed baldheaded man
whose face looked youthful enough from what little could be seen of it for most
of it was covered by a snowwhite beard carefully trimmed by his wife who
did it on Sundays at which times she also shaved the back of his neck
The three men surrounded Martin all talking admiringly and at once until
it seemed to him that they were talking against time for a wager
»We often wondered why you didnt call« Mr White was saying
»I didnt have the carfare and I live across the Bay« Martin answered
bluntly with the idea of showing them his imperative need for the money
Surely he thought to himself my glad rags in themselves are eloquent
advertisement of my need Time and again whenever opportunity offered he
hinted about the purpose of his business But his admirers ears were deaf They
sang his praises told him what they had thought of his story at first sight
what they subsequently thought what their wives and families thought but not
one hint did they breathe of intention to pay him for it
»Did I tell you how I first read your story« Mr Ford said »Of course I
didnt I was coming west from New York and when the train stopped at Ogden
the trainboy on the new run brought aboard the current number of the
Transcontinental«
My God Martin thought you can travel in a Pullman while I starve for the
paltry five dollars you owe me A wave of anger rushed over him The wrong done
him by the Transcontinental loomed colossal for strong upon him were all the
dreary months of vain yearning of hunger and privation and his present hunger
awoke and gnawed at him reminding him that he had eaten nothing since the day
before and little enough then For the moment he saw red These creatures were
not even robbers They were sneakthieves By lies and broken promises they had
tricked him out of his story Well he would show them And a great resolve
surged into his will to the effect that he would not leave the office until he
got his money He remembered if he did not get it that there was no way for
him to go back to Oakland He controlled himself with an effort but not before
the wolfish expression of his face had awed and perturbed them
They became more voluble than ever Mr Ford started anew to tell how he had
first read »The Ring of Bells« and Mr Ends at the same time was striving to
repeat his nieces appreciation of »The Ring of Bells« said niece being a
schoolteacher in Alameda
»Ill tell you what I came for« Martin said finally »To be paid for that
story all of you like so well Five dollars I believe is what you promised me
would be paid on publication«
Mr Ford with an expression on his mobile features of immediate and happy
acquiescence started to reach for his pocket then turned suddenly to Mr Ends
and said that he had left his money home That Mr Ends resented this was
patent and Martin saw the twitch of his arm as if to protect his trousers
pocket Martin knew that the money was there
»I am sorry« said Mr Ends »but I paid the printer not an hour ago and he
took my ready change It was careless of me to be so short but the bill was not
yet due and the printers request as a favor to make an immediate advance
was quite unexpected«
Both men looked expectantly at Mr White but that gentleman laughed and
shrugged his shoulders His conscience was clean at any rate He had come into
the Transcontinental to learn magazineliterature instead of which he had
principally learned finance The Transcontinental owed him four months salary
and he knew that the printer must be appeased before the associate editor
»Its rather absurd Mr Eden to have caught us in this shape« Mr Ford
preambled airily »All carelessness I assure you But Ill tell you what well
do Well mail you a check the first thing in the morning You have Mr Edens
address havent you Mr Ends«
Yes Mr Ends had the address and the check would be mailed the first thing
in the morning Martins knowledge of banks and checks was hazy but he could
see no reason why they should not give him the check on this day just as well as
on the next
»Then it is understood Mr Eden that well mail you the check tomorrow«
Mr Ford said
»I need the money today« Martin answered stolidly
»The unfortunate circumstances if you had chanced here any other day« Mr
Ford began suavely only to be interrupted by Mr Ends whose cranky eyes
justified themselves in his shortness of temper
»Mr Ford has already explained the situation« he said with asperity »And
so have I The check will be mailed «
»I also have explained« Martin broke in »and I have explained that I want
the money today«
He had felt his pulse quicken a trifle at the business managers
brusqueness and upon him he kept an alert eye for it was in that gentlemans
trousers pocket that he divined the Transcontinentals ready cash was reposing
»It is too bad « Mr Ford began
But at that moment with an impatient movement Mr Ends turned as if about
to leave the room At the same instant Martin sprang for him clutching him by
the throat with one hand in such fashion that Mr Ends snowwhite beard still
maintaining its immaculate trimness pointed ceilingward at an angle of
fortyfive degrees To the horror of Mr White and Mr Ford they saw their
business manager shaken like an Astrakhan rug
»Dig up you venerable discourager of rising young talent« Martin exhorted
»Dig up or Ill shake it out of you even if its all in nickels« Then to the
two affrighted onlookers »Keep away If you interfere somebodys liable to get
hurt«
Mr Ends was choking and it was not until the grip on his throat was eased
that he was able to signify his acquiescence in the diggingup programme All
together after repeated digs his trousers pocket yielded four dollars and
fifteen cents
»Inside out with it« Martin commanded
An additional ten cents fell out Martin counted the result of his raid a
second time to make sure
»You next« he shouted at Mr Ford »I want seventyfive cents more«
Mr Ford did not wait but ransacked his pockets with the result of sixty
cents
»Sure that is all« Martin demanded menacingly possessing himself of it
»What have you got in your vest pockets«
In token of his good faith Mr Ford turned two of his pockets inside out A
strip of cardboard fell to the floor from one of them He recovered it and was
in the act of returning it when Martin cried
»Whats that A ferry ticket Here give it to me Its worth ten cents
Ill credit you with it Ive now got four dollars and ninetyfive cents
including the ticket Five cents is still due me«
He looked fiercely at Mr White and found that fragile creature in the act
of handing him a nickel
»Thank you« Martin said addressing them collectively »I wish you a good
day«
»Robber« Mr Ends snarled after him
»Sneakthief« Martin retorted slamming the door as he passed out
Martin was elated so elated that when he recollected that The Hornet owed
him fifteen dollars for »The Peri and the Pearl« he decided forthwith to go and
collect it But The Hornet was run by a set of cleanshaven strapping young
men frank buccaneers who robbed everything and everybody not excepting one
another. After some breakage of the office furniture the editor an excollege
athlete ably assisted by the business manager an advertising agent and the
porter succeeded in removing Martin from the office and in accelerating by
initial impulse his descent of the first flight of stairs
»Come again Mr Eden glad to see you any time« they laughed down at him
from the landing above
Martin grinned as he picked himself up
»Phew« he murmured back »The Transcontinental crowd were nannygoats but
you fellows are a lot of prizefighters«
More laughter greeted this
»I must say Mr Eden« the editor of The Hornet called down »that for a
poet you can go some yourself Where did you learn that right cross if I may
ask«
»Where you learned that halfNelson« Martin answered »Anyway youre going
to have a black eye«
»I hope your neck doesnt stiffen up« the editor wished solicitously »What
do you say we all go out and have a drink on it not the neck of course but
the little roughhouse«
»Ill go you if I lose« Martin accepted
And robbers and robbed drank together amicably agreeing that the battle was
to the strong and that the fifteen dollars for »The Peri and the Pearl«
belonged by right to The Hornets editorial staff
Chapter XXXIV
Arthur remained at the gate while Ruth climbed Marias front steps She heard
the rapid click of the typewriter and when Martin let her in found him on the
last page of a manuscript She had come to make certain whether or not he would
be at their table for Thanksgiving dinner but before she could broach the
subject Martin plunged into the one with which he was full
»Here let me read you this« he cried separating the carbon copies and
running the pages of manuscript into shape »Its my latest and different from
anything Ive done It is so altogether different that I am almost afraid of it
and yet Ive a sneaking idea it is good You be judge Its an Hawaiian story
Ive called it WikiWiki«
His face was bright with the creative glow though she shivered in the cold
room and had been struck by the coldness of his hands at greeting She listened
closely while he read and though he from time to time had seen only
disapprobation in her face at the close he asked
»Frankly what do you think of it«
»I I dont know« she answered »Will it do you think it will sell«
»Im afraid not« was the confession »Its too strong for the magazines
But its true on my word its true«
»But why do you persist in writing such things when you know they wont
sell« she went on inexorably »The reason for your writing is to make a living
isnt it«
»Yes thats right but the miserable story got away with me I couldnt
help writing it It demanded to be written«
»But that character that WikiWiki why do you make him talk so roughly
Surely it will offend your readers and surely that is why the editors are
justified in refusing your work«
»Because the real WikiWiki would have talked that way«
»But it is not good taste«
»It is life« he replied bluntly »It is real It is true And I must write
life as I see it«
She made no answer and for an awkward moment they sat silent It was
because he loved her that he did not quite understand her and she could not
understand him because he was so large that he bulked beyond her horizon
»Well Ive collected from the Transcontinental« he said in an effort to
shift the conversation to a more comfortable subject The picture of the
bewhiskered trio as he had last seen them mulcted of four dollars and ninety
cents and a ferry ticket made him chuckle
»Then youll come« she cried joyously »That was what I came to find out«
»Come« he muttered absently »Where«
»Why to dinner tomorrow You know you said youd recover your suit if you
got that money«
»I forgot all about it« he said humbly »You see this morning the poundman
got Marias two cows and the baby calf and well it happened that Maria
didnt have any money and so I had to recover her cows for her Thats where
the Transcontinental fiver went The Ring of Bells went into the poundmans
pocket«
»Then you wont come«
He looked down at his clothing
»I cant«
Tears of disappointment and reproach glistened in her blue eyes but she
said nothing
»Next Thanksgiving youll have dinner with me in Delmonicos« he said
cheerily »or in London or Paris or anywhere you wish I know it«
»I saw in the paper a few days ago« she announced abruptly »that there had
been several local appointments to the Railway Mail You passed first didnt
you«
He was compelled to admit that the call had come for him but that he had
declined it »I was so sure I am so sure of myself« he concluded »A year
from now Ill be earning more than a dozen men in the Railway Mail You wait and
see«
»Oh« was all she said when he finished She stood up pulling at her
gloves »I must go Martin Arthur is waiting for me«
He took her in his arms and kissed her but she proved a passive sweetheart
There was no tenseness in her body her arms did not go around him and her lips
met his without their wonted pressure
She was angry with him he concluded as he returned from the gate But why
It was unfortunate that the poundman had gobbled Marias cows But it was only a
stroke of fate Nobody could be blamed for it Nor did it enter his head that he
could have done aught otherwise than what he had done Well yes he was to
blame a little was his next thought for having refused the call to the Railway
Mail And she had not liked »WikiWiki«
He turned at the head of the steps to meet the lettercarrier on his
afternoon round The ever recurrent fever of expectancy assailed Martin as he
took the bundle of long envelopes One was not long It was short and thin and
outside was printed the address of The New York Outview He paused in the act of
tearing the envelope open It could not be an acceptance He had no manuscripts
with that publication Perhaps his heart almost stood still at the wild
thought perhaps they were ordering an article from him but the next instant
he dismissed the surmise as hopelessly impossible
It was a short formal letter signed by the office editor merely informing
him that an anonymous letter which they had received was enclosed and that he
could rest assured the Outviews staff never under any circumstances gave
consideration to anonymous correspondence
The enclosed letter Martin found to be crudely printed by hand It was a
hotchpotch of illiterate abuse of Martin and of assertion that the socalled
Martin Eden who was selling stories to magazines was no writer at all and that
in reality he was stealing stories from old magazines typing them and sending
them out as his own The envelope was postmarked San Leandro Martin did not
require a second thought to discover the author Higginbothams grammar
Higginbothams colloquialisms Higginbothams mental quirks and processes were
apparent throughout Martin saw in every line not the fine Italian hand but
the coarse grocers fist of his brotherinlaw
But why he vainly questioned What injury had he done Bernard Higginbotham
The thing was so unreasonable so wanton There was no explaining it In the
course of the week a dozen similar letters were forwarded to Martin by the
editors of various Eastern magazines The editors were behaving handsomely
Martin concluded He was wholly unknown to them yet some of them had even been
sympathetic It was evident that they detested anonymity He saw that the
malicious attempt to hurt him had failed In fact if anything came of it it
was bound to be good for at least his name had been called to the attention of
a number of editors Sometime perhaps reading a submitted manuscript of his
they might remember him as the fellow about whom they had received an anonymous
letter And who was to say that such a remembrance might not sway the balance of
their judgment just a trifle in his favor
It was about this time that Martin took a great slump in Marias estimation
He found her in the kitchen one morning groaning with pain tears of weakness
running down her cheeks vainly endeavoring to put through a large ironing He
promptly diagnosed her affliction as La Grippe dosed her with hot whiskey the
remnants in the bottles for which Brissenden was responsible and ordered her
to bed But Maria was refractory The ironing had to be done she protested and
delivered that night or else there would be no food on the morrow for the seven
small and hungry Silvas
To her astonishment and it was something that she never ceased from
relating to her dying day she saw Martin Eden seize an iron from the stove and
throw a fancy shirtwaist on the ironingboard It was Kate Flanagans best
Sunday waist than whom there was no more exacting and fastidiously dressed
woman in Marias world Also Miss Flanagan had sent special instruction that
said waist must be delivered by that night As every one knew she was keeping
company with John Collins the blacksmith and as Maria knew privily Miss
Flanagan and Mr Collins were going next day to Golden Gate Park Vain was
Marias attempt to rescue the garment Martin guided her tottering footsteps to
a chair from where she watched him with bulging eyes In a quarter of the time
it would have taken her she saw the shirtwaist safely ironed and ironed as
well as she could have done it as Martin made her grant
»I could work faster« he explained »if your irons were only hotter«
To her the irons he swung were much hotter than she ever dared to use
»Your sprinkling is all wrong« he complained next »Here let me teach you
how to sprinkle Pressure is whats wanted Sprinkle under pressure if you want
to iron fast«
He procured a packingcase from the woodpile in the cellar fitted a cover
to it and raided the scrapiron the Silva tribe was collecting for the junkman
With freshsprinkled garments in the box covered with the board and pressed by
the iron the device was complete and in operation
»Now you watch me Maria« he said stripping off to his undershirt and
gripping an iron that was what he called really hot
»An when he feenish da iron he washa da wools« as she described it
afterward »He say Maria you are da greata fool I showa you how to washa da
wools an he showa me too Ten minutes he maka da machine one barrel one
wheelhub two poles justa like dat«
Martin had learned the contrivance from Joe at the Shelly Hot Springs The
old wheelhub fixed on the end of the upright pole constituted the plunger
Making this in turn fast to the springpole attached to the kitchen rafters
so that the hub played upon the woollens in the barrel he was able with one
hand thoroughly to pound them
»No more Maria washa da wools« her story always ended »I maka da kids
worka da pole an da hub an da barrel Him da smarta man Mister Eden«
Nevertheless by his masterly operation and improvement of her
kitchenlaundry he fell an immense distance in her regard The glamour of
romance with which her imagination had invested him faded away in the cold light
of fact that he was an exlaundryman All his books and his grand friends who
visited him in carriages or with countless bottles of whiskey went for naught
He was after all a mere workingman a member of her own class and caste He
was more human and approachable but he was no longer mystery
Martins alienation from his family continued Following upon Mr
Higginbothams unprovoked attack Mr Hermann von Schmidt showed his hand The
fortunate sale of several storiettes some humorous verse and a few jokes gave
Martin a temporary splurge of prosperity Not only did he partially pay up his
bills but he had sufficient balance left to redeem his black suit and wheel
The latter by virtue of a twisted crankhanger required repairing and as a
matter of friendliness with his future brotherinlaw he sent it to Von
Schmidts shop
The afternoon of the same day Martin was pleased by the wheel being
delivered by a small boy Von Schmidt was also inclined to be friendly was
Martins conclusion from this unusual favor Repaired wheels usually had to be
called for But when he examined the wheel he discovered no repairs had been
made A little later in the day he telephoned his sisters betrothed and
learned that that person didnt want anything to do with him in any shape
manner or form
»Hermann von Schmidt« Martin answered cheerfully »Ive a good mind to come
over and punch that Dutch nose of yours«
»You come to my shop« came the reply »an Ill send for the police An
Ill put you through too Oh I know you but you cant make no roughhouse
with me I dont want nothin to do with the likes of you Youre a loafer
thats what an I aint asleep You aint goin to do no spongin off me just
because Im marryin your sister Why dont you go to work an earn an honest
livin eh Answer me that«
Martins philosophy asserted itself dissipating his anger and he hung up
the receiver with a long whistle of incredulous amusement But after the
amusement came the reaction and he was oppressed by his loneliness Nobody
understood him nobody seemed to have any use for him except Brissenden and
Brissenden had disappeared God alone knew where
Twilight was falling as Martin left the fruit store and turned homeward his
marketing on his arm At the corner an electric car had stopped and at sight of
a lean familiar figure alighting his heart leapt with joy It was Brissenden
and in the fleeting glimpse ere the car started up Martin noted the overcoat
pockets one bulging with books the other bulging with a quart bottle of
whiskey
Chapter XXXV
Brissenden gave no explanation of his long absence nor did Martin pry into it
He was content to see his friends cadaverous face opposite him through the
steam rising from a tumbler of toddy
»I too have not been idle« Brissenden proclaimed after hearing Martins
account of the work he had accomplished
He pulled a manuscript from his inside coat pocket and passed it to Martin
who looked at the title and glanced up curiously
»Yes thats it« Brissenden laughed »Pretty good title eh Ephemera it
is the one word And youre responsible for it what of your man who is always
the erected the vitalized inorganic the latest of the ephemera the creature
of temperature strutting his little space on the thermometer It got into my
head and I had to write it to get rid of it Tell me what you think of it«
Martins face flushed at first paled as he read on It was perfect art
Form triumphed over substance if triumph it could be called where the last
conceivable atom of substance had found expression in so perfect construction as
to make Martins head swim with delight to put passionate tears into his eyes
and to send chills creeping up and down his back It was a long poem of six or
seven hundred lines and it was a fantastic amazing unearthly thing It was
terrific impossible and yet there it was scrawled in black ink across the
sheets of paper It dealt with man and his soulgropings in their ultimate
terms plumbing the abysses of space for the testimony of remotest suns and
rainbow spectrums It was a mad orgy of imagination wassailing in the skull of
a dying man who half sobbed under his breath and was quick with the wild flutter
of fading heartbeats The poem swung in majestic rhythm to the cool tumult of
interstellar conflict to the onset of starry hosts to the impact of cold suns
and the flaming up of nebulæ in the darkened void and through it all unceasing
and faint like a silver shuttle ran the frail piping voice of man a
querulous chirp amid the screaming of planets and the crash of systems
»There is nothing like it in literature« Martin said when at last he was
able to speak »Its wonderful wonderful It has gone to my head I am
drunken with it That great infinitesimal question I cant shake it out of my
thoughts That questing eternal ever recurring thin little wailing voice of
man is still ringing in my ears It is like the deadmarch of a gnat amid the
trumpeting of elephants and the roaring of lions It is insatiable with
microscopic desire I know Im making a fool of myself but the thing has
obsessed me You are I dont know what you are you are wonderful thats
all But how do you do it How do you do it«
Martin paused from his rhapsody only to break out afresh
»I shall never write again I am a dauber in clay You have shown me the
work of the real artificerartisan Genius This is something more than genius
It transcends genius It is truth gone mad It is true man every line of it I
wonder if you realize that you dogmatist Science cannot give you the lie It
is the truth of the sneer stamped out from the black iron of the Cosmos and
interwoven with mighty rhythms of sound into a fabric of splendor and beauty
And now I wont say another word I am overwhelmed crushed Yes I will too
Let me market it for you«
Brissenden grinned »Theres not a magazine in Christendom that would dare
to publish it you know that«
»I know nothing of the sort I know theres not a magazine in Christendom
that wouldnt jump at it They dont get things like that every day Thats no
mere poem of the year Its the poem of the century«
»Id like to take you up on the proposition.«
»Now dont get cynical« Martin exhorted »The magazine editors are not
wholly fatuous I know that And Ill close with you on the bet Ill wager
anything you want that Ephemera is accepted either on the first or second
offering«
»Theres just one thing that prevents me from taking you« Brissenden waited
a moment »The thing is big the biggest Ive ever done I know that Its my
swan song I am almighty proud of it I worship it Its better than whiskey It
is what I dreamed of the great and perfect thing when I was a simple young
man with sweet illusions and clean ideals And Ive got it now in my last
grasp and Ill not have it pawed over and soiled by a lot of swine No I wont
take the bet Its mine I made it and Ive shared it with you«
»But think of the rest of the world« Martin protested »The function of
beauty is joymaking«
»Its my beauty«
»Dont be selfish«
»Im not selfish« Brissenden grinned soberly in the way he had when pleased
by the thing his thin lips were about to shape »Im as unselfish as a famished
hog«
In vain Martin strove to shake him from his decision Martin told him that
his hatred of the magazines was rabid fanatical and that his conduct was a
thousand times more despicable than that of the youth who burned the temple of
Diana at Ephesus Under the storm of denunciation Brissenden complacently sipped
his toddy and affirmed that everything the other said was quite true with the
exception of the magazine editors His hatred of them knew no bounds and he
excelled Martin in denunciation when he turned upon them
»I wish youd type it for me« he said »You know how a thousand times
better than any stenographer And now I want to give you some advice« He drew a
bulky manuscript from his outside coat pocket »Heres your Shame of the Sun
Ive read it not once but twice and three times the highest compliment I can
pay you After what youve said about Ephemera I must be silent But this I will
say when The Shame of the Sun is published it will make a hit It will start a
controversy that will be worth thousands to you just in advertising«
Martin laughed »I suppose your next advice will be to submit it to the
magazines«
»By all means no that is if you want to see it in print Offer it to the
firstclass houses Some publishers reader may be mad enough or drunk enough to
report favorably on it Youve read the books The meat of them has been
transmuted in the alembic of Martin Edens mind and poured into The Shame of the
Sun and one day Martin Eden will be famous and not the least of his fame will
rest upon that work So you must get a publisher for it the sooner the
better«
Brissenden went home late that night and just as he mounted the first step
of the car he swung suddenly back on Martin and thrust into his hand a small
tightly crumpled wad of paper
»Here take this« he said »I was out to the races today and I had the
right dope«
The bell clanged and the car pulled out leaving Martin wondering as to the
nature of the crinkly greasy wad he clutched in his hand Back in his room he
unrolled it and found a hundreddollar bill
He did not scruple to use it He knew his friend had always plenty of money
and he knew also with profound certitude that his success would enable him to
repay it In the morning he paid every bill gave Maria three months advance on
the room and redeemed every pledge at the pawnshop Next he bought Marians
wedding present and simpler presents suitable to Christmas for Ruth and
Gertrude And finally on the balance remaining to him he herded the whole
Silva tribe down into Oakland He was a winter late in redeeming his promise
but redeemed it was for the last least Silva got a pair of shoes as well as
Maria herself Also there were horns and dolls and toys of various sorts and
parcels and bundles of candies and nuts that filled the arms of all the Silvas
to overflowing
It was with this extraordinary procession trooping at his and Marias heels
into a confectioners in quest of the biggest candycane ever made that he
encountered Ruth and her mother Mrs Morse was shocked Even Ruth was hurt for
she had some regard for appearances and her lover cheek by jowl with Maria at
the head of that army of Portuguese ragamuffins was not a pretty sight But it
was not that which hurt so much as what she took to be his lack of pride and
selfrespect Further and keenest of all she read into the incident the
impossibility of his living down his workingclass origin There was stigma
enough in the fact of it but shamelessly to flaunt it in the face of the world
her world was going too far Though her engagement to Martin had been kept
secret their long intimacy had not been unproductive of gossip and in the
shop glancing covertly at her lover and his following had been several of her
acquaintances She lacked the easy largeness of Martin and could not rise
superior to her environment She had been hurt to the quick and her sensitive
nature was quivering with the shame of it So it was when Martin arrived later
in the day that he kept her present in his breastpocket deferring the giving
of it to a more propitious occasion Ruth in tears passionate angry tears
was a revelation to him The spectacle of her suffering convinced him that he
had been a brute yet in the soul of him he could not see how nor why It never
entered his head to be ashamed of those he knew and to take the Silvas out to a
Christmas treat could in no way so it seemed to him show lack of consideration
for Ruth On the other hand he did see Ruths point of view after she had
explained it and he looked upon it as a feminine weakness such as afflicted
all women and the best of women
Chapter XXXVI
»Come on Ill show you the real dirt« Brissenden said to him one evening in
January
They had dined together in San Francisco and were at the Ferry Building
returning to Oakland when the whim came to him to show Martin the real dirt He
turned and fled across the waterfront a meagre shadow in a flapping overcoat
with Martin straining to keep up with him At a wholesale liquor store he bought
two gallondemijohns of old port and with one in each hand boarded a Mission
Street car Martin at his heels burdened with several quartbottles of whiskey
If Ruth could see me now was his thought while he wondered as to what
constituted the real dirt
»Maybe nobody will be there« Brissenden said when they dismounted and
plunged off to the right into the heart of the workingclass ghetto south of
Market Street »In which case youll miss what youve been looking for so long«
»And what the deuce is that« Martin asked
»Men intelligent men and not the gibbering nonentities I found you
consorting with in that traders den You read the books and you found yourself
all alone Well Im going to show you tonight some other men whove read the
books so that you wont be lonely any more
Not that I bother my head about their everlasting discussions« he said at
the end of a block »Im not interested in book philosophy But youll find
these fellows intelligences and not bourgeois swine But watch out theyll talk
an arm off of you on any subject under the sun
Hope Nortons there« he panted a little later resisting Martins effort to
relieve him of the two demijohns »Nortons an idealist a Harvard man
Prodigious memory Idealism led him to philosophic anarchy and his family threw
him off Fathers a railroad president and many times millionnaire but the
sons starving in Frisco editing an anarchist sheet for twentyfive a month«
Martin was little acquainted in San Francisco and not at all south of
Market so he had no idea of where he was being led
»Go ahead« he said »tell me about them beforehand What do they do for a
living How do they happen to be here«
»Hope Hamiltons there« Brissenden paused and rested his hands
»StrawnHamiltons his name hyphenated you know comes of old Southern
stock Hes a tramp laziest man I ever knew though hes clerking or trying
to in a socialist coöperative store for six dollars a week But hes a
confirmed hobo Tramped into town Ive seen him sit all day on a bench and
never a bite pass his lips and in the evening when I invited him to dinner
restaurant two blocks away have him say Too much trouble old man Buy me a
package of cigarettes instead He was a Spencerian like you till Kreis turned
him to materialistic monism Ill start him on monism if I can Nortons another
monist only he affirms naught but spirit He can give Kreis and Hamilton all
they want too«
»Who is Kreis« Martin asked
»His rooms were going to One time professor fired from university
usual story A mind like a steel trap Makes his living any old way I know hes
been a street fakir when he was down Unscrupulous Rob a corpse of a shroud
anything Difference between him and the bourgeoisie is that he robs without
illusion Hell talk Nietzsche or Schopenhauer or Kant or anything but the
only thing in this world not excepting Mary that he really cares for is his
monism Haeckel is his little tin god The only way to insult him is to take a
slap at Haeckel
Heres the hangout« Brissenden rested his demijohn at the upstairs
entrance preliminary to the climb It was the usual twostory corner building
with a saloon and grocery underneath »The gang lives here got the whole
upstairs to themselves But Kreis is the only one who has two rooms Come on«
No lights burned in the upper hall but Brissenden threaded the utter
blackness like a familiar ghost He stopped to speak to Martin
»Theres one fellow Stevens a theosophist Makes a pretty tangle when he
gets going Just now hes dishwasher in a restaurant Likes a good cigar Ive
seen him eat in a tencent hashhouse and pay fifty cents for the cigar he
smoked afterward Ive got a couple in my pocket for him if he shows up
And theres another fellow Parry an Australian a statistician and a
sporting encyclopædia Ask him the grain output of Paraguay for 1903 or the
English importation of sheetings into China for 1890 or at what weight Jimmy
Britt fought Battling Nelson or who was welterweight champion of the United
States in 68 and youll get the correct answer with the automatic celerity of
a slotmachine And theres Andy a stonemason has ideas on everything a good
chessplayer and another fellow Harry a baker red hot socialist and strong
union man By the way you remember the Cooks and Waiters strike Hamilton
was the chap who organized that union and precipitated the strike planned it
all out in advance right here in Kreiss rooms Did it just for the fun of it
but was too lazy to stay by the union Yet he could have risen high if he wanted
to Theres no end to the possibilities in that man if he werent so
insuperably lazy«
Brissenden advanced through the darkness till a thread of light marked the
threshold of a door A knock and an answer opened it and Martin found himself
shaking hands with Kreis a handsome brunette man with dazzling white teeth a
drooping black mustache and large flashing black eyes Mary a matronly young
blonde was washing dishes in the little back room that served for kitchen and
dining room The front room served as bedchamber and living room Overhead was
the weeks washing hanging in festoons so low that Martin did not see at first
the two men talking in a corner They hailed Brissenden and his demijohns with
acclamation and on being introduced Martin learned they were Andy and Parry
He joined them and listened attentively to the description of a prizefight
Parry had seen the night before while Brissenden in his glory plunged into
the manufacture of a toddy and the serving of wine and whiskeyandsodas At his
command »Bring in the clan« Andy departed to go the round of the rooms for the
lodgers
»Were lucky that most of them are here« Brissenden whispered to Martin
»Theres Norton and Hamilton come on and meet them Stevens isnt around I
hear Im going to get them started on monism if I can Wait till they get a few
jolts in them and theyll warm up«
At first the conversation was desultory Nevertheless Martin could not fail
to appreciate the keen play of their minds They were men with opinions though
the opinions often clashed and though they were witty and clever they were
not superficial He swiftly saw no matter upon what they talked that each man
applied the correlation of knowledge and had also a deepseated and unified
conception of society and the Cosmos Nobody manufactured their opinions for
them they were all rebels of one variety or another and their lips were
strangers to platitudes Never had Martin at the Morses heard so amazing a
range of topics discussed There seemed no limit save time to the things they
were alive to The talk wandered from Mrs Humphry Wards new book to Shaws
latest play through the future of the drama to reminiscences of Mansfield They
appreciated or sneered at the morning editorials jumped from labor conditions
in New Zealand to Henry James and Brander Matthews passed on to the German
designs in the Far East and the economic aspect of the Yellow Peril wrangled
over the German elections and Bebels last speech and settled down to local
politics the latest plans and scandals in the union labor party administration
and the wires that were pulled to bring about the Coast Seamens strike Martin
was struck by the inside knowledge they possessed They knew what was never
printed in the newspapers the wires and strings and the hidden hands that made
the puppets dance To Martins surprise the girl Mary joined in the
conversation displaying an intelligence he had never encountered in the few
women he had met They talked together on Swinburne and Rossetti after which
she led him beyond his depth into the bypaths of French literature His revenge
came when she defended Maeterlinck and he brought into action the
carefullythoughtout thesis of »The Shame of the Sun«
Several other men had dropped in and the air was thick with tobacco smoke
when Brissenden waved the red flag
»Heres fresh meat for your axe Kreis« he said »a rosewhite youth with
the ardor of a lover for Herbert Spencer Make a Haeckelite of him if you
can«
Kreis seemed to wake up and flash like some metallic magnetic thing while
Norton looked at Martin sympathetically with a sweet girlish smile as much as
to say that he would be amply protected
Kreis began directly on Martin but step by step Norton interfered until he
and Kreis were off and away in a personal battle Martin listened and fain would
have rubbed his eyes It was impossible that this should be much less in the
labor ghetto south of Market The books were alive in these men They talked
with fire and enthusiasm the intellectual stimulant stirring them as he had
seen drink and anger stir other men What he heard was no longer the philosophy
of the dry printed word written by halfmythical demigods like Kant and
Spencer It was living philosophy with warm red blood incarnated in these two
men till its very features worked with excitement Now and again other men
joined in and all followed the discussion with cigarettes going out in their
hands and with alert intent faces
Idealism had never attracted Martin but the exposition it now received at
the hands of Norton was a revelation The logical plausibility of it that made
an appeal to his intellect seemed missed by Kreis and Hamilton who sneered at
Norton as a metaphysician and who in turn sneered back at them as
metaphysicians Phenomenon and noumenon were bandied back and forth They
charged him with attempting to explain consciousness by itself. He charged them
with wordjugglery with reasoning from words to theory instead of from facts to
theory At this they were aghast It was the cardinal tenet of their mode of
reasoning to start with facts and to give names to the facts
When Norton wandered into the intricacies of Kant Kreis reminded him that
all good little German philosophies when they died went to Oxford A little
later Norton reminded them of Hamiltons Law of Parsimony the application of
which they immediately claimed for every reasoning process of theirs And Martin
hugged his knees and exulted in it all But Norton was no Spencerian and he
too strove for Martins philosophic soul talking as much at him as to his two
opponents
»You know Berkeley has never been answered« he said looking directly at
Martin »Herbert Spencer came the nearest which was not very near Even the
stanchest of Spencers followers will not go farther I was reading an essay of
Saleebys the other day and the best Saleeby could say was that Herbert Spencer
nearly succeeded in answering Berkeley«
»You know what Hume said« Hamilton asked Norton nodded but Hamilton gave
it for the benefit of the rest »He said that Berkeleys arguments admit of no
answer and produce no conviction«
»In his Humes mind« was the reply »And Humes mind was the same as
yours with this difference he was wise enough to admit there was no answering
Berkeley«
Norton was sensitive and excitable though he never lost his head while
Kreis and Hamilton were like a pair of coldblooded savages seeking out tender
places to prod and poke As the evening grew late Norton smarting under the
repeated charges of being a metaphysician clutching his chair to keep from
jumping to his feet his gray eyes snapping and his girlish face grown harsh and
sure made a grand attack upon their position
»All right you Haeckelites I may reason like a medicine man but pray
how do you reason You have nothing to stand on you unscientific dogmatists
with your positive science which you are always lugging about into places it has
no right to be Long before the school of materialistic monism arose the ground
was removed so that there could be no foundation Locke was the man John Locke
Two hundred years ago more than that even in his Essay concerning the Human
Understanding he proved the nonexistence of innate ideas The best of it is
that that is precisely what you claim Tonight again and again you have
asserted the nonexistence of innate ideas.
And what does that mean It means that you can never know ultimate reality
Your brains are empty when you are born Appearances or phenomena, are all the
content your minds can receive from your five senses Then noumena which are
not in your minds when you are born have no way of getting in «
»I deny « Kreis started to interrupt
»You wait till Im done« Norton shouted »You can know only that much of
the play and interplay of force and matter as impinges in one way or another on
your senses You see I am willing to admit for the sake of the argument that
matter exists and what I am about to do is to efface you by your own argument
I cant do it any other way for you are both congenitally unable to understand
a philosophic abstraction
And now what do you know of matter, according to your own positive science
You know it only by its phenomena its appearances You are aware only of its
changes or of such changes in it as cause changes in your consciousness
Positive science deals only with phenomena yet you are foolish enough to strive
to be ontologists and to deal with noumena Yet by the very definition of
positive science science is concerned only with appearances As somebody has
said phenomenal knowledge cannot transcend phenomena
You cannot answer Berkeley even if you have annihilated Kant and yet
perforce you assume that Berkeley is wrong when you affirm that science proves
the nonexistence of God or as much to the point the existence of matter.
You know I granted the reality of matter only in order to make myself
intelligible to your understanding Be positive scientists if you please but
ontology has no place in positive science so leave it alone Spencer is right
in his agnosticism but if Spencer «
But it was time to catch the last ferryboat for Oakland and Brissenden and
Martin slipped out leaving Norton still talking and Kreis and Hamilton waiting
to pounce on him like a pair of hounds as soon as he finished
»You have given me a glimpse of fairyland« Martin said on the ferryboat
»It makes life worth while to meet people like that My mind is all worked up I
never appreciated idealism before Yet I cant accept it I know that I shall
always be a realist I am so made I guess But Id like to have made a reply to
Kreis and Hamilton and I think Id have had a word or two for Norton I didnt
see that Spencer was damaged any Im as excited as a child on its first visit
to the circus I see I must read up some more Im going to get hold of Saleeby
I still think Spencer is unassailable and next time Im going to take a hand
myself«
But Brissenden breathing painfully had dropped off to sleep his chin
buried in a scarf and resting on his sunken chest his body wrapped in the long
overcoat and shaking to the vibration of the propellers
Chapter XXXVII
The first thing Martin did next morning was to go counter both to Brissendens
advice and command »The Shame of the Sun« he wrapped and mailed to The
Acropolis He believed he could find magazine publication for it and he felt
that recognition by the magazines would commend him to the bookpublishing
houses »Ephemera« he likewise wrapped and mailed to a magazine Despite
Brissendens prejudice against the magazines which was a pronounced mania with
him Martin decided that the great poem should see print He did not intend
however to publish it without the others permission His plan was to get it
accepted by one of the high magazines and thus armed again to wrestle with
Brissenden for consent
Martin began that morning a story which he had sketched out a number of
weeks before and which ever since had been worrying him with its insistent
clamor to be created Apparently it was to be a rattling sea story a tale of
twentiethcentury adventure and romance handling real characters in a real
world under real conditions But beneath the swing and go of the story was to
be something else something that the superficial reader would never discern
and which on the other hand would not diminish in any way the interest and
enjoyment for such a reader It was this and not the mere story that impelled
Martin to write it For that matter it was always the great universal motif
that suggested plots to him After having found such a motif he cast about for
the particular persons and particular location in time and space wherewith and
wherein to utter the universal thing »Overdue« was the title he had decided for
it and its length he believed would not be more than sixty thousand words a
bagatelle for him with his splendid vigor of production On this first day he
took hold of it with conscious delight in the mastery of his tools He no longer
worried for fear that the sharp cutting edges should slip and mar his work The
long months of intense application and study had brought their reward He could
now devote himself with sure hand to the larger phases of the thing he shaped
and as he worked hour after hour he felt as never before the sure and cosmic
grasp with which he held life and the affairs of life »Overdue« would tell a
story that would be true of its particular characters and its particular events
but it would tell too he was confident great vital things that would be true
of all time and all sea and all life thanks to Herbert Spencer he thought
leaning back for a moment from the table Ay thanks to Herbert Spencer and to
the masterkey of life evolution which Spencer had placed in his hands
He was conscious that it was great stuff he was writing »It will go It
will go« was the refrain that kept sounding in his ears Of course it would go
At last he was turning out the thing at which the magazines would jump The
whole story worked out before him in lightning flashes He broke off from it
long enough to write a paragraph in his notebook This would be the last
paragraph in »Overdue« but so thoroughly was the whole book already composed in
his brain that he could write weeks before he had arrived at the end the end
itself He compared the tale as yet unwritten with the tales of the
seawriters and he felt it to be immeasurably superior »Theres only one man
who could touch it« he murmured aloud »and thats Conrad And it ought to make
even him sit up and shake hands with me and say Well done Martin my boy«
He toiled on all day recollecting at the last moment that he was to have
dinner at the Morses Thanks to Brissenden his black suit was out of pawn and
he was again eligible for dinner parties Down town he stopped off long enough
to run into the library and search for Saleebys books He drew out »The Cycle
of Life« and on the car turned to the essay Norton had mentioned on Spencer As
Martin read he grew angry His face flushed his jaw set and unconsciously his
hand clenched unclenched and clenched again as if he were taking fresh grips
upon some hateful thing out of which he was squeezing the life When he left the
car he strode along the sidewalk as a wrathful man will stride and he rang the
Morse bell with such viciousness that it roused him to consciousness of his
condition so that he entered in good nature smiling with amusement at himself
No sooner however was he inside than a great depression descended upon him He
fell from the height where he had been upborne all day on the wings of
inspiration Bourgeois traders den Brissendens epithets repeated themselves
in his mind But what of that he demanded angrily He was marrying Ruth not
her family
It seemed to him that he had never seen Ruth more beautiful more spiritual
and ethereal and at the same time more healthy There was color in her cheeks
and her eyes drew him again and again the eyes in which he had first read
immortality He had forgotten immortality of late and the trend of his
scientific reading had been away from it but here in Ruths eyes he read an
argument without words that transcended all worded arguments He saw that in her
eyes before which all discussion fled away for he saw love there And in his
own eyes was love and love was unanswerable Such was his passionate doctrine
The half hour he had with her before they went in to dinner left him
supremely happy and supremely satisfied with life Nevertheless at table the
inevitable reaction and exhaustion consequent upon the hard day seized hold of
him He was aware that his eyes were tired and that he was irritable He
remembered it was at this table at which he now sneered and was so often bored
that he had first eaten with civilized beings in what he had imagined was an
atmosphere of high culture and refinement He caught a glimpse of that pathetic
figure of him so long ago a self-conscious savage sprouting sweat at every
pore in an agony of apprehension puzzled by the bewildering minutiæ of
eatingimplements tortured by the ogre of a servant striving at a leap to live
at such dizzy social altitude and deciding in the end to be frankly himself
pretending no knowledge and no polish he did not possess
He glanced at Ruth for reassurance much in the same manner that a
passenger with sudden panic thought of possible shipwreck will strive to
locate the lifepreservers Well that much had come out of it love and Ruth
All the rest had failed to stand the test of the books But Ruth and love had
stood the test for them he found a biological sanction Love was the most
exalted expression of life Nature had been busy designing him as she had been
busy with all normal men for the purpose of loving She had spent ten thousand
centuries ay a hundred thousand and a million centuries upon the task and
he was the best she could do She had made love the strongest thing in him
increased its power a myriad per cent with her gift of imagination and sent him
forth into the ephemera to thrill and melt and mate His hand sought Ruths hand
beside him hidden by the table and a warm pressure was given and received She
looked at him a swift instant and her eyes were radiant and melting So were
his in the thrill that pervaded him nor did he realize how much that was
radiant and melting in her eyes had been aroused by what she had seen in his
Across the table from him catercornered at Mr Morses right sat Judge
Blount a local superior court judge Martin had met him a number of times and
had failed to like him He and Ruths father were discussing labor union
politics the local situation and socialism and Mr Morse was endeavoring to
twit Martin on the latter topic At last Judge Blount looked across the table
with benignant and fatherly pity Martin smiled to himself
»Youll grow out of it young man« he said soothingly »Time is the best
cure for such youthful distempers« He turned to Mr Morse »I do not believe
discussion is good in such cases It makes the patient obstinate«
»That is true« the other assented gravely »But it is well to warn the
patient occasionally of his condition«
Martin laughed merrily but it was with an effort The day had been too
long the days effort too intense and he was deep in the throes of the
reaction
»Undoubtedly you are both excellent doctors« he said »but if you care a
whit for the opinion of the patient let him tell you that you are poor
diagnosticians In fact you are both suffering from the disease you mink you
find in me As for me I am immune The socialist philosophy that riots
halfbaked in your veins has passed me by«
»Clever clever« murmured the judge »An excellent ruse in controversy to
reverse positions«
»Out of your mouth« Martins eyes were sparkling but he kept control of
himself »You see Judge Ive heard your campaign speeches By some henidical
process henidical by the way is a favorite word of mine which nobody
understands by some henidical process you persuade yourself that you believe
in the competitive system and the survival of the strong and at the same time
you indorse with might and main all sorts of measures to shear the strength from
the strong«
»My young man «
»Remember Ive heard your campaign speeches« Martin warned »Its on
record your position on interstate commerce regulation on regulation of the
railway trust and Standard Oil on the conservation of the forests on a
thousand and one restrictive measures that are nothing else than socialistic«
»Do you mean to tell me that you do not believe in regulating these various
outrageous exercises of power«
»Thats not the point I mean to tell you that you are a poor diagnostician
I mean to tell you that I am not suffering from the microbe of socialism I mean
to tell you that it is you who are suffering from the emasculating ravages of
that same microbe As for me I am an inveterate opponent of socialism just as I
am an inveterate opponent of your own mongrel democracy that is nothing else
than pseudosocialism masquerading under a garb of words that will not stand the
test of the dictionary
I am a reactionary so complete a reactionary that my position is
incomprehensible to you who live in a veiled lie of social organization and
whose sight is not keen enough to pierce the veil You make believe that you
believe in the survival of the strong and the rule of the strong I believe
That is the difference When I was a trifle younger a few months younger I
believed the same thing You see the ideas of you and yours had impressed me
But merchants and traders are cowardly rulers at best they grunt and grub all
their days in the trough of moneygetting and I have swung back to aristocracy
if you please I am the only individualist in this room I look to the state for
nothing I look only to the strong man the man on horseback to save the state
from its own rotten futility
Nietzsche was right I wont take the time to tell you who Nietzsche was
but he was right The world belongs to the strong to the strong who are noble
as well and who do not wallow in the swinetrough of trade and exchange The
world belongs to the true noblemen to the great blond beasts to the
noncompromisers to the yessayers And they will eat you up you socialists who
are afraid of socialism and who think yourselves individualists Your
slavemorality of the meek and lowly will never save you Oh its all Greek
I know and I wont bother you any more with it But remember one thing There
arent half a dozen individualists in Oakland but Martin Eden is one of them«
He signified that he was done with the discussion and turned to Ruth
»Im wrought up today« he said in an undertone »All I want to do is to
love not talk«
He ignored Mr Morse who said
»I am unconvinced All socialists are Jesuits That is the way to tell
them«
»Well make a good Republican out of you yet« said Judge Blount
»The man on horseback will arrive before that time« Martin retorted with
good humor and returned to Ruth
But Mr Morse was not content He did not like the laziness and the
disinclination for sober legitimate work of this prospective soninlaw of his
for whose ideas he had no respect and of whose nature he had no understanding
So he turned the conversation to Herbert Spencer Judge Blount ably seconded
him and Martin whose ears had pricked at the first mention of the
philosophers name listened to the judge enunciate a grave and complacent
diatribe against Spencer From time to time Mr Morse glanced at Martin as much
as to say »There my boy you see«
»Chattering daws« Martin muttered under his breath and went on talking with
Ruth and Arthur
But the long day and the real dirt of the night before were telling upon
him and besides still burning in his mind was what had made him angry when he
read it on the car
»What is the matter« Ruth asked suddenly alarmed by the effort he was
making to contain himself
»There is no god but the Unknowable and Herbert Spencer is its prophet«
Judge Blount was saying at that moment
Martin turned upon him
»A cheap judgment« he remarked quietly »I heard it first in the City Hall
Park on the lips of a workingman who ought to have known better I have heard
it often since and each time the claptrap of it nauseates me You ought to be
ashamed of yourself To hear that great and noble mans name upon your lips is
like finding a dewdrop in a cesspool You are disgusting«
It was like a thunderbolt Judge Blount glared at him with apoplectic
countenance and silence reigned Mr Morse was secretly pleased He could see
that his daughter was shocked It was what he wanted to do to bring out the
innate ruffianism of this man he did not like
Ruths hand sought Martins beseechingly under the table but his blood was
up He was inflamed by the intellectual pretence and fraud of those who sat in
the high places A Superior Court Judge It was only several years before that
he had looked up from the mire at such glorious entities and deemed them gods
Judge Blount recovered himself and attempted to go on addressing himself to
Martin with an assumption of politeness that the latter understood was for the
benefit of the ladies Even this added to his anger Was there no honesty in the
world
»You cant discuss Spencer with me« he cried »You do not know any more
about Spencer than do his own countrymen But it is no fault of yours I grant
It is just a phase of the contemptible ignorance of the times I ran across a
sample of it on my way here this evening I was reading an essay by Saleeby on
Spencer You should read it It is accessible to all men You can buy it in any
bookstore or draw it from the public library You would feel ashamed of your
paucity of abuse and ignorance of that noble man compared with what Saleeby has
collected on the subject It is a record of shame that would shame your shame
The philosopher of the halfeducated he was called by an academic
philosopher who was not worthy to pollute the atmosphere he breathed I dont
think you have read ten pages of Spencer but there have been critics assumably
more intelligent than you who have read no more than you of Spencer who
publicly challenged his followers to adduce one single idea from all his
writings from Herbert Spencers writings the man who has impressed the stamp
of his genius over the whole field of scientific research and modern thought
the father of psychology the man who revolutionized pedagogy so that today
the child of the French peasant is taught the three Rs according to principles
laid down by him And the little gnats of men sting his memory when they get
their very bread and butter from the technical application of his ideas What
little of worth resides in their brains is largely due to him It is certain
that had he never lived most of what is correct in their parrotlearned
knowledge would be absent
And yet a man like Principal Fairbanks of Oxford a man who sits in an even
higher place than you Judge Blount has said that Spencer will be dismissed by
posterity as a poet and dreamer rather than a thinker Yappers and
blatherskites the whole brood of them »First Principles« is not wholly
destitute of a certain literary power said one of them And others of them have
said that he was an industrious plodder rather than an original thinker Yappers
and blatherskites Yappers and blatherskites«
Martin ceased abruptly in a dead silence Everybody in Ruths family looked
up to Judge Blount as a man of power and achievement and they were horrified at
Martins outbreak The remainder of the dinner passed like a funeral the judge
and Mr Morse confining their talk to each other and the rest of the
conversation being extremely desultory Then afterward when Ruth and Martin
were alone there was a scene
»You are unbearable« she wept
But his anger still smouldered and he kept muttering »The beasts The
beasts«
When she averred he had insulted the judge he retorted
»By telling the truth about him«
»I dont care whether it was true or not« she insisted »There are certain
bounds of decency and you had no license to insult anybody«
»Then where did Judge Blount get the license to assault truth« Martin
demanded »Surely to assault truth is a more serious misdemeanor than to insult
a pygmy personality such as the judges He did worse than that He blackened
the name of a great noble man who is dead Oh the beasts The beasts«
His complex anger flamed afresh and Ruth was in terror of him Never had
she seen him so angry and it was all mystified and unreasonable to her
comprehension And yet through her very terror ran the fibres of fascination
that had drawn and that still drew her to him that had compelled her to lean
towards him and in that mad culminating moment lay her hands upon his neck
She was hurt and outraged by what had taken place and yet she lay in his arms
and quivered while he went on muttering »The beasts The beasts« And she still
lay there when he said »Ill not bother your table again dear They do not
like me and it is wrong of me to thrust my objectionable presence upon them
Besides they are just as objectionable to me Faugh They are sickening And to
think of it I dreamed in my innocence that the persons who sat in the high
places who lived in fine houses and had educations and bank accounts were
worth while«
Chapter XXXVIII
»Come on lets go down to the local«
So spoke Brissenden faint from a hemorrhage of half an hour before the
second hemorrhage in three days The perennial whiskey glass was in his hands
and he drained it with shaking fingers
»What do I want with socialism« Martin demanded
»Outsiders are allowed fiveminute speeches« the sick man urged »Get up
and spout Tell them why you dont want socialism Tell them what you think
about them and their ghetto ethics Slam Nietzsche into them and get walloped
for your pains Make a scrap of it It will do them good Discussion is what
they want and what you want too You see Id like to see you a socialist
before Im gone It will give you a sanction for your existence It is the one
thing that will save you in the time of disappointment that is coming to you«
»I never can puzzle out why you of all men are a socialist« Martin
pondered »You detest the crowd so Surely there is nothing in the canaille to
recommend it to your æsthetic soul« He pointed an accusing finger at the
whiskey glass which the other was refilling »Socialism doesnt seem to save
you«
»Im very sick« was the answer »With you it is different You have health
and much to live for and you must be handcuffed to life somehow As for me you
wonder why I am a socialist Ill tell you It is because socialism is
inevitable because the present rotten and irrational system cannot endure
because the day is past for your man on horseback The slaves wont stand for
it They are too many and willynilly theyll drag down the wouldbe equestrian
before ever he gets astride You cant get away from them and youll have to
swallow the whole slavemorality Its not a nice mess Ill allow But its
been abrewing and swallow it you must You are antediluvian anyway with your
Nietzsche ideas The past is past and the man who says history repeats itself
is a liar Of course I dont like the crowd but whats a poor chap to do We
cant have the man on horseback and anything is preferable to the timid swine
that now rule But come on anyway Im loaded to the guards now and if I sit
here any longer Ill get drunk And you know the doctor says damn the doctor
Ill fool him yet«
It was Sunday night and they found the small hall packed by the Oakland
socialists chiefly members of the working class The speaker a clever Jew won
Martins admiration at the same time that he aroused his antagonism The mans
stooped and narrow shoulders and weazened chest proclaimed him the true child of
the crowded ghetto and strong on Martin was the agelong struggle of the
feeble wretched slaves against the lordly handful of men who had ruled over
them and would rule over them to the end of time To Martin this withered wisp
of a creature was a symbol He was the figure that stood forth representative of
the whole miserable mass of weaklings and inefficients who perished according to
biological law on the ragged confines of life They were the unfit In spite of
their cunning philosophy and of their antlike proclivities for coöperation
Nature rejected them for the exceptional man Out of the plentiful spawn of life
she flung from her prolific hand she selected only the best It was by the same
method that men aping her bred racehorses and cucumbers Doubtless a creator
of a Cosmos could have devised a better method but creatures of this particular
Cosmos must put up with this particular method. Of course they could squirm as
they perished as the socialists squirmed as the speaker on the platform and
the perspiring crowd were squirming even now as they counselled together for
some new device with which to minimize the penalties of living and outwit the
Cosmos
So Martin thought and so he spoke when Brissenden urged him to give them
hell He obeyed the mandate walking up to the platform as was the custom and
addressing the chairman He began in a low voice haltingly forming into order
the ideas which had surged in his brain while the Jew was speaking In such
meetings five minutes was the time allotted to each speaker but when Martins
five minutes were up he was in full stride his attack upon their doctrines but
half completed He had caught their interest and the audience urged the
chairman by acclamation to extend Martins time They appreciated him as a
foeman worthy of their intellect and they listened intently following every
word He spoke with fire and conviction mincing no words in his attack upon the
slaves and their morality and tactics and frankly alluding to his hearers as the
slaves in question He quoted Spencer and Malthus and enunciated the biological
law of development
»And so« he concluded in a swift résumé »no state composed of the
slavetypes can endure The old law of development still holds In the struggle
for existence as I have shown the strong and the progeny of the strong tend to
survive while the weak and the progeny of the weak are crushed and tend to
perish The result is that the strong and the progeny of the strong survive
and so long as the struggle obtains the strength of each generation increases
That is development But you slaves it is too bad to be slaves I grant but
you slaves dream of a society where the law of development will be annulled
where no weaklings and inefficients will perish where every inefficient will
have as much as he wants to eat as many times a day as he desires and where all
will marry and have progeny the weak as well as the strong What will be the
result No longer will the strength and lifevalue of each generation increase
On the contrary it will diminish There is the Nemesis of your slave
philosophy Your society of slaves of by and for slaves must inevitably
weaken and go to pieces as the life which composes it weakens and goes to
pieces
Remember I am enunciating biology and not sentimental ethics No state of
slaves can stand «
»How about the United States« a man yelled from the audience
»And how about it« Martin retorted »The thirteen colonies threw off their
rulers and formed the Republic socalled The slaves were their own masters
There were no more masters of the sword But you couldnt get along without
masters of some sort and there arose a new set of masters not the great
virile noble men but the shrewd and spidery traders and moneylenders And
they enslaved you over again but not frankly as the true noble men would do
with weight of their own right arms but secretly by spidery machinations and
by wheedling and cajolery and lies They have purchased your slave judges they
have debauched your slave legislatures and they have forced to worse horrors
than chattel slavery your slave boys and girls Two million of your children are
toiling today in this traderoligarchy of the United States Ten millions of
you slaves are not properly sheltered nor properly fed
But to return I have shown that no society of slaves can endure because
in its very nature such society must annul the law of development No sooner
can a slave society be organized than deterioration sets in It is easy for you
to talk of annulling the law of development but where is the new law of
development that will maintain your strength Formulate it Is it already
formulated Then state it«
Martin took his seat amidst an uproar of voices A score of men were on
their feet clamoring for recognition from the chair And one by one encouraged
by vociferous applause speaking with fire and enthusiasm and excited gestures
they replied to the attack It was a wild night but it was wild
intellectually a battle of ideas. Some strayed from the point but most of the
speakers replied directly to Martin They shook him with lines of thought that
were new to him and gave him insights not into new biological laws but into
new applications of the old laws They were too earnest to be always polite and
more than once the chairman rapped and pounded for order
It chanced that a cub reporter sat in the audience detailed there on a day
dull of news and impressed by the urgent need of journalism for sensation He
was not a bright cub reporter He was merely facile and glib He was too dense
to follow the discussion In fact he had a comfortable feeling that he was
vastly superior to these wordy maniacs of the working class Also he had a
great respect for those who sat in the high places and dictated the policies of
nations and newspapers Further he had an ideal namely of achieving that
excellence of the perfect reporter who is able to make something even a great
deal out of nothing
He did not know what all the talk was about It was not necessary Words
like revolution gave him his cue Like a paleontologist able to reconstruct an
entire skeleton from one fossil bone he was able to reconstruct a whole speech
from the one word revolution He did it that night and he did it well and
since Martin had made the biggest stir he put it all into his mouth and made
him the archanarch of the show transforming his reactionary individualism into
the most lurid redshirt socialist utterance The cub reporter was an artist
and it was a large brush with which he laid on the local color wildeyed
longhaired men neurasthenic and degenerate types of men voices shaken with
passion clenched fists raised on high and all projected against a background
of oaths yells and the throaty rumbling of angry men
Chapter XXXIX
Over the coffee in his little room Martin read next mornings paper It was a
novel experience to find himself headlined on the first page at that and he
was surprised to learn that he was the most notorious leader of the Oakland
socialists He ran over the violent speech the cub reporter had constructed for
him and though at first he was angered by the fabrication in the end he
tossed the paper aside with a laugh
»Either the man was drunk or criminally malicious« he said that afternoon
from his perch on the bed when Brissenden had arrived and dropped limply into
the one chair
»But what do you care« Brissenden asked »Surely you dont desire the
approval of the bourgeois swine that read the newspapers«
Martin thought for a while then said
»No I really dont care for their approval not a whit On the other hand
its very likely to make my relations with Ruths family a trifle awkward Her
father always contended I was a socialist and this miserable stuff will clinch
his belief Not that I care for his opinion but whats the odds I want to
read you what Ive been doing today Its Overdue of course and Im just
about halfway through«
He was reading aloud when Maria thrust open the door and ushered in a young
man in a natty suit who glanced briskly about him noting the oilburner and the
kitchen in the corner before his gaze wandered on to Martin
»Sit down« Brissenden said
Martin made room for the young man on the bed and waited for him to broach
his business
»I heard you speak last night Mr Eden and Ive come to interview you« he
began
Brissenden burst out in a hearty laugh
»A brother socialist« the reporter asked with a quick glance at Brissenden
that appraised the colorvalue of that cadaverous and dying man
»And he wrote that report« Martin said softly »Why he is only a boy«
»Why dont you poke him« Brissenden asked »Id give a thousand dollars to
have my lungs back for five minutes«
The cub reporter was a trifle perplexed by this talking over him and around
him and at him But he had been commended for his brilliant description of the
socialist meeting and had further been detailed to get a personal interview with
Martin Eden the leader of the organized menace to society
»You do not object to having your picture taken Mr Eden« he said »Ive a
staff photographer outside you see and he says it will be better to take you
right away before the sun gets lower Then we can have the interview afterward«
»A photographer« Brissenden said meditatively »Poke him Martin Poke
him«
»I guess Im getting old« was the answer »I know I ought but I really
havent the heart It doesnt seem to matter«
»For his mothers sake« Brissenden urged
»Its worth considering« Martin replied »but it doesnt seem worth while
enough to rouse sufficient energy in me You see it does take energy to give a
fellow a poking Besides what does it matter«
»Thats right thats the way to take it« the cub announced airily though
he had already begun to glance anxiously at the door
»But it wasnt true not a word of what he wrote« Martin went on confining
his attention to Brissenden
»It was just in a general way a description you understand« the cub
ventured »and besides its good advertising Thats what counts It was a
favor to you«
»Its good advertising Martin old boy« Brissenden repeated solemnly
»And it was a favor to me think of that« was Martins contribution
»Let me see where were you born Mr Eden« the cub asked assuming an air
of expectant attention
»He doesnt take notes« said Brissenden »He remembers it all«
»That is sufficient for me« The cub was trying not to look worried »No
decent reporter needs to bother with notes«
»That was sufficient for last night« But Brissenden was not a disciple of
quietism and he changed his attitude abruptly »Martin if you dont poke him
Ill do it myself if I fall dead on the floor the next moment«
»How will a spanking do« Martin asked
Brissenden considered judicially and nodded his head
The next instant Martin was seated on the edge of the bed with the cub face
downward across his knees
»Now dont bite« Martin warned »or else Ill have to punch your face It
would be a pity for it is such a pretty face«
His uplifted hand descended and thereafter rose and fell in a swift and
steady rhythm The cub struggled and cursed and squirmed but did not offer to
bite Brissenden looked on gravely though once he grew excited and gripped the
whiskey bottle pleading »Here just let me swat him once«
»Sorry my hand played out« Martin said when at last he desisted »It is
quite numb«
He uprighted the cub and perched him on the bed
»Ill have you arrested for this« he snarled tears of boyish indignation
running down his flushed cheeks »Ill make you sweat for this Youll see«
»The pretty thing« Martin remarked »He doesnt realize that he has entered
upon the downward path It is not honest it is not square it is not manly to
tell lies about ones fellowcreatures the way he has done and he doesnt know
it«
»He has to come to us to be told« Brissenden filled in a pause
»Yes to me whom he has maligned and injured My grocery will undoubtedly
refuse me credit now The worst of it is that the poor boy will keep on this way
until he deteriorates into a firstclass newspaper man and also a firstclass
scoundrel«
»But there is yet time« quoth Brissenden »Who knows but what you may prove
the humble instrument to save him Why didnt you let me swat him just once Id
like to have had a hand in it«
»Ill have you arrested the pair of you you bbbig brutes« sobbed the
erring soul
»No his mouth is too pretty and too weak« Martin shook his head
lugubriously »Im afraid Ive numbed my hand in vain The young man cannot
reform He will become eventually a very great and successful newspaper man He
has no conscience That alone will make him great«
With that the cub passed out the door in trepidation to the last for fear
that Brissenden would hit him in the back with the bottle he still clutched
In the next mornings paper Martin learned a great deal more about himself
that was new to him »We are the sworn enemies of society« he found himself
quoted as saying in a column interview »No we are not anarchists but
socialists« When the reporter pointed out to him that there seemed little
difference between the two schools Martin had shrugged his shoulders in silent
affirmation His face was described as bilaterally asymmetrical and various
other signs of degeneration were described Especially notable were his thuglike
hands and the fiery gleams in his bloodshot eyes
He learned also that he spoke nightly to the workmen in the City Hall
Park and that among the anarchists and agitators that there inflamed the minds
of the people he drew the largest audiences and made the most revolutionary
speeches The cub painted a highlight picture of his poor little room its
oilstove and the one chair and of the deathshead tramp who kept him company
and who looked as if he had just emerged from twenty years of solitary
confinement in some fortress dungeon
The cub had been industrious He had scurried around and nosed out Martins
family history and procured a photograph of Higginbothams Cash Store with
Bernard Higginbotham himself standing out in front That gentleman was depicted
as an intelligent dignified business man who had no patience with his
brotherinlaws socialistic views and no patience with the brotherinlaw
either whom he was quoted as characterizing as a lazy goodfornothing who
wouldnt take a job when it was offered to him and who would go to jail yet
Hermann von Schmidt Marians husband had likewise been interviewed He had
called Martin the black sheep of the family and repudiated him »He tried to
sponge off of me but I put a stop to that good and quick« Von Schmidt had said
to the reporter »He knows better than to come bumming around here A man who
wont work is no good take that from me«
This time Martin was genuinely angry Brissenden looked upon the affair as a
good joke but he could not console Martin who knew that it would be no easy
task to explain to Ruth As for her father he knew that he must be overjoyed
with what had happened and that he would make the most of it to break off the
engagement How much he would make of it he was soon to realize The afternoon
mail brought a letter from Ruth Martin opened it with a premonition of
disaster and read it standing at the open door when he had received it from the
postman As he read mechanically his hand sought his pocket for the tobacco and
brown paper of his old cigarette days He was not aware that the pocket was
empty or that he had even reached for the materials with which to roll a
cigarette
It was not a passionate letter There were no touches of anger in it But
all the way through from the first sentence to the last was sounded the note
of hurt and disappointment She had expected better of him She had thought he
had got over his youthful wildness that her love for him had been sufficiently
worth while to enable him to live seriously and decently And now her father and
mother had taken a firm stand and commanded that the engagement be broken That
they were justified in this she could not but admit Their relation could never
be a happy one It had been unfortunate from the first But one regret she
voiced in the whole letter and it was a bitter one to Martin »If only you had
settled down to some position and attempted to make something of yourself« she
wrote »But it was not to be Your past life had been too wild and irregular I
can understand that you are not to be blamed You could act only according to
your nature and your early training So I do not blame you Martin Please
remember that It was simply a mistake As father and mother have contended we
were not made for each other and we should both be happy because it was
discovered not too late« »There is no use trying to see me« she said
toward the last »It would be an unhappy meeting for both of us as well as for
my mother I feel as it is that I have caused her great pain and worry I
shall have to do much living to atone for it«
He read it through to the end carefully a second time then sat down and
replied He outlined the remarks he had uttered at the socialist meeting
pointing out that they were in all ways the converse of what the newspaper had
put in his mouth Toward the end of the letter he was Gods own lover pleading
passionately for love »Please answer« he said »and in your answer you have to
tell me but one thing Do you love me That is all the answer to that one
question«
But no answer came the next day nor the next »Overdue« lay untouched upon
the table and each day the heap of returned manuscripts under the table grew
larger For the first time Martins glorious sleep was interrupted by insomnia
and he tossed through long restless nights Three times he called at the Morse
home but was turned away by the servant who answered the bell Brissenden lay
sick in his hotel too feeble to stir out and though Martin was with him
often he did not worry him with his troubles
For Martins troubles were many The aftermath of the cub reporters deed
was even wider than Martin had anticipated The Portuguese grocer refused him
further credit while the greengrocer who was an American and proud of it had
called him a traitor to his country and refused further dealings with him
carrying his patriotism to such a degree that he cancelled Martins account and
forbade him ever to attempt to pay it The talk in the neighborhood reflected
the same feeling and indignation against Martin ran high No one would have
anything to do with a socialist traitor Poor Maria was dubious and frightened
but she remained loyal The children of the neighborhood recovered from the awe
of the grand carriage which once had visited Martin and from safe distances
they called him hobo and bum The Silva tribe however stanchly defended him
fighting more than one pitched battle for his honor and black eyes and bloody
noses became quite the order of the day and added to Marias perplexities and
troubles
Once Martin met Gertrude on the street down in Oakland and learned what
he knew could not be otherwise that Bernard Higginbotham was furious with him
for having dragged the family into public disgrace and that he had forbidden
him the house
»Why dont you go away Martin« Gertrude had begged »Go away and get a job
somewhere and steady down Afterwards when this all blows over you can come
back«
Martin shook his head but gave no explanations How could he explain He
was appalled at the awful intellectual chasm that yawned between him and his
people He could never cross it and explain to them his position the
Nietzschean position in regard to socialism There were not words enough in the
English language nor in any language to make his attitude and conduct
intelligible to them Their highest concept of right conduct in his case was
to get a job That was their first word and their last It constituted their
whole lexicon of ideas. Get a job Go to work Poor stupid slaves he thought
while his sister talked Small wonder the world belonged to the strong The
slaves were obsessed by their own slavery A job was to them a golden fetich
before which they fell down and worshipped
He shook his head again when Gertrude offered him money though he knew
that within the day he would have to make a trip to the pawnbroker
»Dont come near Bernard now« she admonished him »After a few months when
he is cooled down if you want to you can get the job of drivin deliverywagon
for him Any time you want me just send for me an Ill come Dont forget«
She went away weeping audibly and he felt a pang of sorrow shoot through
him at sight of her heavy body and uncouth gait As he watched her go the
Nietzschean edifice seemed to shake and totter The slaveclass in the abstract
was all very well but it was not wholly satisfactory when it was brought home
to his own family And yet if there was ever a slave trampled by the strong
that slave was his sister Gertrude He grinned savagely at the paradox A fine
Nietzscheman he was to allow his intellectual concepts to be shaken by the
first sentiment or emotion that strayed along ay to be shaken by the
slavemorality itself for that was what his pity for his sister really was The
true noble men were above pity and compassion Pity and compassion had been
generated in the subterranean barracoons of the slaves and were no more than the
agony and sweat of the crowded miserables and weaklings
Chapter XL
»Overdue« still continued to lie forgotten on the table Every manuscript that
he had had out now lay under the table Only one manuscript he kept going and
that was Brissendens »Ephemera« His bicycle and black suit were again in pawn
and the typewriter people were once more worrying about the rent But such
things no longer bothered him He was seeking a new orientation and until that
was found his life must stand still
After several weeks what he had been waiting for happened He met Ruth on
the street It was true she was accompanied by her brother Norman and it was
true that they tried to ignore him and that Norman attempted to wave him aside
»If you interfere with my sister Ill call an officer« Norman threatened
»She does not wish to speak with you and your insistence is insult«
»If you persist youll have to call that officer and then youll get your
name in the papers« Martin answered grimly »And now get out of my way and get
the officer if you want to Im going to talk with Ruth
I want to have it from your own lips« he said to her
She was pale and trembling but she held up and looked inquiringly
»The question I asked in my letter« he prompted
Norman made an impatient movement but Martin checked him with a swift look
She shook her head
»Is all this of your own free will« he demanded
»It is« She spoke in a low firm voice and with deliberation »It is of my
own free will You have disgraced me so that I am ashamed to meet my friends
They are all talking about me I know That is all I can tell you You have made
me very unhappy and I never wish to see you again«
»Friends Gossip Newspaper misreports Surely such things are not stronger
than love I can only believe that you never loved me«
A blush drove the pallor from her face
»After what has passed« she said faintly »Martin you do not know what you
are saying I am not common«
»You see she doesnt want to have anything to do with you« Norman blurted
out starting on with her
Martin stood aside and let them pass fumbling unconsciously in his coat
pocket for the tobacco and brown papers that were not there
It was a long walk to North Oakland but it was not until he went up the
steps and entered his room that he knew he had walked it He found himself
sitting on the edge of the bed and staring about him like an awakened
somnambulist He noticed »Overdue« lying on the table and drew up his chair and
reached for his pen There was in his nature a logical compulsion toward
completeness Here was something undone It had been deferred against the
completion of something else Now that something else had been finished and he
would apply himself to this task until it was finished What he would do next he
did not know All that he did know was that a climacteric in his life had been
attained A period had been reached and he was rounding it off in workmanlike
fashion He was not curious about the future He would soon enough find out what
it held in store for him Whatever it was it did not matter Nothing seemed to
matter
For five days he toiled on at »Overdue« going nowhere seeing nobody and
eating meagrely On the morning of the sixth day the postman brought him a thin
letter from the editor of The Parthenon A glance told him that »Ephemera« was
accepted »We have submitted the poem to Mr Cartwright Bruce« the editor went
on to say »and he has reported so favorably upon it that we cannot let it go
As an earnest of our pleasure in publishing the poem let me tell you that we
have set it for the August number our July number being already made up Kindly
extend our pleasure and our thanks to Mr Brissenden Please send by return mail
his photograph and biographical data If our honorarium is unsatisfactory
kindly telegraph us at once and state what you consider a fair price«
Since the honorarium they had offered was three hundred and fifty dollars
Martin thought it not worth while to telegraph Then too there was
Brissendens consent to be gained Well he had been right after all Here was
one magazine editor who knew real poetry when he saw it And the price was
splendid even though it was for the poem of a century As for Cartwright Bruce
Martin knew that he was the one critic for whose opinions Brissenden had any
respect
Martin rode down town on an electric car and as he watched the houses and
crossstreets slipping by he was aware of a regret that he was not more elated
over his friends success and over his own signal victory The one critic in the
United States had pronounced favorably on the poem while his own contention
that good stuff could find its way into the magazines had proved correct But
enthusiasm had lost its spring in him and he found that he was more anxious to
see Brissenden than he was to carry the good news The acceptance of The
Parthenon had recalled to him that during his five days devotion to »Overdue«
he had not heard from Brissenden nor even thought about him For the first time
Martin realized the daze he had been in and he felt shame for having forgotten
his friend But even the shame did not burn very sharply He was numb to
emotions of any sort save the artistic ones concerned in the writing of
»Overdue« So far as other affairs were concerned he had been in a trance For
that matter he was still in a trance All this life through which the electric
car whirred seemed remote and unreal and he would have experienced little
interest and less shock if the great stone steeple of the church he passed had
suddenly crumbled to mortardust upon his head
At the hotel he hurried up to Brissendens room and hurried down again The
room was empty All luggage was gone
»Did Mr Brissenden leave any address« he asked the clerk who looked at
him curiously for a moment
»Havent you heard« he asked
Martin shook his head
»Why the papers were full of it He was found dead in bed Suicide Shot
himself through the head«
»Is he buried yet« Martin seemed to hear his voice like some one elses
voice from a long way off asking the question
»No The body was shipped East after the inquest Lawyers engaged by his
people saw to the arrangements«
»They were quick about it I must say« Martin commented
»Oh I dont know It happened five days ago«
»Five days ago«
»Yes five days ago«
»Oh« Martin said as he turned and went out
At the corner he stepped into the Western Union and sent a telegram to The
Parthenon advising them to proceed with the publication of the poem He had in
his pocket but five cents with which to pay his carfare home so he sent the
message collect
Once in his room he resumed his writing The days and nights came and went
and he sat at his table and wrote on He went nowhere save to the pawnbroker
took no exercise and ate methodically when he was hungry and had something to
cook and just as methodically went without when he had nothing to cook
Composed as the story was in advance chapter by chapter he nevertheless saw
and developed an opening that increased the power of it though it necessitated
twenty thousand additional words It was not that there was any vital need that
the thing should be well done but that his artistic canons compelled him to do
it well He worked on in the daze strangely detached from the world around him
feeling like a familiar ghost among these literary trappings of his former life
He remembered that some one had said that a ghost was the spirit of a man who
was dead and who did not have sense enough to know it and he paused for the
moment to wonder if he were really dead and unaware of it
Came the day when »Overdue« was finished The agent of the typewriter firm
had come for the machine and he sat on the bed while Martin on the one chair
typed the last pages of the final chapter »Finis« he wrote in capitals at
the end and to him it was indeed finis He watched the typewriter carried out
the door with a feeling of relief then went over and lay down on the bed He
was faint from hunger Food had not passed his lips in thirtysix hours but he
did not think about it He lay on his back with closed eyes and did not think
at all while the daze or stupor slowly welled up saturating his consciousness
Half in delirium he began muttering aloud the lines of an anonymous poem
Brissenden had been fond of quoting to him Maria listening anxiously outside
his door was perturbed by his monotonous utterance The words in themselves
were not significant to her but the fact that he was saying them was »I have
done« was the burden of the poem
»I have done
Put by the lute
Song and singing soon are over
As the airy shades that hover
In among the purple clover
I have done
Put by the lute
Once I sang as early thrushes
Sing among the dewy bushes
Now Im mute
I am like a weary linnet
For my throat has no song in it
I have had my singing minute
I have done
Put by the lute«
Maria could stand it no longer and hurried away to the stove where she filled
a quartbowl with soup putting into it the lions share of chopped meat and
vegetables which her ladle scraped from the bottom of the pot Martin roused
himself and sat up and began to eat between spoonfuls reassuring Maria that he
had not been talking in his sleep and that he did not have any fever
After she left him he sat drearily with drooping shoulders on the edge of
the bed gazing about him with lacklustre eyes that saw nothing until the torn
wrapper of a magazine which had come in the mornings mail and which lay
unopened shot a gleam of light into his darkened brain It is The Parthenon he
thought the August Parthenon and it must contain »Ephemera« If only
Brissenden were here to see
He was turning the pages of the magazine when suddenly he stopped
»Ephemera« had been featured with gorgeous headpiece and Beardsleylike margin
decorations On one side of the headpiece was Brissendens photograph on the
other side was the photograph of Sir John Value the British Ambassador A
preliminary editorial note quoted Sir John Value as saying that there were no
poets in America and the publication of »Ephemera« was The Parthenons »There
take that Sir John Value« Cartwright Bruce was described as the greatest
critic in America and he was quoted as saying that »Ephemera« was the greatest
poem ever written in America And finally the editors foreword ended with »We
have not yet made up our minds entirely as to the merits of Ephemera perhaps we
shall never be able to do so But we have read it often wondering at the words
and their arrangement wondering where Mr Brissenden got them and how he could
fasten them together« Then followed the poem
»Pretty good thing you died Briss old man« Martin murmured letting the
magazine slip between his knees to the floor
The cheapness and vulgarity of it was nauseating and Martin noted
apathetically that he was not nauseated very much He wished he could get angry
but did not have energy enough to try He was too numb His blood was too
congealed to accelerate to the swift tidal flow of indignation After all what
did it matter It was on a par with all the rest that Brissenden had condemned
in bourgeois society
»Poor Briss« Martin communed »he would never have forgiven me«
Rousing himself with an effort he possessed himself of a box which had once
contained typewriter paper Going through its contents he drew forth eleven
poems which his friend had written These he tore lengthwise and crosswise and
dropped into the waste basket He did it languidly and when he had finished
sat on the edge of the bed staring blankly before him
How long he sat there he did not know until suddenly across his sightless
vision he saw form a long horizontal line of white It was curious But as he
watched it grow in definiteness he saw that it was a coral reef smoking in the
white Pacific surges Next in the line of breakers he made out a small canoe
an outrigger canoe In the stern he saw a young bronzed god in scarlet
hipcloth dipping a flashing paddle He recognized him He was Moti the
youngest son of Tati the chief and this was Tahiti and beyond that smoking
reef lay the sweet land of Papara and the chiefs grass house by the rivers
mouth It was the end of the day and Moti was coming home from the fishing He
was waiting for the rush of a big breaker whereon to jump the reef Then he saw
himself sitting forward in the canoe as he had often sat in the past dipping a
paddle that waited Motis word to dig in like mad when the turquoise wall of the
great breaker rose behind them Next he was no longer an onlooker but was
himself in the canoe Moti was crying out they were both thrusting hard with
their paddles racing on the steep face of the flying turquoise Under the bow
the water was hissing as from a steam jet the air was filled with driven spray
there was a rush and rumble and longechoing roar and the canoe floated on the
placid water of the lagoon Moti laughed and shook the salt water from his eyes
and together they paddled in to the poundedcoral beach where Tatis grass walls
through the cocoanutpalms showed golden in the setting sun
The picture faded and before his eyes stretched the disorder of his squalid
room He strove in vain to see Tahiti again He knew there was singing among the
trees and that the maidens were dancing in the moonlight but he could not see
them He could see only the littered writingtable the empty space where the
typewriter had stood and the unwashed windowpane He closed his eyes with a
groan and slept
Chapter XLI
He slept heavily all night and did not stir until aroused by the postman on his
morning round Martin felt tired and passive and went through his letters
aimlessly One thin envelope from a robber magazine contained a check for
twentytwo dollars He had been dunning for it for a year and a half He noted
its amount apathetically The oldtime thrill at receiving a publishers check
was gone Unlike his earlier checks this one was not pregnant with promise of
great things to come To him it was a check for twentytwo dollars that was
all and it would buy him something to eat
Another check was in the same mail sent from a New York weekly in payment
for some humorous verse which had been accepted months before It was for ten
dollars An idea came to him which he calmly considered He did not know what
he was going to do and he felt in no hurry to do anything In the meantime he
must live Also he owed numerous debts Would it not be a paying investment to
put stamps on the huge pile of manuscripts under the table and start them on
their travels again One or two of them might be accepted That would help him
to live He decided on the investment and after he had cashed the checks at
the bank down in Oakland he bought ten dollars worth of postage stamps The
thought of going home to cook breakfast in his stuffy little room was repulsive
to him For the first time he refused to consider his debts He knew that in his
room he could manufacture a substantial breakfast at a cost of from fifteen to
twenty cents But instead he went into the Forum Café and ordered a breakfast
that cost two dollars He tipped the waiter a quarter and spent fifty cents for
a package of Egyptian cigarettes It was the first time he had smoked since Ruth
had asked him to stop But he could see now no reason why he should not and
besides he wanted to smoke And what did the money matter For five cents he
could have bought a package of Durham and brown papers and rolled forty
cigarettes but what of it Money had no meaning to him now except what it
would immediately buy He was chartless and rudderless and he had no port to
make while drifting involved the least living and it was living that hurt
The days slipped along and he slept eight hours regularly every night
Though now while waiting for more checks he ate in the Japanese restaurants
where meals were served for ten cents his wasted body filled out as did the
hollows in his cheeks He no longer abused himself with short sleep overwork
and overstudy He wrote nothing and the books were closed He walked much out
in the hills and loafed long hours in the quiet parks He had no friends nor
acquaintances nor did he make any He had no inclination He was waiting for
some impulse from he knew not where to put his stopped life into motion again
In the meantime his life remained run down planless and empty and idle
Once he made a trip to San Francisco to look up the real dirt But at the
last moment as he stepped into the upstairs entrance he recoiled and turned
and fled through the swarming ghetto He was frightened at the thought of
hearing philosophy discussed and he fled furtively for fear that some one of
the real dirt might chance along and recognize him
Sometimes he glanced over the magazines and newspapers to see how »Ephemera«
was being maltreated It had made a hit But what a hit Everybody had read it
and everybody was discussing whether or not it was really poetry The local
papers had taken it up and daily there appeared columns of learned criticisms
facetious editorials and serious letters from subscribers Helen Della Delmar
proclaimed with a flourish of trumpets and rolling of tomtoms to be the
greatest woman poet in the United States denied Brissenden a seat beside her on
Pegasus and wrote voluminous letters to the public proving that he was no poet
The Parthenon came out in its next number patting itself on the back for the
stir it had made sneering at Sir John Value and exploiting Brissendens death
with ruthless commercialism A newspaper with a sworn circulation of half a
million published an original and spontaneous poem by Helen Della Delmar in
which she gibed and sneered at Brissenden Also she was guilty of a second
poem in which she parodied him
Martin had many times to be glad that Brissenden was dead He had hated the
crowd so and here all that was finest and most sacred of him had been thrown to
the crowd Daily the vivisection of Beauty went on Every nincompoop in the land
rushed into free print floating their wizened little egos into the public eye
on the surge of Brissendens greatness Quoth one paper »We have received a
letter from a gentleman who wrote a poem just like it only better some time
ago« Another paper in deadly seriousness reproving Helen Della Delmar for her
parody said »But unquestionably Miss Delmar wrote it in a moment of badinage
and not quite with the respect that one great poet should show to another and
perhaps to the greatest However whether Miss Delmar be jealous or not of the
man who invented Ephemera it is certain that she like thousands of others is
fascinated by his work and that the day may come when she will try to write
lines like his«
Ministers began to preach sermons against »Ephemera« and one who too
stoutly stood for much of its content was expelled for heresy The great poem
contributed to the gayety of the world The comic versewriters and the
cartoonists took hold of it with screaming laughter and in the personal columns
of society weeklies jokes were perpetrated on it to the effect that Charley
Frensham told Archie Jennings in confidence that five lines of »Ephemera«
would drive a man to beat a cripple and that ten lines would send him to the
bottom of the river
Martin did not laugh nor did he grit his teeth in anger The effect
produced upon him was one of great sadness In the crash of his whole world
with love on the pinnacle the crash of magazinedom and the dear public was a
small crash indeed Brissenden had been wholly right in his judgment of the
magazines and he Martin had spent arduous and futile years in order to find
it out for himself The magazines were all Brissenden had said they were and
more Well he was done he solaced himself He had hitched his wagon to a star
and been landed in a pestiferous marsh The visions of Tahiti clean sweet
Tahiti were coming to him more frequently And there were the low Paumotus
and the high Marquesas he saw himself often now on board trading schooners or
frail little cutters slipping out at dawn through the reef at Papeete and
beginning the long beat through the pearlatolls to Nukahiva and the Bay of
Taiohæ where Tamari he knew would kill a pig in honor of his coming and
where Tamaris flowergarlanded daughters would seize his hands and with song
and laughter garland him with flowers The South Seas were calling and he knew
that sooner or later he would answer the call
In the meantime he drifted resting and recuperating after the long traverse
he had made through the realm of knowledge. When The Parthenon check of three
hundred and fifty dollars was forwarded to him he turned it over to the local
lawyer who had attended to Brissendens affairs for his family Martin took a
receipt for the check and at the same time gave a note for the hundred dollars
Brissenden had let him have
The time was not long when Martin ceased patronizing the Japanese
restaurants At the very moment when he had abandoned the fight the tide
turned But it had turned too late Without a thrill he opened a thin envelope
from The Millennium scanned the face of a check that represented three hundred
dollars and noted that it was the payment on acceptance for »Adventure« Every
debt he owed in the world including the pawnshop with its usurious interest
amounted to less than a hundred dollars And when he had paid everything and
lifted the hundreddollar note with Brissendens lawyer he still had over a
hundred dollars in pocket He ordered a suit of clothes from the tailor and ate
his meals in the best cafés in town He still slept in his little room at
Marias but the sight of his new clothes caused the neighborhood children to
cease from calling him hobo and tramp from the roofs of woodsheds and over back
fences
»WikiWiki« his Hawaiian short story was bought by Warrens Monthly for
two hundred and fifty dollars The Northern Review took his essay »The Cradle
of Beauty« and Mackintoshs Magazine took »The Palmist« the poem he had
written to Marian The editors and readers were back from their summer
vacations and manuscripts were being handled quickly But Martin could not
puzzle out what strange whim animated them to this general acceptance of the
things they had persistently rejected for two years Nothing of his had been
published He was not known anywhere outside of Oakland and in Oakland with
the few who thought they knew him he was notorious as a redshirt and a
socialist So there was no explaining this sudden acceptability of his wares It
was sheer jugglery of fate
After it had been refused by a number of magazines he had taken
Brissendens rejected advice and started »The Shame of the Sun« on the round of
publishers After several refusals Singletree Darnley amp Co accepted it
promising fall publication When Martin asked for an advance on royalties they
wrote that such was not their custom that books of that nature rarely paid for
themselves and that they doubted if his book would sell a thousand copies
Martin figured what the book would earn him on such a sale Retailed at a
dollar on a royalty of fifteen per cent it would bring him one hundred and
fifty dollars He decided that if he had it to do over again he would confine
himself to fiction »Adventure« onefourth as long had brought him twice as
much from The Millennium That newspaper paragraph he had read so long ago had
been true after all The firstclass magazines did pay on acceptance and they
paid well Not two cents a word but four cents a word had The Millennium paid
him And furthermore they bought good stuff too for were they not buying
his This last thought he accompanied with a grin
He wrote to Singletree Darnley amp Co offering to sell out his rights
in »The Shame of the Sun« for a hundred dollars but they did not care to take
the risk In the meantime he was not in need of money for several of his later
stories had been accepted and paid for He actually opened a bank account
where without a debt in the world he had several hundred dollars to his
credit »Overdue« after having been declined by a number of magazines came to
rest at the MeredithLowell Company Martin remembered the five dollars Gertrude
had given him and his resolve to return it to her a hundred times over so he
wrote for an advance on royalties of five hundred dollars To his surprise a
check for that amount accompanied by a contract came by return mail He cashed
the check into fivedollar gold pieces and telephoned Gertrude that he wanted to
see her
She arrived at the house panting and short of breath from the haste she had
made Apprehensive of trouble she had stuffed the few dollars she possessed
into her handsatchel and so sure was she that disaster had overtaken her
brother that she stumbled forward sobbing into his arms at the same time
thrusting the satchel mutely at him
»Id have come myself« he said »But I didnt want a row with Mr
Higginbotham and that is what would have surely happened«
»Hell be all right after a time« she assured him while she wondered what
the trouble was that Martin was in »But youd best get a job first an steady
down Bernard does like to see a man at honest work That stuff in the
newspapers broke m all up I never saw m so mad before«
»Im not going to get a job« Martin said with a smile »And you can tell
him so from me I dont need a job and theres the proof of it«
He emptied the hundred gold pieces into her lap in a glinting tinkling
stream
»You remember that fiver you gave me the time I didnt have carfare Well
there it is with ninetynine brothers of different ages but all of the same
size«
If Gertrude had been frightened when she arrived she was now in a panic of
fear Her fear was such that it was certitude She was not suspicious She was
convinced She looked at Martin in horror and her heavy limbs shrank under the
golden stream as though it were burning her
»Its yours« he laughed
She burst into tears and began to moan »My poor boy my poor boy«
He was puzzled for a moment Then he divined the cause of her agitation and
handed her the MeredithLowell letter which had accompanied the check She
stumbled through it pausing now and again to wipe her eyes and when she had
finished said
»An does it mean that you come by the money honestly«
»More honestly than if Id won it in a lottery I earned it«
Slowly faith came back to her and she reread the letter carefully It took
him long to explain to her the nature of the transaction which had put the money
into his possession and longer still to get her to understand that the money
was really hers and that he did not need it
»Ill put it in the bank for you« she said finally
»Youll do nothing of the sort Its yours to do with as you please and if
you wont take it Ill give it to Maria Shell know what to do with it Id
suggest though that you hire a servant and take a good long rest«
»Im goin to tell Bernard all about it« she announced when she was
leaving
Martin winced then grinned
»Yes do« he said »And then maybe hell invite me to dinner again«
»Yes he will Im sure he will« she exclaimed fervently as she drew him
to her and kissed and hugged him
Chapter XLII
One day Martin became aware that he was lonely He was healthy and strong and
had nothing to do The cessation from writing and studying the death of
Brissenden and the estrangement from Ruth had made a big hole in his life and
his life refused to be pinned down to good living in cafés and the smoking of
Egyptian cigarettes It was true the South Seas were calling to him but he had
a feeling that the game was not yet played out in the United States Two books
were soon to be published and he had more books that might find publication
Money could be made out of them and he would wait and take a sackful of it into
the South Seas He knew a valley and a bay in the Marquesas that he could buy
for a thousand Chili dollars The valley ran from the horseshoe landlocked bay
to the tops of the dizzy cloudcapped peaks and contained perhaps ten thousand
acres It was filled with tropical fruits wild chickens and wild pigs with an
occasional herd of wild cattle while high up among the peaks were herds of wild
goats harried by packs of wild dogs The whole place was wild Not a human lived
in it And he could buy it and the bay for a thousand Chili dollars
The bay as he remembered it was magnificent with water deep enough to
accommodate the largest vessel afloat and so safe that the South Pacific
Directory recommended it as the best careening place for ships for hundreds of
miles around He would buy a schooner one of those yachtlike coppered crafts
that sailed like witches and go trading copra and pearling among the islands
He would make the valley and the bay his headquarters He would build a
patriarchal grass house like Tatis and have it and the valley and the schooner
filled with darkskinned servitors He would entertain there the factor of
Taiohæ captains of wandering traders and all the best of the South Pacific
riffraff He would keep open house and entertain like a prince And he would
forget the books he had opened and the world that had proved an illusion
To do all this he must wait in California to fill the sack with money
Already it was beginning to flow in If one of the books made a strike it might
enable him to sell the whole heap of manuscripts Also he could collect the
stories and the poems into books and make sure of the valley and the bay and
the schooner He would never write again Upon that he was resolved But in the
meantime awaiting the publication of the books he must do something more than
live dazed and stupid in the sort of uncaring trance into which he had fallen
He noted one Sunday morning that the Bricklayers Picnic took place that
day at Shell Mound Park and to Shell Mound Park he went He had been to the
workingclass picnics too often in his earlier life not to know what they were
like and as he entered the park he experienced a recrudescence of all the old
sensations After all they were his kind these working people He had been
born among them he had lived among them and though he had strayed for a time
it was well to come back among them
»If it aint Mart« he heard some one say and the next moment a hearty hand
was on his shoulder »Where you ben all the time Off to sea Come on an have a
drink«
It was the old crowd in which he found himself the old crowd with here
and there a gap and here and there a new face The fellows were not
bricklayers but as in the old days they attended all Sunday picnics for the
dancing and the fighting and the fun Martin drank with them and began to
feel really human once more He was a fool to have ever left them he thought
and he was very certain that his sum of happiness would have been greater had he
remained with them and let alone the books and the people who sat in the high
places Yet the beer seemed not so good as of yore It didnt taste as it used
to taste Brissenden had spoiled him for steam beer he concluded and wondered
if after all the books had spoiled him for companionship with these friends of
his youth He resolved that he would not be so spoiled and he went on to the
dancing pavilion Jimmy the plumber he met there in the company of a tall
blond girl who promptly forsook him for Martin
»Gee its like old times« Jimmy explained to the gang that gave him the
laugh as Martin and the blonde whirled away in a waltz »An I dont give a rap
Im too damned glad to see m back Watch m waltz eh Its like silk Whod
blame any girl«
But Martin restored the blonde to Jimmy and the three of them with half a
dozen friends watched the revolving couples and laughed and joked with one
another. Everybody was glad to see Martin back No book of his had been
published he carried no fictitious value in their eyes They liked him for
himself He felt like a prince returned from exile and his lonely heart
burgeoned in the geniality in which it bathed He made a mad day of it and was
at his best Also he had money in his pockets and as in the old days when he
returned from sea with a payday he made the money fly
Once on the dancingfloor he saw Lizzie Connolly go by in the arms of a
young workingman and later when he made the round of the pavilion he came
upon her sitting by a refreshment table Surprise and greetings over he led her
away into the grounds where they could talk without shouting down the music
From the instant he spoke to her she was his He knew it She showed it in the
proud humility of her eyes in every caressing movement of her proudly carried
body and in the way she hung upon his speech She was not the young girl as he
had known her She was a woman now and Martin noted that her wild defiant
beauty had improved losing none of its wildness while the defiance and the
fire seemed more in control »A beauty a perfect beauty« he murmured
admiringly under his breath And he knew she was his that all he had to do was
to say »Come« and she would go with him over the world wherever he led
Even as the thought flashed through his brain he received a heavy blow on
the side of his head that nearly knocked him down It was a mans fist directed
by a man so angry and in such haste that the fist had missed the jaw for which
it was aimed Martin turned as he staggered and saw the fist coming at him in a
wild swing Quite as a matter of course he ducked and the fist flew harmlessly
past pivoting the man who had driven it Martin hooked with his left landing
on the pivoting man with the weight of his body behind the blow The man went to
the ground sidewise leaped to his feet and made a mad rush Martin saw his
passiondistorted face and wondered what could be the cause of the fellows
anger But while he wondered he shot in a straight left the weight of his body
behind the blow The man went over backward and fell in a crumpled heap Jimmy
and others of the gang were running toward them
Martin was thrilling all over This was the old days with a vengeance with
their dancing and their fighting and their fun While he kept a wary eye on
his antagonist he glanced at Lizzie Usually the girls screamed when the
fellows got to scrapping but she had not screamed She was looking on with
bated breath leaning slightly forward so keen was her interest one hand
pressed to her breast her cheek flushed and in her eyes a great and amazed
admiration
The man had gained his feet and was struggling to escape the restraining
arms that were laid on him
»She was waitin for me to come back« he was proclaiming to all and sundry
»She was waitin for me to come back an then that fresh guy comes buttin in
Let go o me I tell yeh Im goin to fix m«
»Whats eatin yer« Jimmy was demanding as he helped hold the young fellow
back »That guys Mart Eden Hes nifty with his mits lemme tell you that an
hell eat you alive if you monkey with m«
»He cant steal her on me that way« the other interjected
»He licked the Flyin Dutchman an you know him« Jimmy went on
expostulating »An he did it in five rounds You couldnt last a minute against
him See«
This information seemed to have a mollifying effect and the irate young man
favored Martin with a measuring stare
»He dont look it« he sneered but the sneer was without passion
»Thats what the Flyin Dutchman thought« Jimmy assured him »Come on now
lets get outa this Theres lots of other girls Come on«
The young fellow allowed himself to be led away toward the pavilion and the
gang followed after him
»Who is he« Martin asked Lizzie »And whats it all about anyway«
Already the zest of combat which of old had been so keen and lasting had
died down and he discovered that he was selfanalytical too much so to live
single heart and single hand so primitive an existence
Lizzie tossed her head
»Oh hes nobody« she said »Hes just ben keepin company with me«
»I had to you see« she explained after a pause »I was gettin pretty
lonesome But I never forgot« Her voice sank lower and she looked straight
before her »Id throw m down for you any time«
Martin looking at her averted face knowing that all he had to do was to
reach out his hand and pluck her fell to pondering whether after all there
was any real worth in refined grammatical English and so forgot to reply to
her
»You put it all over him« she said tentatively with a laugh
»Hes a husky young fellow though« he admitted generously »If they hadnt
taken him away he might have given me my hands full«
»Who was that lady friend I seen you with that night« she asked abruptly
»Oh just a lady friend« was his answer
»It was a long time ago« she murmured contemplatively »It seems like a
thousand years«
But Martin went no further into the matter He led the conversation off into
other channels They had lunch in the restaurant where he ordered wine and
expensive delicacies and afterward he danced with her and with no one but her
till she was tired He was a good dancer and she whirled around and around with
him in a heaven of delight her head against his shoulder wishing that it could
last forever Later in the afternoon they strayed off among the trees where in
the good old fashion she sat down while he sprawled on his back his head in
her lap He lay and dozed while she fondled his hair looked down on his closed
eyes and loved him without reserve Looking up suddenly he read the tender
advertisement in her face Her eyes fluttered down then they opened and looked
into his with soft defiance
»Ive kept straight all these years« she said her voice so low that it was
almost a whisper
In his heart Martin knew that it was the miraculous truth And at his heart
pleaded a great temptation It was in his power to make her happy Denied
happiness himself why should he deny happiness to her He could marry her and
take her down with him to dwell in the grasswalled castle in the Marquesas The
desire to do it was strong but stronger still was the imperative command of his
nature not to do it In spite of himself he was still faithful to Love The old
days of license and easy living were gone He could not bring them back nor
could he go back to them He was changed how changed he had not realized until
now
»I am not a marrying man Lizzie« he said lightly
The hand caressing his hair paused perceptibly then went on with the same
gentle stroke He noticed her face harden but it was with the hardness of
resolution for still the soft color was in her cheeks and she was all glowing
and melting
»I did not mean that « she began then faltered »Or anyway I dont care«
»I dont care« she repeated »Im proud to be your friend Id do anything
for you Im made that way I guess«
Martin sat up He took her hand in his He did it deliberately with warmth
but without passion and such warmth chilled her
»Dont lets talk about it« she said
»You are a great and noble woman« he said »And it is I who should be proud
to know you And I am I am You are a ray of light to me in a very dark world
and Ive got to be straight with you just as straight as you have been«
»I dont care whether youre straight with me or not You could do anything
with me You could throw me in the dirt an walk on me An youre the only man
in the world that can« she added with a defiant flash »I aint taken care of
myself ever since I was a kid for nothin«
»And its just because of that that Im not going to« he said gently »You
are so big and generous that you challenge me to equal generousness Im not
marrying and Im not well loving without marrying though Ive done my share
of that in the past Im sorry I came here today and met you But it cant be
helped now and I never expected it would turn out this way
But look here Lizzie I cant begin to tell you how much I like you I do
more than like you I admire and respect you You are magnificent and you are
magnificently good But whats the use of words Yet theres something Id like
to do Youve had a hard life let me make it easy for you« A joyous light
welled into her eyes then faded out again »Im pretty sure of getting hold of
some money soon lots of it«
In that moment he abandoned the idea of the valley and the bay the
grasswalled castle and the trim white schooner After all what did it matter
He could go away as he had done so often before the mast on any ship bound
anywhere
»Id like to turn it over to you There must be something you want to go
to school or business college You might like to study and be a stenographer I
could fix it for you Or maybe your father and mother are living I could set
them up in a grocery store or something Anything you want just name it and I
can fix it for you«
She made no reply but sat gazing straight before her dryeyed and
motionless but with an ache in the throat which Martin divined so strongly that
it made his own throat ache He regretted that he had spoken It seemed so
tawdry what he had offered her mere money compared with what she offered
him He offered her an extraneous thing with which he could part without a pang
while she offered him herself along with disgrace and shame and sin and all
her hopes of heaven
»Dont lets talk about it« she said with a catch in her voice that she
changed to a cough She stood up »Come on lets go home Im all tired out«
The day was done and the merrymakers had nearly all departed But as Martin
and Lizzie emerged from the trees they found the gang waiting for them Martin
knew immediately the meaning of it Trouble was brewing The gang was his
bodyguard They passed out through the gates of the park with straggling in
the rear a second gang the friends that Lizzies young man had collected to
avenge the loss of his lady Several constables and special police officers
anticipating trouble trailed along to prevent it and herded the two gangs
separately aboard the train for San Francisco Martin told Jimmy that he would
get off at Sixteenth Street Station and catch the electric car into Oakland
Lizzie was very quiet and without interest in what was impending The train
pulled in to Sixteenth Street Station and the waiting electric car could be
seen the conductor of which was impatiently clanging the gong
»There she is« Jimmy counselled »Make a run for it an well hold em
back Now you go Hit her up«
The hostile gang was temporarily disconcerted by the manoeuvre then it
dashed from the train in pursuit The staid and sober Oakland folk who sat upon
the car scarcely noted the young fellow and the girl who ran for it and found a
seat in front on the outside They did not connect the couple with Jimmy who
sprang on the steps crying to the motorman
»Slam on the juice old man and beat it outa here«
The next moment Jimmy whirled about and the passengers saw him land his
fist on the face of a running man who was trying to board the car But fists
were landing on faces the whole length of the car Thus Jimmy and his gang
strung out on the long lower steps met the attacking gang The car started
with a great clanging of its gong and as Jimmys gang drove off the last
assailants they too jumped off to finish the job The car dashed on leaving
the flurry of combat far behind and its dumfounded passengers never dreamed
that the quiet young man and the pretty workinggirl sitting in the corner on
the outside seat had been the cause of the row
Martin had enjoyed the fight with a recrudescence of the old fighting
thrills But they quickly died away and he was oppressed by a great sadness He
felt very old centuries older than those careless carefree young companions
of his other days He had travelled far too far to go back Their mode of life
which had once been his was now distasteful to him He was disappointed in it
all He had developed into an alien As the steam beer had tasted raw so their
companionship seemed raw to him He was too far removed Too many thousands of
opened books yawned between them and him He had exiled himself He had
travelled in the vast realm of intellect until he could no longer return home
On the other hand he was human and his gregarious need for companionship
remained unsatisfied He had found no new home As the gang could not understand
him as his own family could not understand him as the bourgeoisie could not
understand him so this girl beside him whom he honored high could not
understand him nor the honor he paid her His sadness was not untouched with
bitterness as he thought it over
»Make it up with him« he advised Lizzie at parting as they stood in front
of the workingmans shack in which she lived near Sixth and Market He referred
to the young fellow whose place he had usurped that day
»I cant now« she said
»Oh go on« he said jovially »All you have to do is whistle and hell come
running«
»I didnt mean that« she said simply
And he knew what she had meant
She leaned toward him as he was about to say good night But she leaned not
imperatively not seductively but wistfully and humbly He was touched to the
heart His large tolerance rose up in him He put his arms around her and
kissed her and knew that upon his own lips rested as true a kiss as man ever
received
»My God« she sobbed »I could die for you I could die for you«
She tore herself from him suddenly and ran up the steps He felt a quick
moisture in his eyes
»Martin Eden« he communed »Youre not a brute and youre a damn poor
Nietzscheman Youd marry her if you could and fill her quivering heart full
with happiness But you cant you cant And its a damn shame
A poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers« he muttered remembering his
Henley »Life is I think a blunder and a shame It is a blunder and a
shame«
Chapter XLIII
»The Shame of the Sun« was published in October As Martin cut the cords of the
express package and the halfdozen complimentary copies from the publishers
spilled out on the table a heavy sadness fell upon him He thought of the wild
delight that would have been his had this happened a few short months before
and he contrasted that delight that should have been with his present uncaring
coldness His book his first book and his pulse had not gone up a fraction of
a beat and he was only sad It meant little to him now The most it meant was
that it might bring some money and little enough did he care for money
He carried a copy out into the kitchen and presented it to Maria
»I did it« he explained in order to clear up her bewilderment »I wrote it
in the room there and I guess some few quarts of your vegetable soup went into
the making of it Keep it Its yours Just to remember me by you know«
He was not bragging not showing off His sole motive was to make her happy
to make her proud of him to justify her long faith in him She put the book in
the front room on top of the family Bible A sacred thing was this book her
lodger had made a fetich of friendship It softened the blow of his having been
a laundryman and though she could not understand a line of it she knew that
every line of it was great She was a simple practical hardworking woman but
she possessed faith in large endowment
Just as emotionlessly as he had received »The Shame of the Sun« did he read
the reviews of it that came in weekly from the clipping bureau The book was
making a hit that was evident It meant more gold in the money sack He could
fix up Lizzie redeem all his promises and still have enough left to build his
grasswalled castle
Singletree Darnley amp Co had cautiously brought out an edition of
fifteen hundred copies but the first reviews had started a second edition of
twice the size through the presses and ere this was delivered a third edition
of five thousand had been ordered A London firm made arrangements by cable for
an English edition and hotfooted upon this came the news of French German
and Scandinavian translations in progress The attack upon the Maeterlinck
school could not have been made at a more opportune moment A fierce controversy
was precipitated Saleeby and Haeckel indorsed and defended »The Shame of the
Sun« for once finding themselves on the same side of a question Crookes and
Wallace ranged up on the opposing side while Sir Oliver Lodge attempted to
formulate a compromise that would jibe with his particular cosmic theories
Maeterlincks followers rallied around the standard of mysticism Chesterton set
the whole world laughing with a series of alleged nonpartisan essays on the
subject and the whole affair controversy and controversialists was wellnigh
swept into the pit by a thundering broadside from George Bernard Shaw Needless
to say the arena was crowded with hosts of lesser lights and the dust and sweat
and din became terrific
»It is a most marvellous happening« Singletree Darnley amp Co wrote
Martin »a critical philosophic essay selling like a novel You could not have
chosen your subject better and all contributory factors have been unwarrantedly
propitious We need scarcely to assure you that we are making hay while the sun
shines Over forty thousand copies have already been sold in the United States
and Canada and a new edition of twenty thousand is on the presses We are
overworked trying to supply the demand Nevertheless we have helped to create
that demand We have already spent five thousand dollars in advertising The
book is bound to be a recordbreaker
Please find herewith a contract in duplicate for your next book which we
have taken the liberty of forwarding to you You will please note that we have
increased your royalties to twenty per cent which is about as high as a
conservative publishing house dares go If our offer is agreeable to you please
fill in the proper blank space with the title of your book We make no
stipulations concerning its nature Any book on any subject If you have one
already written so much the better Now is the time to strike The iron could
not be hotter
On receipt of signed contract we shall be pleased to make you an advance on
royalties of five thousand dollars You see we have faith in you and we are
going in on this thing big We should like also to discuss with you the
drawing up of a contract for a term of years say ten during which we shall
have the exclusive right of publishing in bookform all that you produce But
more of this anon«
Martin laid down the letter and worked a problem in mental arithmetic
finding the product of fifteen cents times sixty thousand to be nine thousand
dollars He signed the new contract inserting »The Smoke of Joy« in the blank
space, and mailed it back to the publishers along with the twenty storiettes he
had written in the days before he discovered the formula for the newspaper
storiette And promptly as the United States mail could deliver and return came
Singletree Darnley amp Cos check for five thousand dollars
»I want you to come down town with me Maria this afternoon about two
oclock« Martin said the morning the check arrived »Or better meet me at
Fourteenth and Broadway at two oclock Ill be looking out for you«
At the appointed time she was there but shoes was the only clew to the
mystery her mind had been capable of evolving and she suffered a distinct shock
of disappointment when Martin walked her right by a shoestore and dived into a
real estate office What happened thereupon resided forever after in her memory
as a dream Fine gentlemen smiled at her benevolently as they talked with Martin
and one another; a typewriter clicked signatures were affixed to an imposing
document her own landlord was there too and affixed his signature and when
all was over and she was outside on the sidewalk her landlord spoke to her
saying »Well Maria you wont have to pay me no seven dollars and a half this
month«
Maria was too stunned for speech
»Or next month or the next or the next« her landlord said
She thanked him incoherently as if for a favor And it was not until she
had returned home to North Oakland and conferred with her own kind and had the
Portuguese grocer investigate that she really knew that she was the owner of
the little house in which she had lived and for which she had paid rent so long
»Why dont you trade with me no more« the Portuguese grocer asked Martin
that evening stepping out to hail him when he got off the car and Martin
explained that he wasnt doing his own cooking any more and then went in and
had a drink of wine on the house He noted it was the best wine the grocer had
in stock
»Maria« Martin announced that night »Im going to leave you And youre
going to leave here yourself soon Then you can rent the house and be a landlord
yourself Youve a brother in San Leandro or Haywards and hes in the milk
business I want you to send all your washing back unwashed understand
unwashed and to go out to San Leandro tomorrow or Haywards or wherever it
is and see that brother of yours Tell him to come to see me Ill be stopping
at the Metropole down in Oakland Hell know a good milkranch when he sees
one«
And so it was that Maria became a landlord and the sole owner of a dairy
with two hired men to do the work for her and a bank account that steadily
increased despite the fact that her whole brood wore shoes and went to school
Few persons ever meet the fairy princes they dream about but Maria who worked
hard and whose head was hard never dreaming about fairy princes entertained
hers in the guise of an exlaundryman
In the meantime the world had begun to ask »Who is this Martin Eden« He
had declined to give any biographical data to his publishers but the newspapers
were not to be denied Oakland was his own town and the reporters nosed out
scores of individuals who could supply information All that he was and was not
all that he had done and most of what he had not done was spread out for the
delectation of the public accompanied by snapshots and photographs the latter
procured from the local photographer who had once taken Martins picture and who
promptly copyrighted it and put it on the market At first so great was his
disgust with the magazines and all bourgeois society Martin fought against
publicity but in the end because it was easier than not to he surrendered He
found that he could not refuse himself to the special writers who travelled long
distances to see him Then again each day was so many hours long and since he
no longer was occupied with writing and studying those hours had to be occupied
somehow so he yielded to what was to him a whim permitted interviews gave his
opinions on literature and philosophy and even accepted invitations of the
bourgeoisie He had settled down into a strange and comfortable state of mind
He no longer cared He forgave everybody even the cub reporter who had painted
him red and to whom he now granted a full page with specially posed photographs
He saw Lizzie occasionally and it was patent that she regretted the
greatness that had come to him It widened the space between them Perhaps it
was with the hope of narrowing it that she yielded to his persuasions to go to
night school and business college and to have herself gowned by a wonderful
dressmaker who charged outrageous prices She improved visibly from day to day
until Martin wondered if he was doing right for he knew that all her compliance
and endeavor was for his sake She was trying to make herself of worth in his
eyes of the sort of worth he seemed to value Yet he gave her no hope
treating her in brotherly fashion and rarely seeing her
»Overdue« was rushed upon the market by the MeredithLowell Company in the
height of his popularity and being fiction in point of sales it made even a
bigger strike than »The Shame of the Sun« Week after week his was the credit of
the unprecedented performance of having two books at the head of the list of
bestsellers Not only did the story take with the fictionreaders but those
who read »The Shame of the Sun« with avidity were likewise attracted to the
seastory by the cosmic grasp of mastery with which he had handled it First he
had attacked the literature of mysticism and had done it exceeding well and
next he had successfully supplied the very literature he had exposited thus
proving himself to be that rare genius a critic and a creator in one
Money poured in on him fame poured in on him he flashed cometlike
through the world of literature and he was more amused than interested by the
stir he was making One thing was puzzling him a little thing that would have
puzzled the world had it known But the world would have puzzled over his
bepuzzlement rather than over the little thing that to him loomed gigantic
Judge Blount invited him to dinner That was the little thing or the beginning
of the little thing that was soon to become the big thing He had insulted
Judge Blount treated him abominably and Judge Blount meeting him on the
street invited him to dinner Martin bethought himself of the numerous
occasions on which he had met Judge Blount at the Morses and when Judge Blount
had not invited him to dinner Why had he not invited him to dinner then he
asked himself He had not changed He was the same Martin Eden What made the
difference The fact that the stuff he had written had appeared inside the
covers of books But it was work performed It was not something he had done
since It was achievement accomplished at the very time Judge Blount was sharing
this general view and sneering at his Spencer and his intellect Therefore it
was not for any real value but for a purely fictitious value that Judge Blount
invited him to dinner
Martin grinned and accepted the invitation marvelling the while at his
complacence And at the dinner where with their womenkind were half a dozen
of those that sat in high places and where Martin found himself quite the lion
Judge Blount warmly seconded by Judge Hanwell urged privately that Martin
should permit his name to be put up for the Styx the ultraselect club to
which belonged not the mere men of wealth but the men of attainment And
Martin declined and was more puzzled than ever
He was kept busy disposing of his heap of manuscripts He was overwhelmed by
requests from editors It had been discovered that he was a stylist with meat
under his style The Northern Review after publishing »The Cradle of Beauty«
had written him for half a dozen similar essays which would have been supplied
out of the heap had not Burtons Magazine in a speculative mood offered him
five hundred dollars each for five essays He wrote back that he would supply
the demand but at a thousand dollars an essay He remembered that all these
manuscripts had been refused by the very magazines that were now clamoring for
them And their refusals had been coldblooded automatic stereotyped They had
made him sweat and now he intended to make them sweat Burtons Magazine paid
his price for five essays and the remaining four at the same rate were
snapped up by Mackintoshs Monthly The Northern Review being too poor to stand
the pace Thus went out to the world »The High Priests of Mystery« »The
WonderDreamers« »The Yardstick of the Ego,« »Philosophy of Illusion« »God and
Clod« »Art and Biology« »Critics and Testtubes« »Stardust« and »The
Dignity of Usury« to raise storms and rumblings and mutterings that were many
a day in dying down
Editors wrote to him telling him to name his own terms which he did but it
was always for work performed He refused resolutely to pledge himself to any
new thing The thought of again setting pen to paper maddened him He had seen
Brissenden torn to pieces by the crowd and despite the fact that him the crowd
acclaimed he could not get over the shock nor gather any respect for the crowd
His very popularity seemed a disgrace and a treason to Brissenden It made him
wince but he made up his mind to go on and fill the moneybag
He received letters from editors like the following »About a year ago we
were unfortunate enough to refuse your collection of lovepoems We were greatly
impressed by them at the time but certain arrangements already entered into
prevented our taking them If you still have them and if you will be kind
enough to forward them we shall be glad to publish the entire collection on
your own terms We are also prepared to make a most advantageous offer for
bringing them out in bookform«
Martin recollected his blankverse tragedy and sent it instead He read it
over before mailing and was particularly impressed by its sophomoric
amateurishness and general worthlessness But he sent it and it was published
to the everlasting regret of the editor The public was indignant and
incredulous It was too far a cry from Martin Edens high standard to that
serious bosh It was asserted that he had never written it that the magazine
had faked it very clumsily or that Martin Eden was emulating the elder Dumas
and at the height of success was hiring his writing done for him But when he
explained that the tragedy was an early effort of his literary childhood and
that the magazine had refused to be happy unless it got it a great laugh went
up at the magazines expense and a change in the editorship followed The
tragedy was never brought out in bookform though Martin pocketed the advance
royalties that had been paid
Colemans Weekly sent Martin a lengthy telegram costing nearly three
hundred dollars offering him a thousand dollars an article for twenty articles
He was to travel over the United States with all expenses paid and select
whatever topics interested him The body of the telegram was devoted to
hypothetical topics in order to show him the freedom of range that was to be
his The only restriction placed upon him was that he must confine himself to
the United States Martin sent his inability to accept and his regrets by wire
collect
»WikiWiki« published in Warrens Monthly was an instantaneous success It
was brought out forward in a widemargined beautifully decorated volume that
struck the holiday trade and sold like wildfire The critics were unanimous in
the belief that it would take its place with those two classics by two great
writers »The Bottle Imp« and »The Magic Skin«
The public however received the »Smoke of Joy« collection rather dubiously
and coldly The audacity and unconventionality of the storiettes was a shock to
bourgeois morality and prejudice but when Paris went mad over the immediate
translation that was made the American and English reading public followed suit
and bought so many copies that Martin compelled the conservative house of
Singletree Darnley amp Co to pay a flat royalty of twentyfive per cent for
a third book and thirty per cent flat for a fourth These two volumes comprised
all the short stories he had written and which had received or were receiving
serial publication »The Ring of Bells« and his horror stories constituted one
collection the other collection was composed of »Adventure« »The Pot« »The
Wine of Life« »The Whirlpool« »The Jostling Street« and four other stories
The LowellMeredith Company captured the collection of all his essays and the
Maxmillian Company got his »Sea Lyrics« and the »Lovecycle« the latter
receiving serial publication in the Ladies Home Companion after the payment of
an extortionate price
Martin heaved a sigh of relief when he had disposed of the last manuscript
The grasswalled castle and the white coppered schooner were very near to him
Well at any rate he had discovered Brissendens contention that nothing of
merit found its way into the magazines His own success demonstrated that
Brissenden had been wrong And yet somehow he had a feeling that Brissenden
had been right after all »The Shame of the Sun« had been the cause of his
success more than the stuff he had written That stuff had been merely
incidental It had been rejected right and left by the magazines The
publication of »The Shame of the Sun« had started a controversy and precipitated
the landslide in his favor Had there been no »Shame of the Sun« there would
have been no landslide and had there been no miracle in the go of »The Shame of
the Sun« there would have been no landslide Singletree Darnley amp Co
attested that miracle They had brought out a first edition of fifteen hundred
copies and been dubious of selling it They were experienced publishers and no
one had been more astounded than they at the success which had followed To them
it had been in truth a miracle They never got over it and every letter they
wrote him reflected their reverent awe of that first mysterious happening They
did not attempt to explain it There was no explaining it It had happened In
the face of all experience to the contrary it had happened
So it was reasoning thus that Martin questioned the validity of his
popularity It was the bourgeoisie that bought his books and poured its gold
into his moneysack and from what little he knew of the bourgeoisie it was not
clear to him how it could possibly appreciate or comprehend what he had written
His intrinsic beauty and power meant nothing to the hundreds of thousands who
were acclaiming him and buying his books He was the fad of the hour the
adventurer who had stormed Parnassus while the gods nodded The hundreds of
thousands read him and acclaimed him with the same brute nonunderstanding with
which they had flung themselves on Brissendens »Ephemera« and torn it to pieces
a wolfrabble that fawned on him instead of fanging him Fawn or fang it was
all a matter of chance One thing he knew with absolute certitude »Ephemera«
was infinitely greater than anything he had done It was infinitely greater than
anything he had in him It was a poem of centuries Then the tribute the mob
paid him was a sorry tribute indeed for that same mob had wallowed »Ephemera«
into the mire He sighed heavily and with satisfaction He was glad the last
manuscript was sold and that he would soon be done with it all
Chapter XLIV
Mr Morse met Martin in the office of the Hotel Metropole Whether he had
happened there just casually intent on other affairs or whether he had come
there for the direct purpose of inviting him to dinner Martin never could quite
make up his mind though he inclined toward the second hypothesis At any rate
invited to dinner he was by Mr Morse Ruths father who had forbidden him the
house and broken off the engagement
Martin was not angry He was not even on his dignity He tolerated Mr
Morse wondering the while how it felt to eat such humble pie He did not
decline the invitation Instead he put it off with vagueness and indefiniteness
and inquired after the family particularly after Mrs Morse and Ruth He spoke
her name without hesitancy naturally though secretly surprised that he had had
no inward quiver no old familiar increase of pulse and warm surge of blood
He had many invitations to dinner some of which he accepted Persons got
themselves introduced to him in order to invite him to dinner And he went on
puzzling over the little thing that was becoming a great thing Bernard
Higginbotham invited him to dinner He puzzled the harder He remembered the
days of his desperate starvation when no one invited him to dinner That was the
time he needed dinners and went weak and faint for lack of them and lost weight
from sheer famine That was the paradox of it When he wanted dinners no one
gave them to him and now that he could buy a hundred thousand dinners and was
losing his appetite dinners were thrust upon him right and left But why There
was no justice in it no merit on his part He was no different All the work he
had done was even at that time work performed Mr and Mrs Morse had condemned
him for an idler and a shirk and through Ruth had urged that he take a clerks
position in an office Furthermore they had been aware of his work performed
Manuscript after manuscript of his had been turned over to them by Ruth They
had read them It was the very same work that had put his name in all the
papers and it was his name being in all the papers that led them to invite him
One thing was certain the Morses had not cared to have him for himself or
for his work Therefore they could not want him now for himself or for his work
but for the fame that was his because he was somebody amongst men and why
not because he had a hundred thousand dollars or so That was the way
bourgeois society valued a man and who was he to expect it otherwise But he
was proud He disdained such valuation He desired to be valued for himself or
for his work which after all was an expression of himself That was the way
Lizzie valued him The work with her did not even count She valued him
himself That was the way Jimmy the plumber and all the old gang valued him
That had been proved often enough in the days when he ran with them it had been
proved that Sunday at Shell Mound Park His work could go hang What they liked
and were willing to scrap for was just Mart Eden one of the bunch and a pretty
good guy
Then there was Ruth She had liked him for himself that was indisputable
And yet much as she had liked him she had liked the bourgeois standard of
valuation more She had opposed his writing and principally it seemed to him
because it did not earn money That had been her criticism of his »Lovecycle«
She too had urged him to get a job It was true she refined it to position
but it meant the same thing and in his own mind the old nomenclature stuck He
had read her all that he wrote poems stories essays »WikiWiki« »The
Shame of the Sun« everything And she had always and consistently urged him to
get a job to go to work good God as if he hadnt been working robbing
sleep exhausting life in order to be worthy of her
So the little thing grew bigger He was healthy and normal ate regularly
slept long hours and yet the growing little thing was becoming an obsession
Work performed The phrase haunted his brain He sat opposite Bernard
Higginbotham at a heavy Sunday dinner over Higginbothams Cash Store and it was
all he could do to restrain himself from shouting out
»It was work performed And now you feed me when then you let me starve
forbade me your house and damned me because I wouldnt get a job And the work
was already done all done And now when I speak you check the thought
unuttered on your lips and hang on my lips and pay respectful attention to
whatever I choose to say I tell you your party is rotten and filled with
grafters and instead of flying into a rage you hum and haw and admit there is a
great deal in what I say And why Because Im famous because Ive a lot of
money Not because Im Martin Eden a pretty good fellow and not particularly a
fool I could tell you the moon is made of green cheese and you would subscribe
to the notion, at least you would not repudiate it because Ive got dollars
mountains of them And it was all done long ago it was work performed I tell
you when you spat upon me as the dirt under your feet«
But Martin did not shout out The thought gnawed in his brain an unceasing
torment while he smiled and succeeded in being tolerant As he grew silent
Bernard Higginbotham got the reins and did the talking He was a success
himself and proud of it He was selfmade No one had helped him He owed no
man He was fulfilling his duty as a citizen and bringing up a large family And
there was Higginbothams Cash Store that monument of his own industry and
ability He loved Higginbothams Cash Store as some men loved their wives He
opened up his heart to Martin showed with what keenness and with what enormous
planning he had made the store And he had plans for it ambitious plans The
neighborhood was growing up fast The store was really too small If he had more
room he would be able to put in a score of laborsaving and moneysaving
improvements And he would do it yet He was straining every effort for the day
when he could buy the adjoining lot and put up another twostory frame building
The upstairs he could rent and the whole groundfloor of both buildings would
be Higginbothams Cash Store His eyes glistened when he spoke of the new sign
that would stretch clear across both buildings
Martin forgot to listen The refrain of Work performed in his own brain
was drowning the others clatter The refrain maddened him and he tried to
escape from it
»How much did you say it would cost« he asked suddenly
His brotherinlaw paused in the middle of an expatiation on the business
opportunities of the neighborhood He hadnt said how much it would cost But he
knew He had figured it out a score of times
»At the way lumber is now« he said »four thousand could do it«
»Including the sign«
»I didnt count on that Itd just have to come onct the buildin was
there«
»And the ground«
»Three thousand more«
He leaned forward licking his lips nervously spreading and closing his
fingers while he watched Martin write a check When it was passed over to him
he glanced at the amount seven thousand dollars
»I I cant afford to pay more than six per cent« he said huskily
Martin wanted to laugh but instead demanded
»How much would that be«
»Lemme see Six per cent six times seven four hundred an twenty«
»That would be thirtyfive dollars a month wouldnt it«
Higginbotham nodded
»Then if youve no objection well arrange it this way« Martin glanced at
Gertrude »You can have the principal to keep for yourself if youll use the
thirtyfive dollars a month for cooking and washing and scrubbing The seven
thousand is yours if youll guarantee that Gertrude does no more drudgery Is it
a go«
Mr Higginbotham swallowed hard That his wife should do no more housework
was an affront to his thrifty soul The magnificent present was the coating of a
pill a bitter pill That his wife should not work It gagged him
»All right then« Martin said »Ill pay the thirtyfive a month and «
He reached across the table for the check But Bernard Higginbotham got his
hand on it first crying
»I accept I accept«
When Martin got on the electric car he was very sick and tired He looked
up at the assertive sign
»The swine« he groaned »The swine the swine«
When Mackintoshs Magazine published »The Palmist« featuring it with
decorations by Berthier and with two pictures by Wenn Hermann von Schmidt
forgot that he had called the verses obscene He announced that his wife had
inspired the poem saw to it that the news reached the ears of a reporter and
submitted to an interview by a staff writer who was accompanied by a staff
photographer and a staff artist The result was a full page in a Sunday
supplement filled with photographs and idealized drawings of Marian with many
intimate details of Martin Eden and his family and with the full text of »The
Palmist« in large type and republished by special permission of Mackintoshs
Magazine It caused quite a stir in the neighborhood and good housewives were
proud to have the acquaintance of the great writers sister while those who had
not made haste to cultivate it Hermann von Schmidt chuckled in his little
repair shop and decided to order a new lathe »Better than advertising« he told
Marian »and it costs nothing«
»Wed better have him to dinner« she suggested
And to dinner Martin came making himself agreeable with the fat wholesale
butcher and his fatter wife important folk they likely to be of use to a
rising young man like Hermann von Schmidt No less a bait however had been
required to draw them to his house than his great brotherinlaw Another man at
table who had swallowed the same bait was the superintendent of the Pacific
Coast agencies for the Asa Bicycle Company Him Von Schmidt desired to please
and propitiate because from him could be obtained the Oakland agency for the
bicycle So Hermann von Schmidt found it a goodly asset to have Martin for a
brotherinlaw but in his heart of hearts he couldnt understand where it all
came in In the silent watches of the night while his wife slept he had
floundered through Martins books and poems and decided that the world was a
fool to buy them
And in his heart of hearts Martin understood the situation only too well as
he leaned back and gloated at Von Schmidts head in fancy punching it wellnigh
off of him sending blow after blow home just right the chuckleheaded
Dutchman One thing he did like about him however Poor as he was and
determined to rise as he was he nevertheless hired one servant to take the
heavy work off of Marians hands Martin talked with the superintendent of the
Asa agencies and after dinner he drew him aside with Hermann whom he backed
financially for the best bicycle store with fittings in Oakland He went
further and in a private talk with Hermann told him to keep his eyes open for
an automobile agency and garage for there was no reason that he should not be
able to run both establishments successfully
With tears in her eyes and her arms around his neck Marian at parting
told Martin how much she loved him and always had loved him It was true there
was a perceptible halt midway in her assertion which she glossed over with more
tears and kisses and incoherent stammerings and which Martin inferred to be her
appeal for forgiveness for the time she had lacked faith in him and insisted on
his getting a job
»He cant never keep his money thats sure« Hermann von Schmidt confided
to his wife »He got mad when I spoke of interest an he said damn the
principal and if I mentioned it again hed punch my Dutch head off Thats what
he said my Dutch head But hes all right even if he aint no business man
Hes given me my chance an hes all right«
Invitations to dinner poured in on Martin and the more they poured the
more he puzzled He sat the guest of honor at an Arden Club banquet with men
of note whom he had heard about and read about all his life and they told him
how when they had read »The Ring of Bells« in the Transcontinental and »The
Peri and the Pearl« in The Hornet they had immediately picked him for a winner
My God and I was hungry and in rags he thought to himself Why didnt you give
me a dinner then Then was the time It was work performed If you are feeding
me now for work performed why did you not feed me then when I needed it Not
one word in »The Ring of Bells« nor in »The Peri and the Pearl« has been
changed No youre not feeding me now for work performed You are feeding me
because everybody else is feeding me and because it is an honor to feed me You
are feeding me now because you are herd animals because you are part of the
mob because the one blind automatic thought in the mobmind just now is to
feed me And where does Martin Eden and the work Martin Eden performed come in
in all this he asked himself plaintively then arose to respond cleverly and
wittily to a clever and witty toast
So it went Wherever he happened to be at the Press Club at the Redwood
Club at pink teas and literary gatherings always were remembered »The Ring of
Bells« and »The Peri and the Pearl« when they were first published And always
was Martins maddening and unuttered demand Why didnt you feed me then It was
work performed »The Ring of Bells« and »The Peri and the Pearl« are not changed
one iota They were just as artistic just as worth while then as now But you
are not feeding me for their sake nor for the sake of anything else I have
written Youre feeding me because it is the style of feeding just now because
the whole mob is crazy with the idea of feeding Martin Eden
And often at such times he would abruptly see slouch in among the company
a young hoodlum in squarecut coat and under a stiffrim Stetson hat It
happened to him at the Gallina Society in Oakland one afternoon As he rose from
his chair and stepped forward across the platform he saw stalk through the wide
door at the rear of the great room the young hoodlum with the squarecut coat
and stiffrim hat Five hundred fashionably gowned women turned their heads so
intent and steadfast was Martins gaze to see what he was seeing But they saw
only the empty centre aisle He saw the young tough lurching down that aisle and
wondered if he would remove the stiffrim which never yet had he seen him
without Straight down the aisle he came and up the platform Martin could have
wept over that youthful shade of himself when he thought of all that lay before
him Across the platform he swaggered right up to Martin and into the
foreground of Martins consciousness disappeared The five hundred women
applauded softly with gloved hands seeking to encourage the bashful great man
who was their guest And Martin shook the vision from his brain smiled and
began to speak
The Superintendent of Schools good old man stopped Martin on the street
and remembered him recalling seances in his office when Martin was expelled
from school for fighting
»I read your Ring of Bells in one of the magazines quite a time ago« he
said »It was as good as Poe Splendid I said at the time splendid«
Yes and twice in the months that followed you passed me on the street and
did not know me Martin almost said aloud Each time I was hungry and heading
for the pawnbroker Yet it was work performed You did not know me then Why do
you know me now
»I was remarking to my wife only the other day« the other was saying
»wouldnt it be a good idea to have you out to dinner some time And she quite
agreed with me Yes she quite agreed with me«
»Dinner« Martin said so sharply that it was almost a snarl
»Why yes yes dinner you know just pot luck with us with your old
superintendent you rascal« he uttered nervously poking Martin in an attempt
at jocular fellowship
Martin went down the street in a daze He stopped at the corner and looked
about him vacantly
»Well Ill be damned« he murmured at last »The old fellow was afraid of
me«
Chapter XLV
Kreis came to Martin one day Kreis of the real dirt and Martin turned to him
with relief to receive the glowing details of a scheme sufficiently wildcatty
to interest him as a fictionist rather than an investor Kreis paused long
enough in the midst of his exposition to tell him that in most of his »Shame of
the Sun« he had been a chump
»But I didnt come here to spout philosophy« Kreis went on »What I want to
know is whether or not you will put a thousand dollars in on this deal«
»No Im not chump enough for that at any rate« Martin answered »But Ill
tell you what I will do You gave me the greatest night of my life You gave me
what money cannot buy Now Ive got money and it means nothing to me Id like
to turn over to you a thousand dollars of what I dont value for what you gave
me that night and which was beyond price You need the money Ive got more than
I need You want it You came for it Theres no use scheming it out of me Take
it«
Kreis betrayed no surprise He folded the check away in his pocket
»At that rate Id like the contract of providing you with many such nights«
he said
»Too late« Martin shook his head »That night was the one night for me I
was in paradise Its commonplace with you I know But it wasnt to me I shall
never live at such a pitch again Im done with philosophy I want never to hear
another word of it«
»The first dollar I ever made in my life out of my philosophy« Kreis
remarked as he paused in the doorway »And then the market broke«
Mrs Morse drove by Martin on the street one day and smiled and nodded He
smiled back and lifted his hat The episode did not affect him A month before
it might have disgusted him or made him curious and set him to speculating
about her state of consciousness at that moment But now it was not provocative
of a second thought He forgot about it the next moment He forgot about it as
he would have forgotten the Central Bank Building or the City Hall after having
walked past them Yet his mind was preternaturally active His thoughts went
ever around and around in a circle The centre of that circle was work
performed it ate at his brain like a deathless maggot He awoke to it in the
morning It tormented his dreams at night Every affair of life around him that
penetrated through his senses immediately related itself to work performed He
drove along the path of relentless logic to the conclusion that he was nobody
nothing Mart Eden the hoodlum and Mart Eden the sailor had been real had
been he but Martin Eden the famous writer did not exist. Martin Eden the
famous writer was a vapor that had arisen in the mobmind and by the mobmind
had been thrust into the corporeal being of Mart Eden the hoodlum and sailor
But it couldnt fool him He was not that sunmyth that the mob was worshipping
and sacrificing dinners to He knew better
He read the magazines about himself and pored over portraits of himself
published therein until he was unable to associate his identity with those
portraits He was the fellow who had lived and thrilled and loved who had been
easygoing and tolerant of the frailties of life who had served in the
forecastle wandered in strange lands and led his gang in the old fighting
days He was the fellow who had been stunned at first by the thousands of books
in the free library and who had afterward learned his way among them and
mastered them he was the fellow who had burned the midnight oil and bedded with
a spur and written books himself But the one thing he was not was that colossal
appetite that all the mob was bent upon feeding
There were things however in the magazines that amused him All the
magazines were claiming him Warrens Monthly advertised to its subscribers that
it was always on the quest after new writers and that among others it had
introduced Martin Eden to the reading public The White Mouse claimed him so
did The Northern Review and Mackintoshs Magazine until silenced by The Globe
which pointed triumphantly to its files where the mangled »Sea Lyrics« lay
buried Youth and Age which had come to life again after having escaped paying
its bills put in a prior claim which nobody but farmers children ever read
The Transcontinental made a dignified and convincing statement of how it first
discovered Martin Eden which was warmly disputed by The Hornet with the
exhibit of »The Peri and the Pearl« The modest claim of Singletree Darnley
amp Co was lost in the din Besides that publishing firm did not own a
magazine wherewith to make its claim less modest
The newspapers calculated Martins royalties In some way the magnificent
offers certain magazines had made him leaked out and Oakland ministers called
upon him in a friendly way while professional begging letters began to clutter
his mail But worse than all this were the women His photographs were published
broadcast and special writers exploited his strong bronzed face his scars
his heavy shoulders his clear quiet eyes and the slight hollows in his cheeks
like an ascetics At this last he remembered his wild youth and smiled Often
among the women he met he would see now one now another looking at him
appraising him selecting him He laughed to himself He remembered Brissendens
warning and laughed again The women would never destroy him that much was
certain He had gone past that stage
Once walking with Lizzie toward night school she caught a glance directed
toward him by a wellgowned handsome woman of the bourgeoisie The glance was a
trifle too long a shade too considerative Lizzie knew it for what it was and
her body tensed angrily Martin noticed noticed the cause of it told her how
used he was becoming to it and that he did not care anyway
»You ought to care« she answered with blazing eyes »Youre sick Thats
whats the matter«
»Never healthier in my life I weigh five pounds more than I ever did«
»It aint your body Its your head Somethings wrong with your
thinkmachine Even I can see that an I aint nobody«
He walked on beside her reflecting
»Id give anything to see you get over it« she broke out impulsively »You
ought to care when women look at you that way a man like you Its not natural
Its all right enough for sissyboys But you aint made that way So help me
Id be willing an glad if the right woman came along an made you care«
When he left Lizzie at night school he returned to the Metropole
Once in his rooms he dropped into a Morris chair and sat staring straight
before him He did not doze Nor did he think His mind was a blank save for
the intervals when unsummoned memory pictures took form and color and radiance
just under his eyelids He saw these pictures but he was scarcely conscious of
them no more so than if they had been dreams Yet he was not asleep Once he
roused himself and glanced at his watch It was just eight oclock He had
nothing to do and it was too early for bed Then his mind went blank again and
the pictures began to form and vanish under his eyelids There was nothing
distinctive about the pictures They were always masses of leaves and shrublike
branches shot through with hot sunshine
A knock at the door aroused him He was not asleep and his mind immediately
connected the knock with a telegram or letter or perhaps one of the servants
bringing back clean clothes from the laundry He was thinking about Joe and
wondering where he was as he said »Come in«
He was still thinking about Joe and did not turn toward the door He heard
it close softly There was a long silence He forgot that there had been a knock
at the door and was still staring blankly before him when he heard a womans
sob It was involuntary spasmodic checked and stifled he noted that as he
turned about The next instant he was on his feet
»Ruth« he said amazed and bewildered
Her face was white and strained She stood just inside the door one hand
against it for support the other pressed to her side She extended both hands
toward him piteously and started forward to meet him As he caught her hands
and led her to the Morris chair he noticed how cold they were He drew up
another chair and sat down on the broad arm of it He was too confused to speak
In his own mind his affair with Ruth was closed and sealed He felt much in the
same way that he would have felt had the Shelly Hot Springs Laundry suddenly
invaded the Hotel Metropole with a whole weeks washing ready for him to pitch
into Several times he was about to speak and each time he hesitated
»No one knows I am here« Ruth said in a faint voice with an appealing
smile
»What did you say« he asked
He was surprised at the sound of his own voice
She repeated her words
»Oh« he said then wondered what more he could possibly say
»I saw you come in and I waited a few minutes«
»Oh« he said again
He had never been so tonguetied in his life Positively he did not have an
idea in his head He felt stupid and awkward but for the life of him he could
think of nothing to say It would have been easier had the intrusion been the
Shelly Hot Springs laundry He could have rolled up his sleeves and gone to
work
»And then you came in« he said finally
She nodded with a slightly arch expression and loosened the scarf at her
throat
»I saw you first from across the street when you were with that girl«
»Oh yes« he said simply »I took her down to night school«
»Well arent you glad to see me« she said at the end of another silence
»Yes yes« He spoke hastily »But wasnt it rash of you to come here«
»I slipped in Nobody knows I am here I wanted to see you I came to tell
you I have been very foolish I came because I could no longer stay away
because my heart compelled me to come because because I wanted to come«
She came forward out of her chair and over to him She rested her hand on
his shoulder a moment breathing quickly and then slipped into his arms And in
his large easy way desirous of not inflicting hurt knowing that to repulse
this proffer of herself was to inflict the most grievous hurt a woman could
receive he folded his arms around her and held her close But there was no
warmth in the embrace no caress in the contact She had come into his arms and
he held her that was all She nestled against him and then with a change of
position her hands crept up and rested upon his neck But his flesh was not
fire beneath those hands and he felt awkward and uncomfortable
»What makes you tremble so« he asked »Is it a chill Shall I light the
grate«
He made a movement to disengage himself but she clung more closely to him
shivering violently
»It is merely nervousness« she said with chattering teeth »Ill control
myself in a minute There I am better already«
Slowly her shivering died away He continued to hold her but he was no
longer puzzled He knew now for what she had come
»My mother wanted me to marry Charley Hapgood« she announced
»Charley Hapgood that fellow who speaks always in platitudes« Martin
groaned Then he added »And now I suppose your mother wants you to marry me«
He did not put it in the form of a question He stated it as a certitude
and before his eyes began to dance the rows of figures of his royalties
»She will not object I know that much« Ruth said
»She considers me quite eligible«
Ruth nodded
»And yet I am not a bit more eligible now than I was when she broke our
engagement« he meditated »I havent changed any Im the same Martin Eden
though for that matter Im a bit worse I smoke now Dont you smell my
breath«
In reply she pressed her open fingers against his lips placed them
graciously and playfully and in expectancy of the kiss that of old had always
been a consequence But there was no caressing answer of Martins lips He
waited until the fingers were removed and then went on
»I am not changed I havent got a job Im not looking for a job
Furthermore I am not going to look for a job And I still believe that Herbert
Spencer is a great and noble man and that Judge Blount is an unmitigated ass I
had dinner with him the other night so I ought to know«
»But you didnt accept fathers invitation« she chided
»So you know about that Who sent him Your mother«
She remained silent
»Then she did send him I thought so And now I suppose she has sent you«
»No one knows that I am here« she protested »Do you think my mother would
permit this«
»Shed permit you to marry me thats certain«
She gave a sharp cry »Oh Martin dont be cruel You have not kissed me
once You are as unresponsive as a stone And think what I have dared to do«
She looked about her with a shiver though half the look was curiosity »Just
think of where I am«
»I could die for you I could die for you« Lizzies words were ringing in
his ears
»Why didnt you dare it before« he asked harshly »When I hadnt a job
When I was starving When I was just as I am now as a man as an artist the
same Martin Eden Thats the question Ive been propounding to myself for many a
day not concerning you merely but concerning everybody You see I have not
changed though my sudden apparent appreciation in value compels me constantly
to reassure myself on that point Ive got the same flesh on my bones the same
ten fingers and toes I am the same I have not developed any new strength nor
virtue My brain is the same old brain I havent made even one new
generalization on literature or philosophy I am personally of the same value
that I was when nobody wanted me And what is puzzling me is why they want me
now Surely they dont want me for myself for myself is the same old self they
did not want Then they must want me for something else for something that is
outside of me for something that is not I Shall I tell you what that something
is It is for the recognition I have received That recognition is not I It
resides in the minds of others Then again for the money I have earned and am
earning But that money is not I It resides in banks and in the pockets of Tom
Dick and Harry And is it for that for the recognition and the money that you
now want me«
»You are breaking my heart« she sobbed »You know I love you that I am
here because I love you«
»I am afraid you dont see my point« he said gently »What I mean is if
you love me how does it happen that you love me now so much more than you did
when your love was weak enough to deny me«
»Forget and forgive« she cried passionately »I loved you all the time
remember that and I am here now in your arms«
»Im afraid I am a shrewd merchant peering into the scales trying to weigh
your love and find out what manner of thing it is«
She withdrew herself from his arms sat upright and looked at him long and
searchingly She was about to speak then faltered and changed her mind
»You see it appears this way to me« he went on »When I was all that I am
now nobody out of my own class seemed to care for me When my books were all
written no one who had read the manuscripts seemed to care for them In point
of fact, because of the stuff I had written they seemed to care even less for
me In writing the stuff it seemed that I had committed acts that were to say
the least derogatory Get a job everybody said«
She made a movement of dissent
»Yes yes« he said »except in your case you told me to get a position The
homely word job like much that I have written offends you It is brutal But I
assure you it was no less brutal to me when everybody I knew recommended it to
me as they would recommend right conduct to an immoral creature But to return
The publication of what I had written and the public notice I received wrought
a change in the fibre of your love Martin Eden with his work all performed
you would not marry Your love for him was not strong enough to enable you to
marry him But your love is now strong enough and I cannot avoid the conclusion
that its strength arises from the publication and the public notice In your
case I do not mention royalties though I am certain that they apply to the
change wrought in your mother and father Of course all this is not flattering
to me But worst of all it makes me question love sacred love Is love so
gross a thing that it must feed upon publication and public notice It would
seem so I have sat and thought upon it till my head went around«
»Poor dear head« She reached up a hand and passed the fingers soothingly
through his hair »Let it go around no more Let us begin anew now I loved you
all the time I know that I was weak in yielding to my mothers will I should
not have done so Yet I have heard you speak so often with broad charity of the
fallibility and frailty of humankind Extend that charity to me I acted
mistakenly Forgive me«
»Oh I do forgive« he said impatiently »It is easy to forgive where there
is really nothing to forgive Nothing that you have done requires forgiveness
One acts according to ones lights and more than that one cannot do As well
might I ask you to forgive me for my not getting a job«
»I meant well« she protested »You know that I could not have loved you
and not meant well«
»True but you would have destroyed me out of your wellmeaning«
»Yes yes« he shut off her attempted objection »You would have destroyed
my writing and my career Realism is imperative to my nature and the bourgeois
spirit hates realism The bourgeoisie is cowardly It is afraid of life And all
your effort was to make me afraid of life You would have formalized me You
would have compressed me into a twobyfour pigeonhole of life where all lifes
values are unreal and false and vulgar« He felt her stir protestingly
»Vulgarity a hearty vulgarity Ill admit is the basis of bourgeois
refinement and culture As I say you wanted to formalize me to make me over
into one of your own class with your classideals classvalues and
classprejudices« He shook his head sadly »And you do not understand even
now what I am saying My words do not mean to you what I endeavor to make them
mean What I say is so much fantasy to you Yet to me it is vital reality At
the best you are a trifle puzzled and amused that this raw boy crawling up out
of the mire of the abyss should pass judgment upon your class and call it
vulgar«
She leaned her head wearily against his shoulder and her body shivered with
recurrent nervousness He waited for a time for her to speak and then went on
»And now you want to renew our love You want us to be married You want me
And yet listen if my books had not been noticed Id nevertheless have been
just what I am now And you would have stayed away It is all those damned books
«
»Dont swear« she interrupted
Her reproof startled him He broke into a harsh laugh
»Thats it« he said »at a high moment when what seems your lifes
happiness is at stake you are afraid of life in the same old way afraid of
life and a healthy oath«
She was stung by his words into realization of the puerility of her act and
yet she felt that he had magnified it unduly and was consequently resentful
They sat in silence for a long time she thinking desperately and he pondering
upon his love which had departed He knew now that he had not really loved
her It was an idealized Ruth he had loved an ethereal creature of his own
creating the bright and luminous spirit of his lovepoems The real bourgeois
Ruth with all the bourgeois failings and with the hopeless cramp of the
bourgeois psychology in her mind he had never loved
She suddenly began to speak
»I know that much you have said is so I have been afraid of life I did not
love you well enough I have learned to love better I love you for what you
are for what you were for the ways even by which you have become I love you
for the ways wherein you differ from what you call my class for your beliefs
which I do not understand but which I know I can come to understand I shall
devote myself to understanding them And even your smoking and your swearing
they are part of you and I will love you for them too I can still learn In
the last ten minutes I have learned much That I have dared to come here is a
token of what I have already learned Oh Martin «
She was sobbing and nestling close against him
For the first time his arms folded her gently and with sympathy and she
acknowledged it with a happy movement and a brightening face
»It is too late« he said He remembered Lizzies words »I am a sick man
oh not my body It is my soul my brain I seem to have lost all values I care
for nothing If you had been this way a few months ago it would have been
different It is too late now«
»It is not too late« she cried »I will show you I will prove to you that
my love has grown that it is greater to me than my class and all that is
dearest to me All that is dearest to the bourgeoisie I will flout I am no
longer afraid of life I will leave my father and mother and let my name become
a byword with my friends I will come to you here and now in free love if you
will and I will be proud and glad to be with you If I have been a traitor to
love I will now for loves sake be a traitor to all that made that earlier
treason«
She stood before him with shining eyes
»I am waiting Martin« she whispered »waiting for you to accept me Look
at me«
It was splendid he thought looking at her She had redeemed herself for
all that she had lacked rising up at last true woman superior to the iron
rule of bourgeois convention It was splendid magnificent desperate And yet
what was the matter with him He was not thrilled nor stirred by what she had
done It was splendid and magnificent only intellectually In what should have
been a moment of fire he coldly appraised her His heart was untouched He was
unaware of any desire for her Again he remembered Lizzies words
»I am sick very sick« he said with a despairing gesture »How sick I did
not know till now Something has gone out of me I have always been unafraid of
life but I never dreamed of being sated with life Life has so filled me that I
am empty of any desire for anything If there were room I should want you now
You see how sick I am«
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes and like a child crying that
forgets its grief in watching the sunlight percolate through the teardimmed
films over the pupils so Martin forgot his sickness the presence of Ruth
everything in watching the masses of vegetation shot through hotly with
sunshine that took form and blazed against the background of his eyelids It was
not restful that green foliage The sunlight was too raw and glaring It hurt
him to look at it and yet he looked he knew not why
He was brought back to himself by the rattle of the doorknob Ruth was at
the door
»How shall I get out« she questioned tearfully »I am afraid«
»Oh forgive me« he cried springing to his feet »Im not myself you
know I forgot you were here« He put his hand to his head »You see Im not
just right Ill take you home We can go out by the servants entrance No one
will see us Pull down that veil and everything will be all right«
She clung to his arm through the dimlighted passages and down the narrow
stairs
»I am safe now« she said when they emerged on the sidewalk at the same
time starting to take her hand from his arm
»No no Ill see you home« he answered
»No please dont« she objected »It is unnecessary«
Again she started to remove her hand He felt a momentary curiosity Now
that she was out of danger she was afraid She was in almost a panic to be quit
of him He could see no reason for it and attributed it to her nervousness So
he restrained her withdrawing hand and started to walk on with her Halfway down
the block he saw a man in a long overcoat shrink back into a doorway He shot a
glance in as he passed by and despite the high turnedup collar he was
certain that he recognized Ruths brother Norman
During the walk Ruth and Martin held little conversation She was stunned
He was apathetic Once he mentioned that he was going away back to the South
Seas and once she asked him to forgive her having come to him And that was
all The parting at her door was conventional They shook hands said good
night and he lifted his hat The door swung shut and he lighted a cigarette
and turned back for his hotel When he came to the doorway into which he had
seen Norman shrink he stopped and looked in in a speculative humor
»She lied« he said aloud »She made believe to me that she had dared
greatly and all the while she knew the brother that brought her was waiting to
take her back« He burst into laughter »Oh these bourgeois When I was broke
I was not fit to be seen with his sister When I have a bank account he brings
her to me«
As he swung on his heel to go on a tramp going in the same direction
begged him over his shoulder
»Say mister can you give me a quarter to get a bed« were the words
But it was the voice that made Martin turn around The next instant he had
Joe by the hand
»Dye remember that time we parted at the Hot Springs« the other was
saying »I said then wed meet again I felt it in my bones An here we are«
»Youre looking good« Martin said admiringly »and youve put on weight«
»I sure have« Joes face was beaming »I never knew what it was to live
till I hit hoboin Im thirty pounds heavier an feel tiptop all the time Why
I was worked to skin an bone in them old days Hoboin sure agrees with me«
»But youre looking for a bed just the same« Martin chided »and its a
cold night«
»Huh Lookin for a bed« Joe shot a hand into his hip pocket and brought it
out filled with small change »That beats hard graft« he exulted »You just
looked good thats why I battered you«
Martin laughed and gave in
»Youve several fullsized drunks right there« he insinuated
Joe slid the money back into his pocket
»Not in mine« he announced »No gettin oryide for me though there aint
nothin to stop me except I dont want to Ive ben drunk once since I seen you
last an then it was unexpected bein on an empty stomach When I work like a
beast I drink like a beast When I live like a man I drink like a man a jolt
now an again when I feel like it an thats all«
Martin arranged to meet him next day and went on to the hotel He paused in
the office to look up steamer sailings The Mariposa sailed for Tahiti in five
days
»Telephone over tomorrow and reserve a stateroom for me« he told the
clerk »No deckstateroom but down below on the weatherside the portside
remember that the portside Youd better write it down«
Once in his room he got into bed and slipped off to sleep as gently as a
child The occurrences of the evening had made no impression on him His mind
was dead to impressions The glow of warmth with which he met Joe had been most
fleeting The succeeding minute he had been bothered by the exlaundrymans
presence and by the compulsion of conversation That in five more days he sailed
for his loved South Seas meant nothing to him So he closed his eyes and slept
normally and comfortably for eight uninterrupted hours He was not restless He
did not change his position nor did he dream Sleep had become to him oblivion
and each day that he awoke he awoke with regret Life worried and bored him
and time was a vexation
Chapter XLVI
»Say Joe« was his greeting to his oldtime workingmate next morning »theres
a Frenchman out on Twentyeighth Street Hes made a pot of money and hes
going back to France Its a dandy wellappointed small steam laundry Theres
a start for you if you want to settle down Here take this buy some clothes
with it and be at this mans office by ten oclock He looked up the laundry for
me and hell take you out and show you around If you like it and think it is
worth the price twelve thousand let me know and it is yours Now run along
Im busy Ill see you later«
»Now look here Mart« the other said slowly with kindling anger »I come
here this mornin to see you Savve I didnt come here to get no laundry I
come here for a talk for old friends sake and you shove a laundry at me I
tell you what you can do You can take that laundry an go to hell«
He was starting to fling out of the room when Martin caught him by the
shoulder and whirled him around
»Now look here Joe« he said »if you act that way Ill punch your head
And for old friends sake Ill punch it hard Savve you will will you«
Joe had clinched and attempted to throw him and he was twisting and
writhing out of the advantage of the others hold They reeled about the room
locked in each others arms and came down with a crash across the splintered
wreckage of a wicker chair Joe was underneath with arms spread out and held
and with Martins knee on his chest He was panting and gasping for breath when
Martin released him
»Now well talk a moment« Martin said »You cant get fresh with me I want
that laundry business finished first of all Then you can come back and well
talk for old sakes sake I told you I was busy Look at that«
A servant had just come in with the morning mail a great mass of letters
and magazines
»How can I wade through that and talk with you You go and fix up that
laundry and then well get together«
»All right« Joe admitted reluctantly »I thought you was turnin me down
but I guess I was mistaken But you cant lick me Mart in a standup fight
Ive got the reach on you«
»Well put on the gloves sometime and see« Martin said with a smile
»Sure as soon as I get that laundry going« Joe extended his arm »You see
that reach Itll make you go a few«
Martin heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed behind the laundryman
He was becoming antisocial Daily he found it a severer strain to be decent
with people Their presence perturbed him and the effort of conversation
irritated him They made him restless and no sooner was he in contact with them
than he was casting about for excuses to get rid of them
He did not proceed to attack his mail and for a half hour he lolled in his
chair doing nothing while no more than vague halfformed thoughts
occasionally filtered through his intelligence or rather at wide intervals
themselves constituted the flickering of his intelligence
He roused himself and began glancing through his mail There were a dozen
requests for autographs he knew them at sight there were professional begging
letters and there were letters from cranks ranging from the man with a working
model of perpetual motion and the man who demonstrated that the surface of the
earth was the inside of a hollow sphere to the man seeking financial aid to
purchase the Peninsula of Lower California for the purpose of communist
colonization There were letters from women seeking to know him and over one
such he smiled for enclosed was her receipt for pewrent sent as evidence of
her good faith and as proof of her respectability
Editors and publishers contributed to the daily heap of letters the former
on their knees for his manuscripts the latter on their knees for his books
his poor disdained manuscripts that had kept all he possessed in pawn for so
many dreary months in order to find them in postage There were unexpected
checks for English serial rights and for advance payments on foreign
translations His English agent announced the sale of German translation rights
in three of his books and informed him that Swedish editions from which he
could expect nothing because Sweden was not a party to the Berne Convention
were already on the market Then there was a nominal request for his permission
for a Russian translation that country being likewise outside the Berne
Convention
He turned to the huge bundle of clippings which had come in from his press
bureau and read about himself and his vogue which had become a furore All his
creative output had been flung to the public in one magnificent sweep That
seemed to account for it He had taken the public off its feet the way Kipling
had that time when he lay near to death and all the mob animated by a mobmind
thought began suddenly to read him Martin remembered how that same worldmob
having read him and acclaimed him and not understood him in the least had
abruptly a few months later flung itself upon him and torn him to pieces
Martin grinned at the thought Who was he that he should not be similarly
treated in a few more months Well he would fool the mob He would be away in
the South Seas building his grass house trading for pearls and copra jumping
reefs in frail outriggers catching sharks and bonitas hunting wild goats among
the cliffs of the valley that lay next to the valley of Taiohæ
In the moment of that thought the desperateness of his situation dawned upon
him He saw cleared eyed that he was in the Valley of the Shadow All the life
that was in him was fading fainting making toward death He realized how much
he slept and how much he desired to sleep Of old he had hated sleep It had
robbed him of precious moments of living Four hours of sleep in the twentyfour
had meant being robbed of four hours of life How he had grudged sleep Now it
was life he grudged Life was not good its taste in his mouth was without tang
and bitter This was his peril Life that did not yearn toward life was in fair
way toward ceasing Some remote instinct for preservation stirred in him and he
knew he must get away He glanced about the room and the thought of packing was
burdensome Perhaps it would be better to leave that to the last In the
meantime he might be getting an outfit
He put on his hat and went out stopping in at a gunstore where he spent
the remainder of the morning buying automatic rifles ammunition and fishing
tackle Fashions changed in trading and he knew he would have to wait till he
reached Tahiti before ordering his tradegoods They could come up from
Australia anyway This solution was a source of pleasure He had avoided doing
something and the doing of anything just now was unpleasant He went back to
the hotel gladly with a feeling of satisfaction in that the comfortable Morris
chair was waiting for him and he groaned inwardly on entering his room at
sight of Joe in the Morris chair
Joe was delighted with the laundry Everything was settled and he would
enter into possession next day Martin lay on the bed with closed eyes while
the other talked on Martins thoughts were far away so far away that he was
rarely aware that he was thinking It was only by an effort that he occasionally
responded And yet this was Joe whom he had always liked But Joe was too keen
with life The boisterous impact of it on Martins jaded mind was a hurt It was
an aching probe to his tired sensitiveness When Joe reminded him that sometime
in the future they were going to put on the gloves together he could almost
have screamed
»Remember Joe youre to run the laundry according to those old rules you
used to lay down at Shelly Hot Springs« he said »No overworking No working at
night And no children at the mangles No children anywhere And a fair wage«
Joe nodded and pulled out a notebook
»Look at here I was workin out them rules before breakfast this AM What
dye think of them«
He read them aloud and Martin approved worrying at the same time as to
when Joe would take himself off
It was late afternoon when he awoke Slowly the fact of life came back to
him He glanced about the room Joe had evidently stolen away after he had dozed
off That was considerate of Joe he thought Then he closed his eyes and slept
again
In the days that followed Joe was too busy organizing and taking hold of the
laundry to bother him much and it was not until the day before sailing that the
newspapers made the announcement that he had taken passage on the Mariposa
Once when the instinct of preservation fluttered he went to a doctor and
underwent a searching physical examination Nothing could be found the matter
with him His heart and lungs were pronounced magnificent Every organ so far
as the doctor could know was normal and was working normally
»There is nothing the matter with you Mr Eden« he said »positively
nothing the matter with you You are in the pink of condition Candidly I envy
you your health It is superb Look at that chest There and in your stomach
lies the secret of your remarkable constitution Physically you are a man in a
thousand in ten thousand Barring accidents you should live to be a hundred«
And Martin knew that Lizzies diagnosis had been correct Physically he was
all right It was his thinkmachine that had gone wrong and there was no cure
for that except to get away to the South Seas The trouble was that now on the
verge of departure he had no desire to go The South Seas charmed him no more
than did bourgeois civilization There was no zest in the thought of departure
while the act of departure appalled him as a weariness of the flesh He would
have felt better if he were already on board and gone
The last day was a sore trial Having read of his sailing in the morning
papers Bernard Higginbotham Gertrude and all the family came to say goodby
as did Hermann von Schmidt and Marian Then there was business to be transacted
bills to be paid and everlasting reporters to be endured He said goodby to
Lizzie Connolly abruptly at the entrance to night school and hurried away At
the hotel he found Joe too busy all day with the laundry to have come to him
earlier It was the last straw but Martin gripped the arms of his chair and
talked and listened for half an hour
»You know Joe« he said »that you are not tied down to that laundry There
are no strings on it You can sell it any time and blow the money Any time you
get sick of it and want to hit the road just pull out Do what will make you
the happiest«
Joe shook his head
»No more road in mine thank you kindly Hoboins all right exceptin for
one thing the girls I cant help it but Im a ladies man I cant get along
without em and youve got to get along without em when youre hoboin The
times Ive passed by houses where dances an parties was goin on an heard the
women laugh an saw their white dresses and smiling faces through the windows
Gee I tell you them moments was plain hell I like dancin an picnics an
walking in the moonlight an all the rest too well Me for the laundry and a
good front with big iron dollars clinkin in my jeans I seen a girl already
just yesterday and dye know Im feelin already Id just as soon marry her
as not Ive ben whistlin all day at the thought of it Shes a beaut with the
kindest eyes and softest voice you ever heard Me for her you can stack on
that Say why dont you get married with all this money to burn You could get
the finest girl in the land«
Martin shook his head with a smile but in his secret heart he was wondering
why any man wanted to marry It seemed an amazing and incomprehensible thing
From the deck of the Mariposa at the sailing hour he saw Lizzie Connolly
hiding on the skirts of the crowd on the wharf Take her with you came the
thought It is easy to be kind She will be supremely happy It was almost a
temptation one moment and the succeeding moment it became a terror He was in a
panic at the thought of it His tired soul cried out in protest He turned away
from the rail with a groan muttering »Man you are too sick you are too
sick«
He fled to his stateroom where he lurked until the steamer was clear of the
dock In the dining saloon at luncheon he found himself in the place of honor
at the captains right and he was not long in discovering that he was the great
man on board But no more unsatisfactory great man ever sailed on a ship He
spent the afternoon in a deckchair with closed eyes dozing brokenly most of
the time and in the evening went early to bed
After the second day recovered from seasickness the full passenger list
was in evidence and the more he saw of the passengers the more he disliked
them Yet he knew that he did them injustice They were good and kindly people
he forced himself to acknowledge and in the moment of acknowledgment he
qualified good and kindly like all the bourgeoisie with all the psychological
cramp and intellectual futility of their kind They bored him when they talked
with him their little superficial minds were so filled with emptiness while
the boisterous high spirits and the excessive energy of the younger people
shocked him They were never quiet ceaselessly playing deckquoits tossing
rings promenading or rushing to the rail with loud cries to watch the leaping
porpoises and the first schools of flying fish
He slept much After breakfast he sought his deckchair with a magazine he
never finished The printed pages tired him He puzzled that men found so much
to write about and puzzling dozed in his chair When the gong awoke him for
luncheon he was irritated that he must awaken There was no satisfaction in
being awake
Once he tried to arouse himself from his lethargy and went forward into
the forecastle with the sailors But the breed of sailors seemed to have changed
since the days he had lived in the forecastle He could find no kinship with
these stolidfaced oxminded bestial creatures He was in despair Up above
nobody had wanted Martin Eden for his own sake and he could not go back to
those of his own class who had wanted him in the past He did not want them He
could not stand them any more than he could stand the stupid firstcabin
passengers and the riotous young people
Life was to him like strong white light that hurts the tired eyes of a sick
person During every conscious moment life blazed in a raw glare around him and
upon him It hurt It hurt intolerably It was the first time in his life that
Martin had travelled first class On ships at sea he had always been in the
forecastle the steerage or in the black depths of the coalhold passing coal
In those days climbing up the iron ladders from out the pit of stifling heat
he had often caught glimpses of the passengers in cool white doing nothing but
enjoy themselves under awnings spread to keep the sun and wind away from them
with subservient stewards taking care of their every want and whim and it had
seemed to him that the realm in which they moved and had their being was nothing
else than paradise Well here he was the great man on board in the midmost
centre of it sitting at the captains right hand and yet vainly harking back
to forecastle and stokehole in quest of the Paradise he had lost He had found
no new one and now he could not find the old one
He strove to stir himself and find something to interest him He ventured
the petty officers mess and was glad to get away He talked with a
quartermaster off duty an intelligent man who promptly prodded him with the
socialist propaganda and forced into his hands a bunch of leaflets and
pamphlets He listened to the man expounding the slavemorality and as he
listened he thought languidly of his own Nietzsche philosophy But what was it
worth after all He remembered one of Nietzsches mad utterances wherein that
madman had doubted truth And who was to say Perhaps Nietzsche had been right
Perhaps there was no truth in anything no truth in truth no such thing as
truth But his mind wearied quickly and he was content to go back to his chair
and doze
Miserable as he was on the steamer a new misery came upon him What when
the steamer reached Tahiti He would have to go ashore He would have to order
his tradegoods to find a passage on a schooner to the Marquesas to do a
thousand and one things that were awful to contemplate Whenever he steeled
himself deliberately to think he could see the desperate peril in which he
stood In all truth he was in the Valley of the Shadow and his danger lay in
that he was not afraid If he were only afraid he would make toward life Being
unafraid he was drifting deeper into the shadow He found no delight in the old
familiar things of life The Mariposa was now in the northeast trades and this
wine of wind surging against him irritated him He had his chair moved to
escape the embrace of this lusty comrade of old days and nights
The day the Mariposa entered the doldrums Martin was more miserable than
ever He could no longer sleep He was soaked with sleep and perforce he must
now stay awake and endure the white glare of life He moved about restlessly
The air was sticky and humid and the rainsqualls were unrefreshing He ached
with life He walked around the deck until that hurt too much then sat in his
chair until he was compelled to walk again He forced himself at last to finish
the magazine and from the steamer library he culled several volumes of poetry
But they could not hold him and once more he took to walking
He stayed late on deck after dinner but that did not help him for when he
went below he could not sleep This surcease from life had failed him It was
too much He turned on the electric light and tried to read One of the volumes
was a Swinburne He lay in bed glancing through its pages until suddenly he
became aware that he was reading with interest He finished the stanza
attempted to read on then came back to it He rested the book face downward on
his breast and fell to thinking That was it The very thing Strange that it
had never come to him before That was the meaning of it all he had been
drifting that way all the time and now Swinburne showed him that it was the
happy way out He wanted rest and here was rest awaiting him He glanced at the
open porthole Yes it was large enough For the first time in weeks he felt
happy At last he had discovered the cure of his ill He picked up the book and
read the stanza slowly aloud
»From too much love of living
From hope and fear set free
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever
That dead men rise up never
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea«
He looked again at the open port Swinburne had furnished the key Life was ill
or rather it had become ill an unbearable thing »That dead men rise up
never« That line stirred him with a profound feeling of gratitude It was the
one beneficent thing in the universe When life became an aching weariness
death was ready to soothe away to everlasting sleep But what was he waiting
for It was time to go
He arose and thrust his head out the porthole looking down into the milky
wash The Mariposa was deeply loaded and hanging by his hands his feet would
be in the water He could slip in noiselessly No one would hear A smother of
spray dashed up wetting his face It tasted salt on his lips and the taste was
good He wondered if he ought to write a swansong but laughed the thought
away There was no time He was too impatient to be gone
Turning off the light in his room so that it might not betray him he went
out the porthole feet first His shoulders stuck and he forced himself back so
as to try it with one arm down by his side A roll of the steamer aided him and
he was through hanging by his hands When his feet touched the sea he let go
He was in a milky froth of water The side of the Mariposa rushed past him like
a dark wall broken here and there by lighted ports She was certainly making
time Almost before he knew it he was astern swimming gently on the
foamcrackling surface
A bonita struck at his white body and he laughed aloud It had taken a
piece out and the sting of it reminded him of why he was there In the work to
do he had forgotten the purpose of it The lights of the Mariposa were growing
dim in the distance and there he was swimming confidently as though it were
his intention to make for the nearest land a thousand miles or so away
It was the automatic instinct to live He ceased swimming but the moment he
felt the water rising above his mouth the hands struck out sharply with a
lifting movement The will to live was his thought and the thought was
accompanied by a sneer Well he had will ay will strong enough that with
one last exertion it could destroy itself and cease to be
He changed his position to a vertical one He glanced up at the quiet stars
at the same time emptying his lungs of air With swift vigorous propulsion of
hands and feet he lifted his shoulders and half his chest out of water This
was to gain impetus for the descent Then he let himself go and sank without
movement a white statue into the sea He breathed in the water deeply
deliberately after the manner of a man taking an anæsthetic When he strangled
quite involuntarily his arms and legs clawed the water and drove him up to the
surface and into the clear sight of the stars
The will to live he thought disdainfully vainly endeavoring not to breathe
the air into his bursting lungs Well he would have to try a new way He filled
his lungs with air filled them full This supply would take him far down He
turned over and went down head first swimming with all his strength and all his
will Deeper and deeper he went His eyes were open and he watched the ghostly
phosphorescent trails of the darting bonita As he swam he hoped that they
would not strike at him for it might snap the tension of his will But they did
not strike and he found time to be grateful for this last kindness of life
Down down he swam till his arms and legs grew tired and hardly moved He
knew that he was deep The pressure on his eardrums was a pain and there was a
buzzing in his head His endurance was faltering but he compelled his arms and
legs to drive him deeper until his will snapped and the air drove from his lungs
in a great explosive rush The bubbles rubbed and bounded like tiny balloons
against his cheeks and eyes as they took their upward flight Then came pain and
strangulation This hurt was not death was the thought that oscillated through
his reeling consciousness Death did not hurt It was life the pangs of life
this awful suffocating feeling it was the last blow life could deal him
His wilful hands and feet began to beat and churn about spasmodically and
feebly But he had fooled them and the will to live that made them beat and
churn He was too deep down They could never bring him to the surface He
seemed floating languidly in a sea of dreamy vision Colors and radiances
surrounded him and bathed him and pervaded him What was that It seemed a
lighthouse but it was inside his brain a flashing bright white light It
flashed swifter and swifter There was a long rumble of sound and it seemed to
him that he was falling down a vast and interminable stairway And somewhere at
the bottom he fell into darkness That much he knew He had fallen into
darkness And at the instant he knew he ceased to know